Ten years ago I was sitting in a short stories class waiting for it to start. As students filed in, there was a murmur about something that was happening in Oklahoma City. Possibly a gas leak. Possibly a bomb threat. There weren't a lot of details known yet. The class speculated what it could be as the instructor arrived. She started class and we focused on Shirley Jackson's The Lottery.

My day continued as usual. It wasn't until I arrived at work that afternoon that I found out what actually happened. Fellow co-workers we already adorning their vests and smocks with various colored ribbons to represent the victims. It was all everyone could talk about yet we still had work to do and so we did.

After work, I went to a deserted Laundromat. After loading my clothes on the washer, I stood on a chair to change the channel of the battered television hung in the corner of the room. All the channels had cameras focusing on the site of the explosion in the dark. There was nothing to make out on the screen. It was practically pitch black with the occasional sighting of rescue workers.

It wasn't until the next morning when I bought a newspaper that it sunk in. There is was on the front page. A building gutted. Debris everywhere. It was like nothing I had seen before. It was devastating to see, even only in a newspaper photograph.

There was fear in the air. As Jennifer points out, the word terrorist was not something you heard often then.

Even though it was tragic and very close to home, I felt somewhat removed from it. It was sad, scary and on my mind, but I felt distance from it. Even just 45 miles away.

A week later, I called my mother for the first time since it happened. Soon after our conversation started, she asked me if I remembered a daughter of some friends of my parents. I did. "She was outside across the street during that blast."

"Oh my god!"

She went on to tell me what she knew. She was alive but in critical condition. They had to identify her by her wedding ring.

I didn't feel so distant from it anymore. Granted I hadn't seen this girl for years and I would say we were strictly on an acquaintance basis, but I did know her and suddenly it all felt more real.

About a year later I ran into her. I remember she was laughing with a friend. When our eyes met, I saw a spark of recognition and then hesitation. I could only imagine how many times she had to go through this already. We said hello and made brief small talk. Reading her face, I didn't ask about that day or her recovery because I figured she was sick of being asked about it and having it associate with her all the time. I'm not sure but I think I saw relief on her face that she didn't have to answer those questions yet again. I said goodbye and she and her friend walked off picking up where they left off, smiling and laughing.

Whenever this time of year rolls around and the news commemorates that day, I don't think about the destruction, death or fear. I think of that girl, her smile and laughter. Her spirit.