51 EVIE
E VIE
“Okay, what’s up? You haven’t said more than five words since you got in the car.”
“I’m sorry,” I said to Kate on the evening of the show. “I have a lot on my mind for work. But I’m glad I’m out with you!” I tried to relax and sound cheerful. “We’ll have fun!” I gave her a broad grin, then looked away.
“Hey, I know you’re not a fan, but I swear they’re awesome live. Once you see them, you are going to love them.”
“I’m sure I will,” I replied, looking off to the horizon. Already the concert was proving to be a surreal experience.
The Infinitum tour had been going for nearly a year, starting internationally with multiple dates at Wembley Stadium, Stade de France, and the like before crossing over to the North American dates. They arrived in Philly with only a couple of shows left before heading to South America.
I remember taking my time that night getting ready—almost as if I were going on a date.
Methodically taking a long, slow bath and allowing the warm water to soften my skin.
I selected beautiful black lace from a drawer that was otherwise filled with cotton.
With gentle care, I applied touches of makeup to a face that had earned its appearance from smiles and tears over the years.
I let my hair flow long and loose down my back, and a light-gray sweater hung slightly off one shoulder, an homage to my youth.
I felt pretty that night, I remember, looking at myself in the mirror.
I wasn’t dressing for a man. I wasn’t dressing for Kate.
I wasn’t dressing for anyone else. I was honoring myself and the importance of the night.
The healing that I hoped to achieve by allowing myself to face it.
I was quiet on the drive, gazing out the window while Kate chattered through the traffic.
But she’d known something was off right away, of course, asking me more than once if everything was okay, while I’d smiled and assured her that, yes, of course I was excited about the show and our girls’ night out.
I’m sure she was hoping for better company, but she had no idea at the time what she was getting herself into.
The two of you were at your dad’s for the weekend.
Jim had been out of town that evening, and Kate had left her kids with a new babysitter and we’d gotten a late start.
Between that and the traffic that plagued the expressway, we’d arrived to the thumping sounds of the opening act finishing their set, playing in the distance as we snaked through the seemingly endless stretch of parking lots.
There were still a few stragglers tailgating, music blaring from overstressed speakers inside their SUVs.
More than once, I almost turned around. Said I wasn’t feeling well or something, but I kept walking.
Over and over, I told myself to breathe, as if my nervous system had forgotten how to perform the function on its own, while we made our way through the crowds.
Sometimes when I’m in large crowds now, I’ll look around at everyone’s faces and think that you never know what’s going on in someone’s world while they walk through life as if everything is normal.
Kate had purchased the tickets late, so our seats had originally been in one of the top sections of the stadium. When she directed us to the gate for the floor entrance, I was confused.
“And hey, good news. We have awesome seats,” she explained. “Sixth row!”
“What?” I exclaimed a little wildly, stopping short. “But I thought ...” I thought we’d be far away from the stage.
“A friend of Jim’s had great seats. He couldn’t go at the last minute, so I bought them off him and sold the others. No way I was letting that opportunity go. Awesome, right?”
My feet were glued to the pavement. This was not part of the plan. Watching them from afar, where Carter would appear barely larger than the size of a postage stamp, was one thing. Watching from the sixth row would be a whole different story.
“C’mon!” she called, startling me to move. “I don’t want to miss the first song!”
After weaving our way down to the floor, through the rows of chairs, squeezing past tightly huddled bodies, Kate tugged my hand toward our seats.
I moved my unstable legs, staring up at the production that towered above us—a massive steel structure that supported a central video wall and side screens.
A long runway jutted far out into the crowd to a second, smaller stage amid a sea of people.
I would be twenty feet away from him, but he’d never know I was there, no different from the tens of thousands of other people just like me.
One organism worshipping at the feet of the band they loved.
“These seats are amazing!” Kate exclaimed, then looked over at me and stopped abruptly. “Are you feeling okay tonight? You look a little pale.”
“I’m great.”
Kate checked her watch, jittery in the seat, and noted that the show was running later than she’d expected, while I watched dozens of tour crew in black shirts moving like the parts of the well-oiled machine I understood from a lifetime earlier.
“I hope they go on soon. The sitter has to leave by twelve, and it’ll take forever to get out of here,” she told me. “Thank God we’re at least on the aisle.”
We waited. Until finally the lights went down, the music swelled, and the crowd began to roar in a frenzy of anticipation.
I remember closing my eyes, almost as though I was afraid to watch, and my heart pounding so hard in my chest that it was actually painful, while feeling Kate bobbing excitedly next to me.
And then I opened my eyes, and there he was.