I remember the second plane hitting and the towers falling. I remember people running out of the city, the mass exodus across the Brooklyn Bridge, citizens coated in thick layers of dust and dirt and grime. I remember smoke and fear and sorrow and shock. What I remember most clearly, though, the first thing I ever think of when I hear “September 11” is people jumping out of windows. I remember the horror of watching people just like me, taking a hopeless situation into their own helpless hands and jumping, falling, clothes and limbs flailing about as they plummeted to earth and eternity. This is my clearest memory of that day.