Our Brooklyn neighborhood was close to the waterfront but not so close that we could actually see it, nor gaze across the harbor to Manhattan. So when I started out that morning walking to the subway, the plethora of sirens on the nearby expressway, and the plume of smoke wafting over the buildings suggested a fire on the pier, maybe one of the abandoned factories in Red Hook.

An announcement that the R train would not be stopping at Cortlandt Station due to a police action still gave no clue. The train ran underground along Fourth Ave, then curved towards the Manhattan Bridge, where it slowly emerged from the depths. And then a gasp rippled through the car. And there they were: bold and unobstructed in the bright morning sun, two iconic towers, two gaping holes, each belching black smoke, and crippling cognitive dissonance as we tried to find a way to think of this as just a terrible accident, and failing. One tower, maybe. But two? The world had already changed and we hadn’t even begun to catch up.

The rest of the day is a collage. Walking from Madison Square through the crowds to my office, the two smoking candles still dominating the skyline. A co-worker calling out, “One of the towers just collapsed!” Me trying to reach my daughter’s school and finding the phone system out, triggering the first deep fear of a crisis blossoming. Hitting the street, glancing downtown to see mostly smoke, telling myself maybe it’s not completely gone. Grabbing a cab to head uptown through streets clogged with black SUVs. The cabbie shouting “There it goes!” Me turning around to watch the second tower vanish in a pyroclastic bouquet.

The hallways of LaGuardia High School filled with desperate students, phones to their ears as urgent calls went unanswered. My daughter and I making our way back down the island on foot. Finding a working ATM and pulling out enough cash to give me some bargaining power if it came to that. Parks filled with workers unable to leave Manhattan. People clustered around cars with their doors opened, listening to radio newscasts.

Finally finding a train back to Brooklyn. Cars and streets coated with a greasy layer of ash. Trying not to think about where it came from. The rancid stench as Building 7 came down, thick even here in Brooklyn, thinking maybe I shouldn’t be breathing right then.

In my lifetime three moments turned all assumptions upside-down: The Kennedy Assassination, the Berlin Wall coming down, and 9/11. In all three, for a short time, the country found itself united. It’s been 19 years, and now we’re looking at another transformative period. This time, however, the country will be forever split.

I wish we had better memories.