There’s no time left until takeoff, and the chills have started creeping up my spine.

Maybe it’s just the feeling of a suntan fading or mercury dropping. If doctors needed a poster child for chronic sufferers of the seasonal blue flu, you’d see me on the walls during your next trip to Health Services. Leaves change and things move on without the comfortable aid of humidity. But this year there’s more, much more, forcing my head downward and pushing my hands to the bottom of my pockets.

Today, seven members of the WKDI campus radio station team and I will take off on a flight to New York City. In the short, cold days beforehand, we’ve inevitably heard about the latest bombing attacks on Afghanistan. And we’ll probably look at each other early this morning and know everyone silently repeats the same two words. Safe landing … safe landing … safe landing …

These radio folks were supposed to attend the CMJ Music Marathon conference the week of the Sept. 11 attacks and without a pesky newspaper man along for the ride. But like most everything that week, the event was pushed back and provided with a one-month security blanket.

Of course, some of those set to go backed out. New York City always seemed a little scary, in a monster-under-the-bed sort of way. Now, the fears are more realized and we know just how long those fangs could be.

So they asked the Northern Star if anyone would like to come along, and somehow the opportunity fell into my lap. I said yes. It would be grand to think there were profound thoughts wrestling inside my head at that pivotal moment. Once again, my head let me down.

No, when I agreed, the first thoughts were of work and just what I could report on. Then I worried about who would take some photos. That was followed by wondering if I had any tests during the week. And finally, about a minute later, a sudden realization came: “I should probably let Mom know.”

She knows.

And in the weeks after the rescheduling, all the other parents found out as well.

When I agreed, the sun shone with unseasonable warmth. Tennis class even meant a little sunburn on my face. But in the weeks since, things have cooled. And my brain went into personal overdrive.

Many, many people have made that flight to La Guardia since Sept. 11. We’ll be less than a dozen lost in a million. That doesn’t make any of our fears less realized, however. To deny those feelings would be emotional suicide. The “What if …” possibilities still get lost in the everyday shuffle. Those WKDI kids calmed nerves with a little pre-trip party. I’ll probably pack and think the thoughts that so many others, including other NIU students, have felt before traveling to New York City, Washington, D.C., Pennsylvania or anywhere.

You’ve heard the speeches by President George W. Bush and anyone who can finagle a microphone and television camera in this news coverage blanket. So have I. They say we need to fly and need to buy, buy and buy some more. Help the country. Help yourself, and for everyone’s sake, don’t worry yourself into oblivion.

But the morbid fears continue and can’t be suppressed, like memories captured in pictures that surround a bed. Go to sleep, and they tuck you in. Wake up and greet them again.

A rational mind knows nothing will happen, and thankfully, the group seems pretty rational. But those dramatic pictures of Sept. 11 flash in a traveler’s head whether we like it or not. And in my case, those fears manifest themselves in some morbidly amusing ways.

In “The Big Chill,” a whole movie’s worth of warm humor comes at the expense of an unseen Kevin Costner’s funeral. Aghast at the poor taste in black (wardrobed) humor? Well, despite itself, the movie works really well. And in the face of midlife fears and a life retrospection with spectacular production values, the characters laugh hard enough and long enough so that the audience can as well. And whenever Jeff Goldblum garners guffaws, then something must be working in some cosmic ways.

But I’ll go out on a limb and guess that no one will think of Jeff Goldblum as we stand in long security lines and try desperately to catch a few in-air z’s.

I’ll think of what’s in store for you, the readers, when I pack up the laptop computer and multiple cameras.

Next week, you’ll read all about the trip through the eyes of these WKDI folks. You’ll read about them going down to lower Manhattan, you’ll see a little of the city’s aftermath and maybe that will lend even more perspective on an event we still can’t truly wrap our heads around. You’ll even read about the conference itself, with all the music issues that come with it.

But what you won’t read about in text is me, and what I felt. My heart will be spent on telling other people’s stories, and I wouldn’t have it any other way.

Tuesday night, I packed up my belongings and surely remembered my coat & all the while hoping for more unseasonable warmth.