A Swampscott College Student's Experience the Past Week in Boston

The week started out as it normally would, with the sun rising over Boston, and everybody getting up to go about their business, except today was a special day. Today was Marathon Monday, the day that runners like me look forward to all year long. To go down and watch the dedicated cross the finish line after 26.2 miles of agony and hard work. The night before, my roommate Mike and I had planned to wake up early, camp out and watch the elite runners finish. However, we both overslept and ended up waking up around 11 in the morning, so after quickly getting changed and showered, we headed down, getting to mile 26 around 11:45 or so. Soon the elite women came in, and we both cheered as local Shalane Flanagan finished fourth, followed by the elite men. Unfortunately, Mike had to go back to work on a project. So I was down by the finish line, when I got a text from my high-school friend Matt (this was now about 1:15) saying he was down there and we should hang out, watch the finish and stay around the Boylston area. After spending a bit of time looking for Matt, we both realized we were on opposite sides of the street, making meeting up pretty much impossible. We realized this and both agreed that instead of hanging out around the finish, we should just head back – Matt back to Swampscott, and myself back to my dorm. I got back to the dorm around 2:45, and sat down to get started on homework. At this time, all of my college friends knew I had gone down to the marathon but no one had known I’d come back, so shortly after I got a missed call from my friend Brian, and then a text that read ‘Call us – ASAP.’ Almost immediately after I read this, I got a call from my mom telling me to turn on the news. I flicked on the television, and immediately a sense of horror crept within me. I rushed down to my friend Brian’s room, who (along with my friend Joe) was sitting, eyes glued to the television. For the rest of the day, that is all we did, sat there. Watching, trying to comprehend what had just happened.

As the day crept eerily on, RAs contacted us, with the message ‘Stay inside, call your parents, and do not go out.’ The immediate thought that went through my head, was ‘Who did this? Who would attack Boston?’ Never in a million years did I imagine a terrorist attack happening in my home city, so close to my hometown. I went to bed that night the most anxious I have ever felt. 

The day after the attack, an eerie feeling lingered throughout Boston. People went about business as normal, and the way the city rebounded after having such a violent incident was incredible. But amidst the hustle and bustle, amidst the people going about their daily lives, was the question of who did this, and why? The spirit of the marathon is to unite people regardless of where they come from, their ability level and what their background is, and to have someone deliberately try and rob these people of that? It felt sickening. Classes went on as normal, with some teachers mentioning the attacks in passing, others not at all, where a few dedicated conversations to the incident. And I thank these teachers, because that’s where I found the most solace, and healing – through group discussion.

As the attack became known nation- and world-wide, it became clear that for the moment no one knew who did this or why, and wouldn’t for possibly a long time. So the city continued on for the next few days, determined to not let these attackers affect them in any way. During my runs along Charles River, I would look down and see chalk messages written on the pathway for runners and bikers with messages such as ‘Be strong’ or ‘Together we are one.’ But the one that stuck most was one that by now everyone has heard: Boston Strong. After the attack the city knew nothing about who did this or why, but continued to persevere and not let these attackers affect their way of life. The runners I see normally were still there, the bikers and rowers and everyone were all there too. They would not let these people affect their way of life. To quote a photo I saw, we would just have to ‘keep wicked calm, and carry the hell on’.

And that is exactly what I did. I think I can speak for every runner on the Charles by saying that we all ran with more determination than we have ever run before. Along with the runners I would see every day, there were new ones – and everyone was determined to carry on the spirit of the marathon and the spirit of Boston despite the troubling events.

And after about a week of not knowing, and mere photos of suspects, everything ramped up on Thursday night to Friday night, and what were possibly the craziest and most stressful hours that I’ve seen in the city of Boston.

Around 8:30 PM on Thursday night, I went for a nice, easy night run and got back around 10 PM. After meeting up with my friend for dinner, we both headed back to our dorms. And that’s when we’d heard the news. I first found out from Facebook where I saw the status ‘Police officer shot on MIT campus.’ It made me fill with dread. At first I thought this was a separate event from the attacks, and just couldn’t handle it. It had been such a soul-crushing week already, that this piled on top of everything seemed almost too much. I had just been running on the MIT campus, and everything had seemed so calm. To have something so violent happen so close to home, happen again, it hit hard.

