Live 8
Dear girl,
A story for you.
I went to Philadelphia this Saturday. Decided to go to the Live 8 concert. Claudia joined me stumbling onto East Broadway at 6:45 am in the gray morning – I had a little too much to drink the night before – and we were bleary eyed while our stomachs were rumbling. Turns out that nothing much is opened in Chinatown that early in the morning, even though it was the weekend, except for the bakery that you and I like to pop into. We found out the hard way after scouring a couple of adjacent blocks for signs of stews, noodles, or even sandwiches, to no avail. Our 7:15 am bus was filling up quickly, as it seemed like half of New York was standing in line in Chinatown. I got on the bus and bumped into the driver as he motioned to the only available seat: last seat, last row, next to the urinal. I frantically scoured for another seat to save for Claudia, who was buying red bean buns and tapioca coffee in the bakery. The driver was adamant in that brusque and peculiarly empty Chinese way. No seats left. I called Claudia to board anyways. Things have a funny sense of working out, especially when I'm traveling. A man in the front row left abruptly. His wife was late, and after muttering some obscenities, he left two seats at the very front. I was ecstatic, not only for Claudia and I were sitting together, but also for the view at the front. The driver's huge window promised a panoramic viewscape unencumbered by other rows of seats or distractions. I was also sitting next to the window, entirely transparent in the front and on the sides. I did leaned forward in anticipation as the bus slowly turned out of the station.
It was 7:05 am. Fortune awoke just in time to grin in our direction. We were off, moving, in a bright breezy day under an unmarred powder blue sky, munching on stale tapioca balls and tepid coffee. The worst coffee ever, Claudia and I concurred.
Much later, after the alcohol and conversations and smokes and songs, I realized that the best part of my day was the bus ride to Philadelphia, when I consciously identified the first moments since you’ve left that my thoughts alone was not of the self pitying or in denial variety. Something about the moving road, with blurred mustard and ivory lines curving their ways into a smattering of greens and grays – and something about the rush of passing trees and fences and sky — and whenever I’m moving along as everything around me moves and the music is playing to move my thoughts also – there is that sense that I’m cocooned in this brave world with only my thoughts and my thoughts relied on you, as a constant, as a north-south pole of my extremities to provide a stationary bearing in this spinning beautiful paradox.
I laughed out loud and woke up a curled asleep Claudia at the thought of you, breathing in everything new and exhaling your own dreams into this perfectly mournful and happy life.
New Jersey in motion: we passed fluttering gray smokestacks rising out of sined and co-sined hills, sawdust colored swatches of forgotten real estate and waving seas of emerald fields; creeks warbling beneath rusted bridges, flickering billboards identifying the peculiar life of the American creditor and strip malls that promises the generic bounty of the American dream; and of course, scores of cars rushing to a million places, onward with their bustling expectations in the safe calm of the whirring holiday weekend. And you, you appeared between the notes of Badly Drawn Boy and Bright Eyes, like a part of my imagination when really it was my memory behaving badly.
The whole city of Philadelphia it seemed was zoned off for Live 8. Half a million people were expected to be in attendance; the concert stage was set on the steps of the Art Museum, and the entire length of Benjamin Franklin Parkway was a converted into a fair and concert ground. It took us an hour from the entrance of the Parkway to reach the fountain, where a crush of people sat on unkempt lawn chairs and picnic blankets. It didn’t matter if there were people sitting already, as the crowd pushed and shoved forward, and the unfortunate people who camped out the night before now faced a crush of eager concert goers determined to get closer to the cordoned off stage. There was no discernible organization, and people trampled over carefully arranged blankets and mats and chairs. You couldn’t even stand without touching someone. We snaked along to the front, then to the side to get a better view of one of the many concert projection screens. Along the way, we encountered angry hordes of families and concert goers looking up at us (and many others just like us) who were stepping over their very bodies.
A fight broke out to our left as Kool-Aid was hurled and struck a boy on his immaculate white shirt.
