9-11 in the eyes of a child.

         The lot of us sat together, outside our potential death. The hordes of people that gathered around just like us, waited for their identification to be called.  I sat along side my fellow passenger, my brother and held his hand wringing it as though it were my own. My foot tapped in rhythm with the beating of my heart. All around me, people from different parts of the World stood holding their relatives, some for the last time.
         The people sat side by side, barely with enough room to move themselves. Married couples, those that were intimate held each others hands their faces stained with tears. From their throats, sounds of agony poured out. Usually dignified women buried their faces in the chests of their men that were just as shaken as they were. They were just far better at concealing their fear and of course, pain.  We children held each others hands bewildered at the behavior of their parents and guardians.  We didn't understand what was going on. We didn't know why so many people were looking at the Muslim girls dressed in their purdah that sat alone as though they'd committed mass murder. We didn't understand why everyone was so appalled by the words coming out of the T.V. Words like "Suicide Bombers" or "Terrorist Attacks" were words I'd never heard before. Not just because of the language barrier, but because I'd never been exposed to such things. As the flight attendant walked slowly toward the counter, one could almost hear the breath leaving everyone.
         "For Flight E27 to Miami, Florida, boarding will begin shortly," she said mechanically. It had been a week since someone had flown planes into the Twin Towers, and at nine years old, I was barely interested in watching the news, much less hearing about people my own age that had died.  One of my fellow companions, my brother, looked down at our ticket. "Grupo seis," he said. I had barely heard him speak and that fact that his voice was already deep didn't help the situation at all.  He kept his head down and his shaggy brown hair fell into his face. His deep blue eyes seemed to be covered with some sort of film. They were dull yet they stood out against his dark brown skin. I looked on the side of me to see that the other people that I was flying with were all staring at the little T.V that was hooked up to a wall. I pulled on my brother's sleeve and motioned toward the T.V with my eyes. He seemed reluctant to say yes at first. He almost didn't let me, but one of our older siblings [Jordan] placed his hand firmly on his shoulder.  The younger of the two looked up as Jordan down looked at me and gave me permission to go look at the T.V. 
         I inched my way passed crowds of the mourners, the oblivious and the nonchalant as I journeyed toward my goal. There were other children that seemed to have given up making it to the front and rested on the floor beneath the adults that hovered.  I tried to conserve the breath that I was quickly losing. I kept my mouth partially closed and my eyes completely shut and shoved my way even harder. The people barely budged as my child-sized fists pounded into their thighs, legs and other body parts that I care not to recall. I don't remember how exactly, but I do however, remember bursting through the crowd and ending up in the front. I took a deep breath and tried regulating my breathing to no avail. There were too many people for that. I looked up toward the screen and knew almost immediately why my brother had not wanted me to see what I saw.
         "En 8: 45 y 9: hace 03 cuatro mañanas, los centros de comercio mundial en Nueva York fueron golpeados y destruidos en última instancia. 2976 personas todas juntas perdieron sus vidas. 2740 eran Americanos y los 256 restantes eran extranjeros," the anchor woman said obviously holding back tears. The T.V went black for a moment and a blue sky appeared. For a moment, I thought something nice would appear to lift everyone's poor mood, how wrong I was.
         I looked on in horror as I watched a plane fly directly into a building. I watched as the building began to burn and ultimately collapse. My jaw dropped as I watched a second plane flying into the second building. All around it, bombs seemed to be going off. "Who could do this to someone?" I asked aloud.  A man looked down at me and his dark gray eyes snarled angrily "Those Muslims that's who, all in the name of some 'Holy War' that Jihad thing, that's who," he snarled. I looked toward the girls that sat alone. Dressed in their purdah that identified them as the Muslims that they were. I understood then why everyone was so mad at them. Even though they had of course done nothing. I understood why the sat alone. I understood why everyone was in such a pitiful state. And I understood why my brothers didn't want to go to America.
         The Flight Attendant spoke again "We are now boarding Flight E27 to Miami, would First Class please board," her voice cracked she had been crying. The horde of people that once surrounded the T.V now dispersed and found those they were going to travel in with.
I was frozen. 
I stood there blankly up at the T.V at the bodies that were being carried away from the site. Innocent people that had died were now being carted off. There families would soon be called and told of their death.  I was stuck there till I felt my brother's hands rest lightly on my shoulders.  I jumped a little at his touch but soon realized that it was him. I buried my face in his pant leg and just cried. He picked me up and waited for me to stop. No one rebuked me as usual, no one told me to suck it up and be a man even though I clearly was not. I kept my face buried in my brothers neck as we heard the flight attendant say,
"Now boarding, groups 4, 5 and 6,"
I hadn't heard her say that the other people could enter the plane. I didn't care. I only had one thing on my mind.
