There’s this place in Cambridge—my favorite place—where five radio towers broadcast their anonymous signals1. I stumbled up them by accident during one of my aimless drives. I should mention that few people have been let in on what I’m about to share.
I’m a very phobic person2. That may not come as much of a surprise to those who know me. One of my phobias is anything that sends or receives signals on a large scale. Antennas, satellite dish arrays, radio telescopes, cell towers, these all instills in me this strange and powerful sense of dread. It’s worse at night, when their pulsing lights only hint at their presence, their shape hidden in the dark.
Night was when I first saw the Five Towers. It was winter. I was driving through some farm land, taking a break from one of the worst deadlines3 I’ve ever had to deal with. Feeling tired and a little high-strung from running mainly on coffee, they drifted into view after rounding a grain silo, far off in the distance, an array of 12 hovering red lights. Immediately I panic. Usually I deal with this fear on the highway, where the lights are off to the side, present but non-threatening. Here, as I kept driving, following the winding roads, the lights swung in and out of view, growing larger, until I hit a crossroads. My usual path through the hills was to the left. I had never noticed the towers during the daytime. The road to the right ran right up to them. In no way was I trying to face my fear, and yet I turned right. I drove slowly down the road, the tower lights aggressively bright. The Five Towers landed in a large empty field on the right side of the road. As I drove on, I slowed down, unable to summon the courage to drive right past them. Soon the lights spanned the extent of my windshield, then my whole field of vision. When it came to the point where I couldn’t see the full array without craning my neck, I pulled over.
Marco Chimienti
14.12.16
