Number two of my top ten list of the 2000s (in no particular order).
In January of 2001, I packed all of my belongings in a Uhaul and drove towards Washington D.C. with my mom. She had moved there the previous year and I had finally decided to try living somewhere brand new. Up to that point I had lived my entire life in Midtown Memphis. The only people I knew in the DC area were my mom and new step-dad, but I quickly found a job at Urban Outfitters in Georgetown and even made a few new friends. I lived there for almost two years and spent the entire time busy. At one point I had three jobs and went to school full time at a local community college. I worked at a natural foods deli during lunch, at an after school program during the afternoon hours, and at another clothing store in Georgetown on the weekends. Whew! That makes me exhausted just thinking about it.
I certainly learned a lot about myself during my first move away from my hometown, but the most memorable part of it all was living there on September 11th. I had an early class that day and had already taken a seat at my desk. The professor came in and mentioned that “because of all the plane crashes, we’re going to have a short class today.” Someone raised their hand and asked what in the world he was talking about. He bluntly stated, “two planes crashed into the World Trade Center, one into the Pentagon, and another one in a field. There are still planes in flight, so they might hit elsewhere.” I was trying to comprehend what he had just said and what that meant for our area, but he just moved right along and began going over our class material.
As I tuned out whatever he was lecturing, my mind started reeling. The first thing I thought of was that my mom was working just a couple blocks from the White House. I wanted to get up and leave, but was frozen in my seat. Thankfully, he did let us go early and I set out on my journey home. Outside the classroom everyone was trying to figure out what was going on, where to go, and if their loved ones were okay. Cell phones weren’t working and the bus that I took home was over crowded with panicking people. I was one of the last people to squeeze into the bus and made it close to my home. During the final walk to my house, I kept my eyes peeled to the sky for fear that something else would come crashing down. There were still several planes zooming overhead, but they were clearly military jets. Still, very scary – if not scarier. It took a while for my mom to get home from downtown, but she and everyone else that I knew were safe. The next day school was closed, but the deli where I worked was open and serving free food and coffee to the National Guard, who lined the streets of D.C. From then on, everything just felt… different. My normal lunch hour on a park bench in front of the White House, turned into paranoid sessions of “what if” thoughts. My subway ride that always stopped at the Pentagon, just sped right through as I caught only glimpses of yellow police tape.
The following year I transferred to the University of Memphis and settled in again in my old Memphis neighborhood. It was good to be home, around my friends and familiar streets. It wasn’t until just couple years later than I packed my belongings in yet another Uhaul and headed west towards Fayetteville. I’ve been here ever since.
Pentagon smoking after 9/11
Where I worked at an afterschool program
Our old house
Dupont Circle. One of my fave neighborhoods.
One of the best things about the area is that roadtrips are plentiful. This is me in front of Patsy Cline’s home in a nearby Virginia town.
Just a few of the amazing shows I saw while living in D.C. (except for Elvis Costello. That amazing one was in Memphis.)
And the main reason I moved back to Memphis…
I missed lazy, front porch days with my best friends.
