The Band Reunited and We All Bought Tickets

By Darlene Young

September 17, 2018

The Band Reunited and We All Bought Tickets

Praise God for a venue with a parking lot.

Praise God for sensible shoes and the group howl of all of us fellow boombox headphone tinnitus victims, swivel hips twinge-ing already with intimations of mortality. For two hours we squint, wanting at once to catch each others’ eyes and to hide from all the middle-aged bulges, jowls and crow's feet. This music grows our hair back and tightens our buns.

Praise God for soft-bellied musicians willing to make us sixteen again, still sleek and on the move, sure there is something exciting ahead. This voice, this song, holds everything the world promises to the young, and we will have it all, yes we will.

We smell the dance-club smoke and Polo cologne from thirty years before. We are a pack of wolves working ourselves up for the hunt, the state championship, the junior prom. We are a swarm, turning as one with the bridge of the song like a school of fish. Here, there are no mom-jeans, no dirty toilets and bosses with halitosis, unsettling lab results, finance charges. Synthesized waves of promise carry us along a river of right-this-moment; we surf on the edge of now and any-minute-now, a curl we haven’t caught in thirty years.

With the wind in our faces we turn to catch each other’s eyes, slapping palms: we were there! We’re still here! Hallelujah!

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