Anticipation built up. Husband stuck at meeting with long-winded speaker. He's coming from an hour away and he's already 15 minutes late. The plan is to meet husband at theater parking lot. But, anticipation is building, and I'm beyond ready and starting to lose my patience.
Tonight is the long-awaited Sting concert- -my favorite performer of all time. My soul onstage.
I wait. I want to pull out my hair. I talk to myself aloud in frustration. I consider calling Brittany and letting her hear me vent before I LOSE my mind. I'm sitting under the light in an open area in my car at the theater. No husband. It's 15 minutes past the time I wanted to leave.
I'm going NUTS. It's like I am the dog stuck out in the rain with a warm meal teasing me through the window and I have to, have to, HAVE to, get inside and my owner won't let me in. Or, I am an anxious teenager and my parents are driving too slow to my beloved date. I'm in absolute agony.
Then, I see my husband walking and trying to dial his cell phone throughout the parking lot. Relieved. He said he texted and called. No cell reception. Then, we drive. Three turns later, I receive all his texts and voicemails.
Traffic is lighter than I thought. Red lights still blaze together and my night vision still stinks, but I'm grateful we are not stuck in a parking lot on the South bound side. Headed North on I-45, we can at least drive ten under the speed limit.
In 30 minutes we arrive. I can't believe it. Parking isn't even a problem. I am giddy. I watch people park. Watching Sting fans pile in. Thinking about all we MUST have in common. Wondering, if in a state of emergency, how would we all cooperate? Sting fans look intelligent, slightly older, stable, creative and classy. The type that SEEM to have it all together. I bet we could unite and do something awesome.
I take down my hair. It is 55 degrees. Perfect night for good hair. We dabble about the parking lot, lost between the Wortham and Bagby Place. It's almost fun. It's like an airport lot and the final destination is an adventure.
My teeth are chattering because I forgot a jacket, but I don't care. Hubby says let's take the elevator. I command "Stairs!" and I don't even look back to see if he's following. I said, "I have to MOVE!" I didn't realize how rationally irrational I was at the time.
Bubbling up the stairs the city emerges around us and I am transported to the location under the theater destination immediately at ease. It is like suddenly I can feel a sense of reason again and I can finally breathe without agony. I have arrived. I exhale with a sudden sense of accomplishment.
I am, in fact, so excited that stopping to sip for coffee casually and "cool" isn't my destination now before the show. I just want to GET there.
So, we check into the the Verizon theater. I excitedly give the man my purse to search with so much enthusiasm he's almost afraid to open it. And, once we are inside, I settle for hard, stale nachos with bright yellow cheese ooze for dinner. The bubbly sweet African-American lady with glitter painted nails at the checkout line is lost at which button to push on the register. She pushes almost all of them while the older lady behind her says things like, "Baby come on!" and directs a group to form another line. Dr. Pepper oozing over the sides, I worry about spills and the cashier lady says the right top sizes for our drinks weren't ordered. It's a swanky audience meeting for drinks inside a 711 store set up.
Downing lukewarm nachos and watered-down $8 sodas, we then head toward our seats which are within walking distance just behind the mysterious black curtain. GREAT seats. It's the size of a small gym. The seats are very close. Connected padded fold out chairs like pews almost. I am amazed that seats in front of me cost $50-$100 more. It's an inch of space, literally.
I watch the "VIP" badge people walk ahead of me. They wear their canvas bag totes with VIP messages on the outside. They look kindof silly and cheesy actually. I'm not jealous; they don't look even cool. And, for me, the ultimate tourist to say that, is saying a lot actually.
I chat with an older couple next to me. They've never seen Sting before. I balk. They are enlightened that someone 20 years their junior would be so in love with their generation's music. Her hubby has dark eyes and silver hair. He's donning a black leather jacket. She has bright blond thick hair and bright blue eyes. She's playing a mega game of Solitare on her phone. This lady is geniune. She's so sweet in fact that, me the girl who worries about others first all the time, can't obsess over stepping over her to use the Loo before the show. Yes, The English man is rubbing off on me.
