A Joyous Ruckus

 

WHAM!! PUSH!! POW!! SLAM!! RUN!! SWING!! GRAB!! PULL!! DODGE!! JUMP!! Pant. Pant. Pant. Hands on knees. Rest.

That’s about how my first mosh pit went at a P.O.D. concert that I dove into with Lam. I had been against the stage before, close enough where the bass determines your heartbeat. I hadn’t even thought of moshing before then. Lam let me know this was a mild one compared to others he had been in, THANK GOD!

The next concert with Lam was Disturbed with a Daughtry opening at Gas South Arena in Duluth—a venue where I had attended other concerts and All Elite Wrestling shows. This time we were on the same concrete floor that was usually covered in ice for the hockey games. After grabbing a couple of drinks, we made our way toward the front and stopped about two rows of people short of the stage. The surging crowd pressed us closer to the security railing with each passing song.

During the booming drums and screaming guitars of Daughtry, I decided to FaceTime Elle. She could barely hear and probably understood even less of what I was trying to share with her. As the song finished, Lam grabbed my phone and exclaimed to her, “I’m taking you guys to Counting Crows for your birthday!”

There was no mosh in this pit, just people singing, jumping up and down, dancing, and headbanging. The crowd exhaled pure energy back to the rockers. As the lights came on after the last song, I noticed something: the band was throwing out drumsticks and guitar picks! And I was close enough if one came my way!

Looking up, I saw a flash of green triangular plastic heading my way. Could it be?!? Yes!! A pick—maybe I could catch it!

I anxiously stood on my toes and pressed forward, just like I was back in the upper bowl of the Asheville Civic Center at the Neal McCoy Ingles Food Show, not wanting to miss out.

I felt my fingers tap the flying guitar pick and instantly I was wide-eyed, mischievous, and full of awe—just like Elle at the Salvage Station when she tapped Michael Franti’s shoulder.

The feel of hard plastic brushed against my hand, and I was back at Philips Arena, slow dancing my last first dance in the aisle with Matty while Luke Bryan sang only for us.

As I pushed against other hands and fingers, the pick jumped and tumbled around.

Then it fell still.

After all these years, did I really, finally catch the pick?…