Purple Rain

On September 11th 2001, the most powerful men in America hid, knees knocking, beneath their expensive desks. Simple black carts were mounted with off-brand tv's as students around the country sat unsure in their desks. The young ones cried because the adults were crying, the older ones cried because the thick black smoke had aged them. Their innocence was gone. I was driving through Cincinnati at the time on my way to visit a girl I'd never met... in a city I'd never been to. Megan liked cucumber melon and the film purple rain. I'd met her online; I was seventeen.

Everyone saw that morning through unique eyes. I remember pulling into her gravel drive. I rang the bell, introductions were cut short as she held the screen door open. She was crying. Her hand over her mouth, she was backlit by an exploding moment on tv. What looked like stones were tumbling from a tall building. They weren't stones; they were moving...they were people. Here was this girl I'd never met, never touched, shaking in her living room. In that moment, I think she was as unfamiliar to that place as a I was. For an hour, I held this strange girl in my arms. I told her everything was going to be alright.

I saw a photograph of Prince this morning and thought of Megan. Most people remember September 11th for its tragedy. I think it was one of the best days of my life.