"I had a Moleskine in my daypack and wrote in it as the rumors and
news from Columbine filtered around Boulder, people heard everything
from two students to over two hundred killed. No one knew anything for
certain except something deadly had happened at Columbine high school.
I used a moleskine to record my thoughts as I watched the second jet
hit the WTC. I sat in a kind of mute horror, the book open on my desk,
as I watched it happen endlessly. That Moleskine is my testimony, one
memory in the collective memory of American’s the world over.
One of the most painful things I ever did was to attend the funeral
of a student that killed himself. He was so young and what I remember
most about Alex was his sad, shy smile. It was such an incredibly
painful waste. I arrived at the church early, so I sat under a tree and
wrote in my Moleskine, still trying to wrap my mind around a
sixteen-year-old boy who was in so much pain that hanging himself
seemed like a good idea. Across the street was a very painful
incongruity: a father was putting up pink balloons to mark their house
for a birthday party. I watched him carefully tack the balloons to his
low fence. and I thought my heart would break."