So Two Years Ago
One
Chapter One:
My back ached, especially toward the lower part of my spine. The muscles in my legs ached, every one of them. And I’m pretty sure there was a bruise or two forming on my ribs. A smile remained stuck to my lips, regardless.
I had been standing/dancing/jumping for probably near 3 hours, and I had yet to sit even after all that.
It was worth it, though.
My very best friend, Gwendolyn-- she preferred her middle name, Allison, though-- and I had saved for just over one month to afford tickets to a show our parents had refused to pay for. We stood outside the concert venue for an hour before the doors were opened. There was just something about being there before everyone else that made us feel like bigger and better fans, in spite of how ridiculous that really sounds, and in spite of the slightly cool, breezy autumn weather you could expect in Philadelphia in October.
The surprisingly small man working security at the club opened the front doors after a line of probably close to 70 or more people had formed, winding down the sidewalk and around a street corner or two. Allison and I were fortunate enough to make our way to the front of the empty floor that filled with eager teenagers in no time at all. We leaned our elbows on the painted-black stage until the already dim lights were turned down completely, leaving the stage dark, but not so much so that we missed the four silhouetted figures take their places. Bright white and colored lights were illuminated suddenly, revealing the identities of the four young men, although Allison and I and everyone around us knew each of their faces, already.
Before us, absorbing the raucous sound of the small sea of eager kids in front of them, stood Peter, Patrick, Andy and Joe. The guys we’d all come to see. To the delight of everyone in the crowd, the band promptly started their set with their most recent single, “Grand Theft Autumn (Where Is Your Boy)”. I squealed loudly in spite of my own inhibitions.
Allison and I fought for the entire length of the set to retain our precious positions at the front of the crowd, mere inches away from the center mark. I could’ve easily placed a hand on Patrick’s sneaker had I wanted to; had I not been preoccupied with a combination of dancing and keeping from being shoved too hard; had he not been stomping his foot to the rhythm of the music. I was pushed into the edge of the stage more than once. My arms were almost constantly in the air, leaving my torso unprotected from the hard wood; it hurt, of course, but nothing could wipe the grin from my face.
Once the set had ended, the crowd had cleared from the floor of the club, the lines had dwindled away from the merch table, the members of the band appeared, one by one from the door that led backstage, generously offering pictures, autographs, handshakes and hugs to the line of fans that had somehow formed neatly on its own.
We weren’t so lucky to stand at the head of this line, so we waited as patiently as we could behind 20 or so kids.
My back ached, especially toward the lower part of my spine. The muscles in my legs ached, every one of them. And I’m pretty sure there was a bruise or two forming on my ribs. A smile remained stuck to my lips, regardless.
I had been standing/dancing/jumping for probably near 3 hours, and I had yet to sit even after all that.
It was worth it, though.
My very best friend, Gwendolyn-- she preferred her middle name, Allison, though-- and I had saved for just over one month to afford tickets to a show our parents had refused to pay for. We stood outside the concert venue for an hour before the doors were opened. There was just something about being there before everyone else that made us feel like bigger and better fans, in spite of how ridiculous that really sounds, and in spite of the slightly cool, breezy autumn weather you could expect in Philadelphia in October.
The surprisingly small man working security at the club opened the front doors after a line of probably close to 70 or more people had formed, winding down the sidewalk and around a street corner or two. Allison and I were fortunate enough to make our way to the front of the empty floor that filled with eager teenagers in no time at all. We leaned our elbows on the painted-black stage until the already dim lights were turned down completely, leaving the stage dark, but not so much so that we missed the four silhouetted figures take their places. Bright white and colored lights were illuminated suddenly, revealing the identities of the four young men, although Allison and I and everyone around us knew each of their faces, already.
Before us, absorbing the raucous sound of the small sea of eager kids in front of them, stood Peter, Patrick, Andy and Joe. The guys we’d all come to see. To the delight of everyone in the crowd, the band promptly started their set with their most recent single, “Grand Theft Autumn (Where Is Your Boy)”. I squealed loudly in spite of my own inhibitions.
Allison and I fought for the entire length of the set to retain our precious positions at the front of the crowd, mere inches away from the center mark. I could’ve easily placed a hand on Patrick’s sneaker had I wanted to; had I not been preoccupied with a combination of dancing and keeping from being shoved too hard; had he not been stomping his foot to the rhythm of the music. I was pushed into the edge of the stage more than once. My arms were almost constantly in the air, leaving my torso unprotected from the hard wood; it hurt, of course, but nothing could wipe the grin from my face.
Once the set had ended, the crowd had cleared from the floor of the club, the lines had dwindled away from the merch table, the members of the band appeared, one by one from the door that led backstage, generously offering pictures, autographs, handshakes and hugs to the line of fans that had somehow formed neatly on its own.
We weren’t so lucky to stand at the head of this line, so we waited as patiently as we could behind 20 or so kids.