The things I do for friends. Well, actually just one friend. If anyone else had asked me to attend a concert where there are five men – or are they boys? – dancing around and gyrating their junk in our faces, I would’ve given them a resounding hell no.
Yet I stand here, for Dylan, while she paws at these dudes in white pants. What guy wears white pants anyway? She freaks out each time one of them touches her and yells loudly in my ear that she’s never washing her hand. I want to remind her that she has other peoples’ germs on her because they’ve touched a lot of people and themselves throughout their performance. Watching Dylan sing the lyrics while I stand stiff-legged, being jostled between her and the girl on the other side of me, is a bit annoying. I should step out into the aisle and allow them more space to get closer, but Dylan would freak.
It’s times like this that I want to be different. I want to be in the center of the crowd, jumping up and down and singing along. I want to be able to walk out to the concourse and buy a hotdog or even a t-shirt to remember the night like every other teenager in the country. Why my parents are so strict about money, I’ll never know. Both of them work, so where does all their money go to?
When the group leaves the stage, Dylan grabs my hand with the hand she said she was never going to wash, sharing the boy band germs with me. She pulls me through the crowd, saying “excuse me” each time we bump into someone else. Once we clear the row, she turns and faces me.
“Are you having fun?”
“Of course,” I lie.
“Isn’t the front row the most amazing thing ever?”
“Yeah, it’s pretty cool.” I will give her that. Being in the front row at a packed concert is definitely an experience. Something I would’ve never had the opportunity to do if it wasn’t for her. “Are you thirsty? You were singing your little heart out.”
“I am,” she says, pulling us through the entryway. Instead of turning left where the concession stands are, she turns us right and we smack into security. She shows him the lanyards that hang from our necks and he signals for us to go through. She drops my hand as soon as we come to another door with another security guard. With our lanyards shown again, we enter.
The room is bustling with people. I look around and notice it’s the group we just watched, the white pants boy band. The guys are loud and animated. There’s a table full of food that Dylan leads me to. She hands me a plate and takes hers and starts filling it up.
“Are you sure this is okay?”
“Totally, it’s part of the package.”
I follow behind her, trusting that what we’re doing isn’t breaking any rules. When our plates are full we find a place to sit down. We’re eating just finger foods, but I don’t care; everything tastes amazing when you’re hungry.
“Do you want to meet the band?” she asks in between bites.
“You go ahead.” I don’t want to hold her back from enjoying this experience. It’s just not for me. She looks at me, her face almost sad. I smile, letting her know everything is okay, but she’s not buying it. She stays with me, finishing our snacks.
When my plate is empty she takes it from me and throws them away. When she turns and looks at me, I know she’s about to pout so I stand up and follow her to meet the white pants boy band.
The girls in front of us gush and make annoying sounds. I poke Dylan in the side. “If you do that, I’m walking home.” She laughs and elbows me in the ribs.
It’s our turn next. I take a picture of Dylan with the band on her iPhone, but decline when she offers to take mine. My prepaid doesn’t even have a camera and I’m not sure I want to remember this as much as she does.
After a few minutes of small talk, the room starts to clear out for the next show. Dylan promises me that I’ll just love Hadley Carter. I don’t want to remind her that she’s the one that just love’s everyone and anything that has to do with music.
I’m simply her companion for the evening.
When we step back into the venue I’m surprised to see more seats filled. Clearly she is far more popular than the white pants boys. Dylan moves in between people and back to our seats. We sit on the uncomfortable, yet cushioned seats until the lights go out completely. The crowd roars much louder than before. Both girls and guys are jumping up and down chanting ‘Hadley’.
I stand and stare off into the pitch-black stage. Music starts, the crowd gets louder. I can barely see the guitar player but can feel him close to me. It’s almost as if they want us blind for this show.