After finding out about the shooting in MIT, I went to bed both physically and emotionally exhausted from what had happened in the past week, hoping to find out more. I awoke the next day around 8:30 in the morning to a text message from the University saying “Governor to ALL Boston: shelter in place, stay indoors.” To say I was confused is an understatement; I was panicked and felt completely scared. I immediately went to the television where they debriefed on the chaos that had happened the night before. Two brothers robbed a 7-11, shot and killed and MIT police officer, and were suspected of being the Boston Marathon Bombers. One of the brothers had been killed in the gunfight, while the other Dzokhar Tsarnaev (referred to as suspect #2) was on the lamb. After hearing this, I felt the most terrified I have ever felt. The terrorist suspect had been identified. He was armed and dangerous. And he was somewhere in the city of Boston.

For the rest of the day, my friends and I huddled around the TV eating up every update they told us, with extreme anxiety and fear. Everyone I knew sat wondering with bated breath if they would catch the guy, not knowing what would happen. In the middle of the day, my roommate and I ventured out to the dining hall (we were allowed to leave for food if we notified the RA). The scene in Boston was the most eerie I’d ever seen. The city was a ghost town, with police officers stationed in various locations, on the lookout. Everyone had a mutual understanding of what was going on, and everyone was scared. The day was one riddled with anxiety and fear. So much was at stake, and the whole city was shutdown. Everyone I knew was sitting in his or her dorms desperately wanting more information as to what happened. 

After a day of anxiety and panic, the report came on the news ‘Shelter in Place Lifted - Suspect Still at Large.’  Then came a text from the university saying that we could leave the dorms. Local news quickly switched to world news, which gave a summary of the day’s events in Boston. As my roommate and I were about to leave, we heard something. The world news had switched back to local news. The announcer sounded very startled, and out of breath. They had found a body in Watertown under a boat, believed to be the body of Dzokhar Tsarnaev. Immediately, it was back to the television. We soon went down to our friends’ room, where for the rest of the night we watched anxiously to find out what happened. After what seemed like hours and hours of waiting, the announcement was made. They got him.

Immediately my friends and I all ran out into the Fenway (where my dorm is located) and were greeted by an outpouring of neighboring students from the dorm next to ours. Everyone was cheering, but our cheering was deafening compared to the screams coming from Hemenway Street. We followed the screams and came to what was possibly the most amazing sight I’ve ever seen. Hundreds, if not thousands of people were in Hemenway street, shouting, cheering, singing. American flags were everywhere, people were dancing and people were happy. The chanting of USA alternated with the singing of our National Anthem was absolutely amazing. Never in my life have I felt so patriotic. People were hugging people they didn’t even know, high-fiving complete strangers, in what was maybe the friendliest riot in Boston history.

The cops showed up soon, but with a different presence. Everyone was hugging, cheering them on and shaking their hand for the amazing job they did. After about two hours the rally subsided, and everyone headed back to his or her dorms to celebrate. Out of respect, my friends and I decided to head down to the entrance of Boylston street and visit the memorial set up for the Marathon Bombing victims. On our way there, people were shouting in the street over the stress lifted on the city. Finally we got there, and sat in silence, reflecting. Amidst this silence, I experienced what was the most powerful experience I’ve ever had. Kneeling down, looking at the flowers and the letters written, I stood up, and was greeted by the cop overlooking the memorial. I reached out to shake his hand, and he shook mine. His only words were ‘Thanks buddy.’ but the feeling in the handshake was so somber, so powerful and so much meaning behind it that I felt moved by the beauty that had emerged amongst this tragedy.

People were hugging people who they had never known, over an evil being removed from the city. Peace had washed over everyone like I had never seen it before, and it was truly an experience. After walking around Boylston, hugging people out of joy and patriotism, I returned back to the dorm and slept easy for the first night that week.

The most powerful moment of the week though, came today, Saturday, at the Red Sox game. My three friends and I had bought the tickets well in advance, but we knew that today’s game would have meaning beyond belief. The game started off with the mayor, the governor, and the police commissioner all present, while the organist started Fenway Park in singing the National Anthem. Like the recent Bruins’ game, this National Anthem was sung by the fans. The voices echoed throughout the park, with many fans holding up the ‘Boston Strong’ sign. It was haunting, beautiful and powerful. As the game went on, there was an atmosphere among the fans that I’ve never seen anywhere before. Everyone knew Boston was their hometown, they were strong and that this game was meaningful beyond words. And when Neil Diamond came out and led the park in singing ‘Sweet Caroline’ you could truly feel the pride pulsing throughout the crowd. The whole city had just endured heartache and terror, but the good times at the Red Sox game seemed so so good. What the city had experienced was traumatic, but what I’ve seen has shown me that it will be stronger, more unified and strengthened because of this. Boston, it’s been a stressful week, but I’m proud to say this: you’re my home.