Reunion Tour

Thud of drums, The Edge’s guitar lick reverberating in our sternums, and the first flinty sound of Bono’s voice. We never expected “Sunday, Bloody Sunday.” A perfect choice. We turned to each other, big, surprised expressions like in a movie scene. Nate fist-pumped the air, and we started moving, dancing in a sea of benevolent strangers. Nate no longer a metastatic cancer patient, years erased from my life with rheumatoid arthritis. As the cool breeze wafted in off the riverfront, submerged in the music of our lost youth, we released: free, young, healthy, and above all, acutely alive.