After the past week, I’m glad tomorrow is my day of rest. I’m sure the day will include a trip to my usual restaurant for breakfast, where our usual waiter will most likely ask my husband and I the usual questions: How are you today? Has it gotten much hotter out? How ’bout them Red Sox?

For me, on tomorrow especially, one question will be the hardest to answer: Where were you 10 years ago?

It’s a pretty simple question, but in America, on the anniversary of 9/11, the answers are often heartbreaking stories of tragedy, relieved recollections of survival and even thankful memories of when the “I’m safe” call came.

For me, who 10 years ago was an awkward high-schooler living in western Virginia, 9/11 was merely another day at school, made fuzzier by the surreal turn of events that rocked the nation and the intervening years in between.

What I know for sure about Sept. 11, 2001 was that I was in the 10th grade. We had just arrived in Latin class and I was most likely rushing to finish the homework from the night before as we waited for our teacher to arrive.

I’m sure there was playful teasing between the jock and the popular cheerleader. Notes were likely being passed among the 15 or so of us odd teens who chose Latin over the more “useful” languages. Someone was chewing gum — a big no-no to Mrs. Petras, the Latin teacher — and someone else was checking her cell phone — banned on school property.

Mrs. Petras swept into the room, late, and without a word flipped on the television we used to watch “A Funny Thing Happened on the Way to the Forum.”

That’s when the world flipped upside down.

Harrowing images flashed on the screen. The voices of reporters cracked with emotion as they described what we were seeing. Teens were whipping out their cell phones without regard to the rules.

Thankfully, I had no loved ones anywhere near New York City or Washington, D.C. I spent the ensuing hours comforting a close friend who had moved to Virginia a short time before, leaving some aunts and uncles behind in New York City.

I recall little else, and despite the assembly I’m sure my high school had to talk about the events, 9/11 was merely a tragic moment among the other teenage tragedies for most of the people I went to school with.

And that’s a true tragedy, that 10 years later, some people can’t recall their answer for the question we’re all asked on 9/11.

The strongest memories for me now are not even the ones from that day, but are the ones that drove home a feeling of unity with my fellow Americans — the flags at half-mast, the flowers overflowing from the veterans memorial in town, the encouraging smiles and waves from strangers as I drove past on my way to school. There was a sense that our petty differences meant little in the face of the attacks. That feeling, too, has faded. All that’s left for many is the heartfelt promise to “never forget,” a promise I hope we all remember to renew tomorrow by sharing your memories, no matter how uneventful you think they are.