My brother, Lewis, has always been accident-prone. In fifth grade, he broke his left arm playing flag football during recess. In his early twenties, after a night of absolute debauchery, he fell into a pricker bush and sprained his ankle. Six years later, he dislocated his knee while participating in, let’s say, extracurricular activities. Keeping these instances in mind, I’ve harbored a deep-seated paranoia throughout all the years we’ve been following Phish. On one sweltering summer night in Pittsburgh, my worst fears were realized.
When the four of us (Lewis, my cousin Doug, my husband Tom, and I) set off from Albany for a Phish show in Pittsburgh, it was a particularly hot afternoon. This was just a precursor to what we would later experience. Upon arrival, we found that the central air in our Kasa was broken. The property provided us with a standalone AC unit, but it barely improved conditions as temperatures climbed into the high 90s. Given no other realistic option, we tried to make the best of it.
Our rental apartment was in Southside Works, an open-air complex right on the Monongahela River in Pittsburgh’s historic district. Opening in stages in the early aughts, this lifestyle center is modern, clean, and easy to navigate. You don’t have to go far to get anything you need. As soon as we drove into our temporary neighborhood, Lewis emphatically pointed out REI, a sports supply store in the complex. Looking back, I really wish he hadn’t noticed it.
The waterfront promenade, part of the South Shore Riverfront Park, is absolutely stunning. If it weren’t for the heat, we would have spent all of our free time exploring the area on foot. Lewis and Doug managed to muscle through the oppressive conditions long enough to grab some beer and brats at Hofbräuhaus and stop by REI to get Lewis a new pair of sneakers. This seemingly innocuous decision would later prove to be catastrophic.
The Monongahela River at dusk
While it is a longstanding tradition of ours to eat at McDonald’s before a Phish show, we decided to indulge in a luxurious meal at Del Frisco’s Double Eagle Steakhouse. I started with a blood orange spritz, the perfect tonic to such a sweltering day. The oysters Rockefeller were delightfully rich but not overbearing, gently dotted with the best béarnaise sauce I’ve had to date. I couldn’t resist ordering the dynamite shrimp – flash-fried shrimp paired with a creamy, spicy sauce is my ultimate weakness. Lastly, a perfectly cooked filet mignon brushed with truffle butter sent my taste buds on a journey from which they have yet to return.
Oysters Rockefeller
Finally, we set off to the Petersen Events Center for the show. With a capacity of 8,000 people, Petersen is a relatively intimate venue for Phish. To put things in perspective, Madison Square Garden, a venue Phish frequents almost every year, has a capacity of 19,500 people. The boys started with a classic, a 10-minute-long “AC/DC Bag”, one of their more commonly played songs. We were caught quite off guard when they busted out “Paul and Silas”, a song they hadn’t played live since 2016. Halfway through the first set, we heard the unmistakable wailing of Trey’s opening riff to “Stealing Time From the Faulty Plan”. No matter how many times I catch it live, the song’s kickoff never fails to catapult me into a fit of pogo-style dancing. It’s like my body can tell that it’s a punk piece masquerading as a blues ballad.
The lighting designer, Chris Kuroda, is considered by many to be the fifth member of Phish.
The second set started off with a bang as the quartet eased their way into “You Enjoy Myself” (YEM), considered by many to be Phish’s most masterful, theory-driven song. YEM then sidestepped into an absolutely face-melting, 42-minute-long “What’s Going Through Your Mind”. Making its debut only two summers ago, this emotion-filled song has quickly become a fan favorite. It’s almost incomprehensible that two years ago, it hadn’t seen the light of day, because I can’t remember who I was before I heard it. The lyrics, expressing the degradation of a long-standing relationship, carve into my heart, imprinting it with a shared pain that only Phish can convey.
