Transient Transplant

My first concert was the Fleetwood Mac reunion tour when I was 7.  My parents and aunt and uncle drove with my 9 year old brother and I in the back seat of a Volvo, stuck in traffic while people blared their favorite songs through the radio and strangers approached our car and tried to sell us unoffical Fleetwood Mac shirts.  It was unlike anything I’d ever seen.

Being a first grader and watching Lindsey Buckingham on guitar was mesmerizing.  If I could be half as good at something like that in life, I knew I’d be set.  But Stevie Nicks had an aura of cool that I loved from that first moment.  I wanted to be her.

I’d venture to say most people’s first concert was after the age of 7.  Most kids also didn’t have a dad who told them they needed to be able to say they’ve been playing in bars since they were 16, so dragged them up on stage while he played guitar and told them to play harmonium.  It was an instrument which I’d never played a day in my life until I marched up there that night, following along with my piano knowledge and finagling my way through the chords as best I could.  But now as an adult I find that comment is a great conversation starter.

More than two decades after my first concert, I found myself with a pair of Stevie Nicks tickets, and I was beyond giddy.  I have a wonderful friend out here who hooked me up with a pair of tickets after I was running my mouth about how I’d like to go see her again.

I invited my fellow music loving friend, Scot, and we ventured out into the evening ready to relive our childhood experiences with Fleetwood Mac, and it was a magical event.

We met up with some friends at a bar before we headed to the venue and yelled over the Justin Bieber that was blaring through the speakers.  I sat there and bitched about it like I’m 70.  “Why’s this music have to be so loud and terrible?”

Then the bartender flipped it over to some Fleetwood Mac, and everyone in the bar went crazy with excitement.  Everyone has a story about Fleetwood Mac previous concerts, or songs that meant something to them.  There was an excitement in the air because of Stevie coming to town.

I go on tirades about a lot of things, and the past few months the rant has been “Be your own sugar daddy.”  Many of my friends have heard it come out of my mouth.  I don’t have a sugar daddy, and since I’m past the prime age of getting into that field, my motto has been as such.  I want to treat myself to nice things.  I budget properly, and work my ass off when it’s an option so that I can, in fact, buy myself things that I want.  I am by no means wealthy, but I definitely have managed to budget in a way that I can afford to buy some things like trips back to Indianapolis for both Christmas and Thanksgiving this year and my trip to New York.

So after a few drinks, I was ranting to Scot, who has heard me say “Be your own sugar daddy” about a thousand times by now, and I basically explained that I was like his sugar momma.  I was proud of myself for this, but Scot pointed out I didn’t actually buy the tickets, so I couldn’t be a sugar momma if I was getting things for free and not spending money.  He shook his head at me, and I continued to cling to my skewed sense of reality.

We parted ways to the bathroom, and unsurprisingly, Scot beat me out (the women’s restroom line is the bane of my existence), so asked me what kind of wine I wanted and then took one for the team to go wait in another line to get us beverages for the show.

The girl in front of me in line commented on who that man was who was so nice to me.  I said he is just a guy I know that gets me wine sometimes and laughed to myself, playing up my role as unofficial sugar momma with non-sexual favors, only being repaid by someone bringing me a constant supply of wine.

Scot came back, and when they wouldn’t pour my typical two glasses of wine into one for me, he sweet talked some girl into giving him a larger glass for me after I got shut down trying to do the same thing.  I’ve known Scot since we met in Prague over 7 years ago, and it’s the little things that remind me we’ve known each other a long time.  I knew I picked him for a reason, and he proved he was worth it before we even heard a song.

I sat with my large glass of wine, in my happy place, and screamed my heart out when Stevie came out.  She was as wonderful as ever.  I still had the same feelings I had when I was 7 and a huge wave of nostalgia swept over me.  We sang along to every song and experienced one of the best shows I’ve seen in a long time.   I still want to be her at 29 like I did when I was 7.

At the end of the Fleetwood Mac concert when I was a child, there was a girl behind me who was smoking pot the whole time.  I turned around and blatantly stared at her on numerous occasions.  I still inappropriately stare at strangers, so in some ways I’m the same person I was at 7. She asked me if it was my first concert.  I nodded, and she handed me a rose that she had.  I looked to my parents, to see if I should be accepting flowers from strangers or if this was some kind of stranger danger I wasn’t yet aware of.  They told me to say thank you, and I left understanding more about how music can be the glue that brings people from all kinds of backgrounds together for a shared, wonderful experience.