photo by Jena Ardell

Whatever Tomorrow Brings

September 18, 2001: Sometimes I feel the fear of uncertainty stinging clear.

Nobody wanted to leave. The entire crowd of almost 2,000 people just congregated in the middle of Boston’s Lansdowne Street – and nobody really said a word. There was something so cathartic about having a sea of people in a still movement, occupying a city block yet remaining inaudible.

About an hour prior, we were all inside the Avalon where Incubus frontman, Brandon Boyd encouraged everyone to focus on the word “unity”.

You see, it was the first time anyone left the house/dorm/apartment/campus. Even for a 21-year-old in college, was it the right thing to do? Was it the right time to go do something enjoyable?

By now, you have probably figured out that the date I am referencing was exactly one week after the horror of September 11, 2001. It’s a day and subject that will always be near impossible to put to words.

I was a junior in college, living on campus in the outskirts of Boston. But I’m from Northern New Jersey, a stone’s through from Manhattan. That’s where my family was, except for my sister who was living in Manhattan. Everybody has a story about that day and mine was similar to many other’s where I just wanted to be home. But regardless of where you were, nobody could really go anywhere. Classes were canceled for days, there were support groups arranged and mass transportation from the university to the city was shut down until further notice. The only communication back home was via AOL Instant Messenger.

Los Angeles-based rock band, Incubus, was a huge part of my college soundtrack (still is), and I don’t mean background noise at a keg party. The Make Yourself record offered a sense of freedom and finding yourself at a time that couldn’t have been more appropriate. The impromptu acoustic version of “Pardon Me” permeated all corners of life and surfed a wave of honesty and vulnerability that was easy to connect with, and so greatly appreciated. There’s a subtle moment in this version, where Boyd let’s out a slight chuckle and I think says something like, “This is feeling quite down right now”. Those simple moments, that’s what I am talking about here. Incubus was speaking to us directly and encouraging a happy unity amongst strangers before it was spoken on stage in September of 2001.

My first memory of September 18th was that a friend who was not attending the concert offered to drive us because that was now the only way to get there. His black Honda Accord rolls up onto the bridge on Brookline Ave. The usual sounds of cars zipping along the Mass Pike below are replaced by a dark silence. Suddenly, somebody shouts, “We’ll just get out here” and before the car is completely pulled over, all three doors fly open and we literally jump out and start sprinting down to the venue. In the spirit of another LA-based rock band we were all cranking – Nick, If I ever didn’t thank you (for driving us), then just let me do it now.