And when the smoke clears, I’m just a mom.

photo credit scx johnnyberg
photo credit scx johnnyberg

The other night, Andrew and I went to see some music with some old friends. (I”m not saying my friends are old, but rather I’ve known her since high school and known her husband for 13+ years.)

So we went to see one of my favorite bands – though they were just the openers – Shovels and Rope. Did I realize we were going to a standing up (rather than seated) venue? Um, no. Shame on me for not realizing.

First we met for dinner. And yum. Great dinner, super happy. Right next door.

Then we got to Rams Head Live. And, since I’m wimpy about standing all night, we got seats at the bar. We were early enough that it was a choice. Yay. But once the music started, I kind of lost myself and there I was walking with my friend into the crowd in front of the stage. I wanted to be in the music. In the beat. And lose myself in it.

[Side note: if you didn’t stop to listen to their music yet – please do. Especially if you like country or if you are open-minded about that sort of thing. Michael Trent & Cary Ann Hearst have this thing -this electricity. Just listen, okay?)

I’m really getting off track here. So (deep breath), I’ll back up. Or jump ahead.

We’re standing there watching the duo and soaking in the music. I felt like I was 20-something. The music was running through me and I’d almost forgotten how much I appreciate that feeling. It was peace. And joy. You know?

And then, an actual 20-something boy pushed himself past me and into the front of the crowd. Okay, this happens. Whatever. I’m chill.

And then, a couple girls push their way to join him. And not subtly.

One of the girls kind of drifted and melted into the crowd. But the other girl. The other girl.

She was beautiful with long, blond hair. Maybe she was 22. Or maybe she had a fake ID.

She was swaying withe music – right in front of me.

Peace. Love. Music.

Right. All that. Except that that girl kept tossing her long, blond hair into me. And I was starting to get aggravated. And then more. And then more.

And then, I made a space around me and guarded it. And then, I was annoyed that I was at this great show and having to worry about guarding space so this girl wouldn’t toss her hair in my face. And then, she left.

If you know me, you know what happened next. ‘

I had to go to the bathroom.

And I walked in, and there she was – looking befuddled.

After I (ahem) did my business, I came out to wash my hands. (Folks, this is good practice. I’m here to tell you it does not happen as often as it should.)

So, I’m washing my hands and here is this blond. She’s even younger than I thought. She’s wearing concealer to cover her blemishes. She’s a little girl. Right, maybe she’s 21. Maybe she’s not.

And I looked her straight in the eyes and asked her, “Are you ok?”

And she quickly said yes and told me she liked my top. But I’m not sure she was really okay. I don’t know what she was on or who broke her heart or whether she’d had one too many but I know.

And more than anything, I know she was somebody’s daughter. And my heart ached for the mom who didn’t know or would’ve been there had she known.

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