My name is Teresa. Everyday since September 11^th, 2001, I have spent a great part of my day recounting one single event.

9/11. Everyone is supposed to have these vivid memories of the second the planes hit, what they were doing when the towers fell. Where I was living, the time difference placed me in bed, two hours into my night’s fitful sleep. According to my Mum, she came into my room after the first tower fell, but I only remember hearing about it the next morning. My mind was somewhere else; I don’t even remember her coming in.

I didn’t remember because I was thinking about I boy I nicknamed Hedgehog, because of the way he spiked his hair. (He called me Hamster.) I know that many people feel it is wrong, that September 11^th should only be viewed as the tragedy in New York. But when someone mentions September 11^th, I do not immediately think of the terrorist attacks like every other person in the first world. Instead I think of Hedgehog, and how he turned back into David on 9/11.

I always see it in vivid detail, although even in these flashes that seem so real, things can change. I remember the curtains being closed, with a pale edge of light zigzagging across the floor. The stars on my mirror were glowing in the dark. I remember the door was closed, and the CD player I’d hooked up to my old computer speakers was playing his favorite music, which I had adopted as my own, after I met him. (The one good thing that came out of our meeting.)

I was standing. He was next to me. Exact positions change almost every time I close my eyes. Sometimes I am being pressed into the curtains, trying to escape his arms. Sometimes we stand still, next to each other, in line with the curtains, our feet turned in angle with the zigzagging light so that it brings our bodies close.

I’m always wearing a white tank top that has turned a color almost as beige as the curtains from repeated washes. Sometimes I’m wearing a training bra – my first black one. Sometimes my bra pushes my paltry breasts up so that when I look down and see his hand there, I can see my heart beating too. I remember wearing jeans, but in some of the scenes I remember coming in sequence, my little blue skirt would make more sense.