When the first song "All This Time" rang out, I whispered to my bright blond "This song is about his dad. He doesn't like to sing it because it reminds him of his dad and he feels that his dad is somehow in the room when he sings it." She nodded and passed on the information gingerly to her husband.
I stopped and said to her, "I won't lean over for each song, I promise." She smiled, actually appreciating the informational trivia.
It was like Sting was the only person in the room. I think my husband was next to me and a few others ... maybe 3,000, but it was just me and my favorite songs performed live. And me clapping for them and appreciating every single moment.
I got a little annoyed when people got up to get drinks or arrived late because Sting could see them. It seemed disrespectful. The seats were so close and the aisles so long that if one person needed out, the whole 15-person row had to stand and bend into themselves to let them pass. If I had to go during the concert, I held it. Don't want to miss a thing, though standing up was fun because I think Sting could see me. If I had room, I would have curtsied.
It isn't too long before I realize I am probably the youngest in the room. And we are all seated and I desperately want to dance, yet everyone sits. I feel grounded. I am entranced inside every single drop of lyric. As if it's water in a desert. His lyrics are my Desert Rose.
Second song in I realize, "Crap, I wore non-water proof mascara." Already in silent happy tears, I am home. It's been too long. At last. First three songs are dead on. If he changes a lyric I laugh, slap my knee and say aloud, "He changed it. I LOVE it! I LOVE it." I wonder to myself if anyone around me saw the humor in that moment.
Light shows, blazing fiddle and drums. It's a light show, then solo glory.
My favorite song was Ghost Story, a song I'd never heard before. It's fantastic when you first hear your new favorite song. It reminds me of how Sting describes his first meeting with Trudie. He knew his life was going to be different forever. It's an awakening of the soul. It's a sudden feeling of "I get this." Like sinking into a warm bubble bath that's just for you...away from the kids and the cluttered remains of the day.
The song was about the triumphs and failures of Sting's relationship with his father. Enough lyrics to unpack and stay there for a while. Honesty. My favorite lines, "I must have loved you. I must have loved you." Spot on remarkable. Glorious.
Then, there was the Sacred Love song set. Former club songs became rock songs with a fiddle. Then, the country set gone rock. Nothing was lost in translation. It was just a new beginning. A story told by another narrator. Then, the folksy flair of the fiddle. Remnants of his symphony orchestra tour. Almost as if all of the tours build on each other. Like the way a folk story changes with every generation's finger prints.
Then, bright white lights like florescent fire crackers fill the stage. Sadly, I think, "Oh, gosh, this must be the finale." The crowd cheers as Sting bows, musicians in the band take a bow in sweet gracious humility. The blond looks at me for a cue, "He's coming back right?" I said "Yes, he always comes back."
I read he was going to sing Dessert Rose, so I knew he would. A couple of encores. The brilliant beginning at the end was this part. At the encores, everyone stood up. I thought to myself, "I can FINALLY dance!" It was liberating. I might as well be one of his backup singers. It is DIVINE.
After the show I wanted to stick around. I felt too loyal to leave him there. We had bonded yet again. Not like I'm a crazy stalker woman. But, it was like two war heroes spending hours trading old glory stories and then it's time to go already. I wasn't ready.
I actually care about this performer too. I wondered mid-way if he had enough water and if is throat was okay. Yes, he seemed to be a little off at one point. His voice was a little scratchy. Having memorized every note, I can hear a difference easily.
I loved the band because three new members were there. A young John Mayer on the guitar and a string artist that rocked the violin.
I felt right at home there. It's like when I see him perform, I come in contact with my soul again and everything that makes sense about me. It's not about worshipping the performer, but about appreciating the writer within.
The night ended with an encore or three. One lady ended up on stage kissing him and I was appalled. I thought she was selfish for interrupting his evening and taking something and making it about her. Sting was classy about it and danced for a minute with her. He even kissed her on the cheek. A nice large gentleman then escorted her off the stage.
He closed with SOS with acoustic guitar. Classic. Perfect. Like a warm fire on a cold snowy evening.
Still, I was sad to go. Leaving home is never easy, but you get to go back.
And, that's what makes it worthwhile.
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