My memories come in clips. Sitting in my tiny studio apartment in D.C. watching the news and hearing about the WTC. Trying to make phone calls. Beep. Beep. Beep. Phones are jammed. The ding of a new IM from worried friends. Fear there was a plane coming our way. The heat, smoke and haze blanketing the air as Ben, Adam and I walked from D.C. to Adam’s apartment in Arlington. The hole in the Pentagon. Billows of black air. An empty bus stop. Tears. A lot of them. I went to school later that week and wrote a story about it. Mark got deployed. Fourteen years later, you can still see the scars that have healed over. The bright stone where the hole used to be—its color in slight contrast to the walls of the Pentagon that remained intact. It’s whole, but different. The military was this entity I never really thought about before. Then it became a huge part of my heart. Perspective.