My daughter and my nieces had never been to a rock concert. I didn’t like the idea of their “first time” happening in a stadium, so I drove the girls down to the Upstate Concert Hall, maximum occupancy 1,200, to see Wolf Gang and Bastille.
My older niece was a college graduate and already knew Wolf Gang’s music from her days working at Hollister. As we waited in line, she French-braided her sister’s and her cousin’s hair, and told us about their music. When she was done with their hair, she carelessly braided and un-braided her own long golden mane.
The doors opened we moved forward in a polite and organized manner, as instructed by the security crew. The receptionist at our hotel had told me to avoid the mosh pit and to head up the two steps to the left of the stage. Amazingly, we ended up in the front row. The only thing that would get in our line of vision was a security guard with a staggeringly large head.
A math teacher mom and her daughter were on our right - that made me feel a bit less irresponsible for taking my daughter to see a band on a school night.
“Common Core math test tomorrow for my girl!” chirped the math teacher, “Garbage, that! These bands are great, just watch out for the condensation from the air conditioners dripping on your phones!”
All was good. The only dripping was from the drinks of a drunken emergency room nurse: it landed on my younger niece. The annoyance was only mild. Some middle-schoolers elbowed us from behind, and my daughter pondered at people pointing their fingers in languid unison toward the band.
Wolf Gang delivered. Bastille amazed. The concert over, people started to move toward the exit.
We stopped to buy some band t-shirts and saw someone who looked quite familiar at the front of one of the t-shirt tables. It was the tall handsome guitar player from Wolf Gang! He was talking to the vendor. Some girls figured out who he was, pulled their tops down, adjusted their bosoms, and sidled up to take selfies with him. He smiled sheepishly and smiled again for the pictures. As we walked by, his eyes hit my older niece’s. I looked back and saw her in that moment, tall and golden, straight-backed in her simple white t-shirt. She looked him evenly in the eye, raised her eyebrow, and smiled. He blushed, held her look, and smiled back. She blushed her response and moved on.
My older niece was a college graduate and already knew Wolf Gang’s music from her days working at Hollister. As we waited in line, she French-braided her sister’s and her cousin’s hair, and told us about their music. When she was done with their hair, she carelessly braided and un-braided her own long golden mane.
The doors opened we moved forward in a polite and organized manner, as instructed by the security crew. The receptionist at our hotel had told me to avoid the mosh pit and to head up the two steps to the left of the stage. Amazingly, we ended up in the front row. The only thing that would get in our line of vision was a security guard with a staggeringly large head.
A math teacher mom and her daughter were on our right - that made me feel a bit less irresponsible for taking my daughter to see a band on a school night.
“Common Core math test tomorrow for my girl!” chirped the math teacher, “Garbage, that! These bands are great, just watch out for the condensation from the air conditioners dripping on your phones!”
All was good. The only dripping was from the drinks of a drunken emergency room nurse: it landed on my younger niece. The annoyance was only mild. Some middle-schoolers elbowed us from behind, and my daughter pondered at people pointing their fingers in languid unison toward the band.
Wolf Gang delivered. Bastille amazed. The concert over, people started to move toward the exit.
We stopped to buy some band t-shirts and saw someone who looked quite familiar at the front of one of the t-shirt tables. It was the tall handsome guitar player from Wolf Gang! He was talking to the vendor. Some girls figured out who he was, pulled their tops down, adjusted their bosoms, and sidled up to take selfies with him. He smiled sheepishly and smiled again for the pictures. As we walked by, his eyes hit my older niece’s. I looked back and saw her in that moment, tall and golden, straight-backed in her simple white t-shirt. She looked him evenly in the eye, raised her eyebrow, and smiled. He blushed, held her look, and smiled back. She blushed her response and moved on.
 Oh! We were close! |  ...but not close enough.... |
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