Tyro

I attended my first concert on July 19. A band called Summer Salt. If I am being honest, I truly only knew one song. Candy Wrappers. It is a cute bubble gum pop song. The tickets were affordable, and I thought why not give it a try? People are addicted to concerts and I am sure that I was subconsciously trying to find my new dependence. I tried to listen to their music the week leading up to the day, but truly, music is just noise to me. Especially new music that I am not familiar with. As a writer, a quiet place is a safe space. However, despite their music being a little outside of my taste, I found a few songs that will stay in my rotation.

I packed 3 beers in my purse from home and drank them on the walk to the venue. I wish I could say I did not crack open the first beer on the drive there, but I did. However, I only took one sip, before I suspiciously found easy parking. Drinking out in broad daylight with an open container was an addiction that I forced myself to promise not to get used to doing.

When I finally arrived at the venue, I went into the fast lane. Unbeknownst, I assumed I “made it there early”. When in reality, I needed to be in the general admission. A cross the street, with people that were probably waiting for 3 hours. After the concert, I was relatively confused as to why they would wait for so long. There were no seats, and they could’ve easily shoved their way through to the front. Anyways. Waiting in line for general admission was one of the most exhilarating moments of my life. Absolutely nothing was going on. It was about 90 degrees F°. My legs were beyond chafing. They were rubbery by the sweat beading amongst my raw flesh. Whenever they rubbed against each other they ricocheted and with a bouyant accent as a result. I was not wearing any underwear, and I felt very womanly and surprisingly, comfortable in my body. I’ve been half-heartedly going to the gym every day recently, and the results were beginning to pay off. 

While I ripened in line, I calculated this group of college girls standing right in front of me. Presumably, freshmen, because not one of them appeared to be older than 20 years old. The substance of their conversation was affordably shallow but absorbing nonetheless. Their naivety, and innocence to the world made the time standing in what felt like 100-degree weather for over an hour more enjoyable. Their girl power group made me reminisce on experiences that never occurred to me while I was their age, but boy it felt good to be put in their shoes. Looking at their small, tight bodies also made me very envious as a 24-year-old. Their voices were a lot squeakier than mine, which is what ultimately made me feel the most insecure about myself. 

As I stood in line, I was finishing up my third and final beer. I wondered if they were envious of me being able to buy alcohol on my own? It gave me a very hollow feeling of superiority. It was juvenile, I know. However, they barely looked in my direction, so they probably assumed I was drinking artisanal sparkling water. Despite me being slightly older than them, if only they knew I rarely get carded only being 5 years their senior. Was it because I looked that much older? Or was it because people simply do not care enough to card you anymore? I am trusting it is the latter. Trivial and pathriarical thing to discuss on fuming summer evening.

As I stood in line and tapered out of the conversation between budding women and my own rich inner world that I have cultivated, I began to simulate my need for intellectual catalyst.

My most thought provoking idea is if I were a celebrity and I was on the verge of being “canceled” (because I so would be), I would claim everything is a deep fake. I would “AI is the devil” this, “AI is the bane of my existence" that, my way out of a felony charge. 

While I was waiting in line I would constantly check my purse that had my now empty beer can in. This exact purse had not been updated within the last 3 months. It was a fucking mess in there. The lining was torn, dirty socks, matted hair ties, and god-knows-how-long-ago-receipts. The only saving factor about this purse is that it is from France. On a side note, it is not that impressive to tell people that you traveled to France. It seems like everyone has been there. As I reapplied my lip gloss for the 60th time to appear cool and fashionably inclined to these teeny boppers in front of me, my heart shrank when I heard “Please make sure to have your IDs ready”.

“How the fuck did I forget my ID?” I thought. 

I immediately made something out of nothing of the situation. That meant I must wear a bracelet on the right wrist indicating that I am under 21? Doesn’t sound like a bad trade to me. Not only was this my first concert, but it was also my first cosplay as “appearing underage”. Plus, since I drove to this concert, I did not need any more alcohol in my system. Yeah, my buzz was  going to be dead and gone by the time the concert decided to start. But, I do not need a DUI. Being under 21 for one more night was not a unfair trade. 

The concert itself? Was relatively good. I would say it was my first time ever really shaking a groove thang in public. It made it easier with it being dark and crowded together, so I knew no one was watching me. And if people were pointing and laughing, the hell to them. That is one of the many beauties of getting older, you begin not to care about what others think. Despite the group of girls in line being smaller, prettier, and younger than me, I was closer to the concept of Nirvana. And that is a virtue that you cannot take for granted. 

You also realize as you mature that there’s more to life than just boys.

For one, there is men. Friends. And most importantly, hobbies.

Was this entire essay based on my internal monologue waiting in line about a band I have NEVER heard of? Yes.