I did not want to get on that plane.
I kicked.
I screamed.
I bit.
I was not getting on that plane.
It would take all of Heaven to get me on that plane. My brothers, both of them, stood in for Heaven and took me by the arms and stared at me directly in the face. Jordan gripped my arm so tightly it hurt. He brought his face so close to mine; I could almost taste the sweat that mingled in with his goatee. 
"I do not want to deal with this right now, truly I do not, and do you see what is going on right now? Nobody needs this, do you hear me?" he said harshly.
I was silenced.
I knew better than to negate anything my brother had to say. I looked down at the ground in shame and suddenly found great interest in the laces on shoes. Fortunately, my other brother, the more sensitive of the two, saw that my feelings had been hurt.  He pushed Jordan to the side and bent down to meet my tear stained face.
"Don't cry, little one, I understand you are afraid, I know, its ok baby, nothing will happen," he said trying to reassure me. Looking back at that time now, I think he was trying to assure himself.  I croaked a "Thank you" and took his hand. He straightened up and gave Jordan a harsh look.  I took his hand walked slowly into the doors. I looked down as we walked onto the passageway that was leading toward plane.
         As we got onto the narrow plane, there were people that had looks of fear, rage, anticipation but mostly fear, on their faces. Jordan was looking for our sweets and somewhat stopped as he realized with whom we were sitting.
I peeked past his waist just enough to see why he'd stopped. Beneath the thick black sheets that covered them from the waist down sat the Muslim girls and what appeared to be their mother and father.  Each daughter was holding on tightly to the hand of their nearest parent and each parent prayed to their god that nothing would happen to them or anyone else on the plane.  My seat was right next to the Muslim man but Jordan took my seat and had me between him and the other sibling.  I sat stiffly between them. The other passengers on the plane glared at them, and looked at us as though they were saying "I'm sorry, if anyone dies, you're first,"  I kept my eyes forward but couldn't help but lean forward slightly to see them better.
         The youngest girl was who I saw first.
Her face was all I could see, that and her hands of course. They were folded across her lap. And her eyes were locked in place ahead of her in deep concentration. What she was concentrating on, I'm not sure yet. Her jaw was pushed out and that told me that she had her teeth clenched, jaw tense.
Ready for anything.
I looked at the eyes that frightened yet hypnotized me. They were a pale brown mixed with a rage inspired orange. I found myself admiring her for being so strong. And for having the courage to get on that plane knowing full well what people were thinking about her. I wanted to touch her. For some reason, I just wanted to know what that much courage felt like. I wanted one day to be just as strong as she was. I thought I never would be.
I kept my gaze fixed upon these amazing eyes and noticed something I hadn't noticed before.
A single tear was rolling down her cheek.
She cried.
When I saw that, I was amazed.  I sat back quickly in my seat astonished. How could someone like that be crying like me? My brother took my hand almost instinctively. I looked forward and thought about how that girl must've felt. To be sitting on a plane full of people that hated her. For something one group of people had done that she had no part of. I turned to Jordan.
"Jordan?
"Yes?"
"Are you scared?"
I listened as the air on his lips changed its mind and left him. I felt his grip on my small hand get tighter.  He didn't have to answer me. I knew.
He was scared out of his mind.
         But of what? What scared him so?  I thought about the girl. Was it her eyes? Her face? Her in general? What was his fear caused by? And then I remembered
She was a Muslim.
         A member of the feared religion. Ignorant was his fear. I looked up at my brother and then realized, for the first time, that he wasn't as smart as I thought he was. I felt bad for the girl. I wanted so badly just to talk to her. If only to say a simple hello. I wanted to show her that not everyone in this plane feared her.
I unbuckled my safety belt.
         My brothers strangely enough didn't try to stop me. Nor did the girls father.
I bent forward far enough to look directly at her.  She broke her concentration and looked directly at me. This was my chance. My chance to speak to let her now how I felt. To tell her that I wasn't afraid. To tell her that she didn't scare me. To tell her that I wanted so badly to understand.
         To say something.
But nothing came out. I could do nothing but smile my shy yet hopefully reassuring smile. She seemed confused at first. Her pupils narrowed a bit but the next moment, her mouth began to move. Her thin lips curved into an attempted smile. I stopped breathing for a moment. I think my heart may have slowed more then than ever in my life. I hoped desperately that she would smile back. She granted my wish. Our eyes met and I saw her for what she really was.
         A scared, harmless little girl. A little girl, just like me. 
         I was satisfied. My heart beat went through the roof and my breathing returned to normal. I sat back and buckled my seat belt. I crossed my hands across my lap. Other people looked at me as though I were insane. But I knew, I knew that I had shown more courage than anyone else on that flight.


And I was proud.