This is an I-Heart podcast.

This is Lee Habib, and this is Our American Stories.

Up next a story from Jocelyn Green, who was working in our nation's

capital, Washington, D.C. on the morning of September 11th. Take it away, Jocelyn. On September 11th,

2001, I was a 23-year-old single woman working in Washington, D.C., just eight blocks from the Capitol.

We were in a staff meeting when the receptionist on duty burst into the conference room and

blurted out, they hit the Pentagon, you can see the smoke from the rooftop.

The woman beside me screamed, and I quietly fought the rising tide of panic, swelling inside my chest.

We were told another plane was headed for us. We were sitting ducks and we knew it.

Throngs of people were streaming out of the buildings on Capitol Hill, running over each other to go who knows where.

Fighter jets roared over the city, drowning out the sounds of chirping birds and casting ominous shadows on this otherwise

cloudless blue sky day. Rumors were reported as news on the television. We heard that a car bomb

detonated at the State Department, that the 14th Street Bridge had been blown up, which was our

way to get across the Potomac River and get home. It seemed the whole world was falling

down around us. That afternoon we came together as a staff to pray. One woman quoted scripture

in her prayer, Weeping remains for a night, she said, but joy comes in the morning. Psalm

30, verse 5. I remember thinking, how long will this night last before we feel joy again?

The Pentagon was less than a mile from my home in Arlington. I passed through it twice a day,

up until that point, to catch a bus or a subway train. The attack on the Pentagon was an attack

on my neighborhood. I felt violated.

It was personal to me.

Driving home that evening, for some reason I chose not to use the metro system that morning,

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