Seeing that image again- that of the doomed airliner exploding against the South Tower- is like stepping onto the sidewalk and seeing an old dead celebrity lying in the street. It hits me like it did the day the attacks occurred, as though I hadn't seen the image since.

But that can't be true, I feel like I haven't seen anything but this image since. I've seen it paraded around by political leaders desperate for more blood. I've seen it clutched by grandmothers wearing garish, star-spangled outfits. I've seen people look away as the retrospectives played on every anniversary after, switching off the television. And I've seen that image in my mind, whether conscious or not.

Seeing that body sends me right back to the 5th grade, waking up for school a bit later than usual to the sounds of my parents watching the news, one room over. Climbing onto their bed and asking what happened, being told that a plane had crashed into the Twin Towers in New York. Watching with abstract horror as thousands of people I didn't know died suddenly in a city on the other side of the continent. Getting ready for school in silence, darting back every so often to check the television. Hearing that the South Tower had just collapsed on the radio on my way to school.

I recall wandering around the playground before my friends arrived, not interested in playing on any of the equipment. It was a sunny day, a nice day- no need for a coat. O remember asking a random 6th Grader if he had heard the news- that the World Trade Center and the Pentagon had been attacked- and receiving in response a derisive "Duh, they're right next to each other." This didn't sound right at all, but I wasn't going to argue with somebody older than me.

My memory of the rest of that day is filled with vague images with no narrative. The Principal coming over the intercom, relaying the news and assuring us that we were all perfectly safe. My history teacher cancelling the lesson for that day, instead showing us a slideshow of photos from Ground Zero. Probably not the best idea, but this was the teacher that called 18th Century British Loyalists "But-kissers" and played Connect Four with us during snack time; he didn't play by the rules. That evening is even dimmer in my mind, just the constant noise of the television and my dad ranting about "Muslims" and "Arab Terrorists", people that I had never heard of before. I've heard a lot about them since.

My mind hesitates a bit on the way back to now, stepping through years filled with flags on all the porches, wars on the television, and my mom and dad putting magnets on their cars that read "Support the Troops", though they meant "Support the Wars". And now I'm here again, wistfully imaging the days when I didn't know about "Patriotism" and "Terrorism" and how equally likely they were to lead to more explosions.

The idea for these flipbooks is great, very simple and provocative. Thanks for creating this chance for dialogue.

DJ Tilley