Planes crashed into landmarks while I overslept my alarm clock.

I was awoken at 7:20 a.m., 94 minutes after the first plane hit the World Trade Center on the other side of the country. "Layla, where are at you right now?" The words on the other end of that phone are still one of the clearest memories I have of that day.

I rushed to my television and turned it on, not understanding what I saw. My roommate was awoken by my cries of "Oh, my gosh!" She didn't understand, either.

Staring at the television, things began to click into place. "My sister! She's there. In New York." Two weeks earlier, she had moved to New York City to start college. "Ohhh," said the voice on the other end of the phone. "You better call her. I'll see you at the paper."

Phones in New York were down. I called my mom in Chicago. She hadn't reached my sister yet, either. It would take two more conversations with my mom before I remembered to wish her a happy birthday.

I went to work to undo the work I had stayed up late the night before finishing. Our newspaper was supposed to go to press at noon that day, but it was several hours late. The printers didn't mind.

After what seemed like an eternity, I got through to my sister on her cell phone, and she described the scene as she looked down from her dorm window in the middle of Manhattan. "I see great plumes of smoke. Below, there are no cars on the streets. No, there's one car, and it's driving the wrong direction." People lined the sidewalks of New York, waiting to donate blood for the wounded. It wasn't used.

I talked to a girl named Laura. A high school friend of my sister, she lived in the same city I did and watched it all unfold from a distance. The difference was that her older sister was in the second tower of the World Trade Center. She called her family when the first tower was hit, and she was being told not to evacuate. Her family watched as the second tower was hit, and it was agony until they heard that she made it out. Laura was calm about it, but I imagine she was still in shock. She's probably still in shock today, realizing her sister was one of the lucky ones.

I talked to Faux Pas over AIM. "Can I be a journalist for a moment and ask you a question?" He agreed, and I made sure I had his name spelled correctly. "And can I ask where you work?" He replied: "Yes. New York City, one block from the World Trade Center." He described the smell, the sounds, the sights as he was in his office, then as he was out on the street, escaping it all. He said it was like walking near a volcano. "Usually, you don't speak to strangers in Manhattan. However, everyone was discussing what just happened," he said. It took hours for him to reach his wife and know that she was OK.

The rest of the day was a blur. I was too busy in my office to watch the television in the newsroom, but I think I'm glad I missed some of the coverage. I heard and saw most of it later, and at the time I was just glad to have work on which to focus my attention.

I got home around 3:30. I remember nothing more of that day.