I remember thinking, I’m too old to be getting nervous for firsts. But there I was, stomach full of butterflies, heading down the road for my first concert date with Matty. I planned for a 3.5-hour drive from my small Brevard apartment to our meeting spot in Atlanta. The trip really took three hours and forty-five minutes to get there as I went right past the exit and had to turn around.
My eyes met hers, and I instantly knew all of the phone calls, video chats, and texts had not done justice to her humor, beauty, and wit. Thankfully, she wanted to drive us to Philips Arena in downtown Atlanta. I was sure that if I had to drive, I would need at least one Valium to make it there on time.
The concert that fateful late-August Friday night? Luke Bryan, with Randy Houser and Dustin Lynch opening. We filed in with the rest of the fans and took our seats in the upper section. The arena darkened, the roadies exited the stage, and the show began. Shortly after Dustin and Randy finished serenading us, it was time for the main event!
Luke was on fire with all of his hits. We were singing and swaying along with each song. Sometime early in the night, our hands had found one another, and with every passing chord, we pulled each other closer. “Roller Coaster” began to play with an accompanying video montage; at that time, I pulled her as close as possible and turned her slightly.
All at once, there we were—the only two people in the arena. With Luke Bryan singing to us, we danced in the aisle, our waists pressed by the plastic chairs. It wasn’t the most elaborate dance—more like an eighth-grade slow dance but without the annoying chaperones.
We were nowhere close enough to the stage to catch the ceremonial tossing of guitar picks and drumsticks, but I came away with something immensely more valuable: a last first-dance song that would eventually become my walk down the aisle.
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