Just when we thought “What’s Going Through Your Mind” would never end, the crowd was finally given a breather as the band delivered a gentle, swaying “Prince Caspian”. The song’s nautical theme, giving the impression of standing in waist-deep Atlantic water, lulled us into a false sense of security. It was then that my worst nightmare came to fruition: one moment Lewis was dancing next to me, and the next he was gone. Despite the greatest efforts of Peterson’s modern HVAC system, the arena had become incredibly muggy, coating the floor with a film of hippie sweat. Lewis’s brand-new sneakers were no match for such conditions, and his signature, fold-in-half-like-a-stapler dance move betrayed him in the worst way.
Believing Lewis had launched several rows ahead, I frantically instructed my husband to begin a downhill search. My eyes wide with fear, I started scanning my surroundings, praying I would find my brother alive. It turns out he didn’t go far, because when I looked down in the row in front of me, I found Lewis crumpled on the sticky floor of the stifling arena. When our eyes met, he weakly lifted his left arm – it was facing the wrong way, his tattoos grotesquely deformed by his twisted skin. I let out a wail that sounded like someone else’s voice, perhaps that of my late mother. My husband heard my blood-curdling scream over the music and clambered back up the rows to help Lewis.
As every emotion I’ve ever felt was swallowed by panic, Lewis remained calm, resigning himself to this new reality. I was frozen in fear, head fixed forward as if bolted on, so I could not look away when my brother reset his own arm. Suddenly, his left forearm was facing the right way, and his tattoos returned to normal. For a brief moment, I wondered if his arm was ever twisted the wrong way at all. That bout of delusion and denial did not last long; Lewis’s eyes filled with tears that wouldn’t fall, and I knew what I had seen had really happened. For the first time, we didn’t dance during “Julius”. As the boys fired up “Blaze On” to wrap up the second set, the four of us quietly shuffled out of the arena, dejected, looking much like a funeral procession.
We picked up a sling for Lewis at the CVS in Southside Works.
The following day was spent entirely at UPMC Presbyterian, a hospital I wouldn’t recommend to my worst enemy. Not to sound dramatic, but the best word to describe the orthopedist appointed to Lewis’s case would be soulless. He refused to believe Lewis set his own arm, even though it happened right before my horror-filled eyes. After eight hours of torture, we left the hospital without answers. Lewis was able to access his X-rays the next day, and we were finally afforded a single answer. A sizable chunk (about 0.3 cm) of the hinge of his left elbow snapped off, rendering him incapable of straightening his arm. Since we bailed on the sociopathic osteopath, we still didn’t have an answer to the most glaring question – would Lewis need surgery? To find resolution, there was only one thing left to do: head back to Albany, defeated.
Halfway through our trip home, I received a strange text from the manager of the Kasa where we stayed. He asked me if I knew where the standalone A/C unit they provided us had gone. I informed him that the maintenance man had already removed the piece of equipment before we left. Apparently, he took me for a liar, because two days later I was informed by the same manager that I would have to pay a $600 fine for the missing A/C unit. Mind you, between the four of us and all our belongings, we wouldn’t have even been able to fit the A/C in our car. The accusation was as ludicrous as it was baseless, and it would be an understatement to say I was fuming. No matter what I said, the manager at Kasa would not relent, insisting the onus for the missing standalone fell on me. I made sure they couldn’t get another cent out of me by cancelling the card they had on file. If you know what’s good for you, avoid lodging with Kasa at all costs.
An example of a standalone A/C unit
The next few days were spent in prayer, as I hoped with my whole heart and soul that Lewis would not need surgery. After a lengthy visit to the ER at Albany Med and an appointment with the Albany Bone & Joint Center, we finally got our answer. Through what can only be described as a miracle, Lewis did not need surgery. That being said, he still can’t straighten his left arm all the way. It’s pretty kitschy, though. He now has one elbow that hyperextends and one that does not. If nothing else, it’s a cool party trick. There is one thing I know for sure — Lewis will NEVER wear brand-new sneakers to a show again. He knows that if he does, he, too, could end up like Prince Caspian… with stumps instead of feet!
