Stories change with every retelling — sometimes the details and sometimes the meaning. The 10th anniversary of the Sept. 11 attacks will be here soon, and then the stories will begin again.

I was in New York on 9/11. From a bus entering the Lincoln Tunnel, I saw the fireball go up when the second plane hit the twin towers, and I remember that in the days that immediately followed, every gathering or chance encounter began with the telling of our 9/11 stories. Over time, as the chaos and pain and ruin moved into the background, the ritual of the telling of stories diminished, only to resurface as summer moves into fall, reminiscent of a blue-skied day when the world fell apart.

 

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