We reached the fountain before realizing that we had a wall of people about half a mile deep to break through before we can actually see the stage or the projection screens. With no alternative, we rode the sweaty wave of human bodies through the ground muddied from the rain the night before.. The breeze of the early morning now evaporated into the icy heat of too many bodies touching one another, and I grabbed Claudia's hands and pulled her back, stepping over bodies lain out like roadblocks to retreat towards the less crowded areas where the vendors were. Corn dogs and crab cakes, popcorn, lemonade and chicken wings all had their own stands, among an endless row of simmering foods created to captivate a population willing to spend good money for a bit of culinary posterity. After spending another forty minutes backtracking, we situated beneath a shade on the left fringes of the crowd, just perfect enough so that we can see one of screens broadcasting the concert that was too come.
I played frisbee with some kids as Claudia rolled a joint.
We lay beneath almond shaped leaves shielding the bright glare of the midday sun as families accumulated around. I fell asleep and woke to the sounds of the bands prepping for the noon start of the show. I took some pictures of the area around me – will send them to you later – as a little girl poked upright twigs into the fresh dirt, creating a little castle, as a toddler smiled at my camera’s eye and shared his transformer toy with us, his round eyes widening as we gave it back to him transformed, as a couple poured vodka infused juice from their canister and cuddled, as an old man fanned himself with a newspaper, eyes covered by his fishing hat, a dog barked because he can, and as crowds of people lazed about like a great Sunday picnic, along with millions of other people beamed to us from around the world.
Claudia and I were overjoyed to be able to doze off in the shade. When we made our way back to our spot after smoking, a promoter gave us free bottles of water and tea, and Claudia bought some curly cheese fries. We had a mini-feast to last us well into the day.
Away from the main crowds, we were disengaged from the rowdy spiritual excitement of the concert, but our bourgeoisie interaction with the music provided enough attraction to maintain us through the sounds of hip hop, R&B and rock. I smiled contently each time the crowd around us rose to their feet and cheered the beats of Black Eye Peas, the rhyme of Jay Z, the riffs of Dave Mathews, or the soul of Stevie Wonder. You would have loved the line-up. It’s so Philadelphia and by extension so you (in all your ghetto flavors). Destiny’s Child, Alicia Keys and Will Smith made an appearance. Mostly old school songs that you would have found amusing, from Summertime to Survivor to Let’s Get it Started. Rob Thomas was also in attendance. There was an immense connection to the entire world, punctuated by the dry self-serving comments by celebrities, that made you want to go and do all things grand for humanity while lamenting the ever increasing depths into which we are all spiraling.
Swirls of colors and shapes, seeweeded and like prancing horses they danced across my vision, and I took in the warm currents of the summer sounds like batteries to electricity.
Yun and Sena and Teri made their way through the madcap partygoers to our little enclave, as Linkin Park DJed their angst over the ripples of flags and balloons strung across the packed lawn. Ramon and Melissa his girlfriend and Wayne also came out. I ran into Kim serendipitously under a nearby tree.
They came and went, each group, and we talked about simple nothings while reminiscing about our individual lives in our separate currents, flowing down so many different choices made in the past years.
As the afternoon drew near and images of the London concert were shown on the screen, along with other gatherings in Berlin and Paris and Johannesburg, Maroon 5 sounded the exiting notes. Claudia left to catch the afternoon bus back to New York. I left and had a heaping of Texas brisket at the Fox and Hound with Yun and her friends. We walked through Rittenhouse and I made a mental note of when we’ll walk through that place again, and it was like another world and another time that was so much more real when our hands intertwined under those round lanterns and sweeping oaks.
Yun and I hugged goodbyes as I went to meet Ramon and his group at a smallish Italian place on Walnut Street. Departures and arrivals – I was sad to see Yun walked off, more so because with her sister and friends there, we didn’t get a chance to really reconnect, but what was said was enough and hopefully I’ll see her again at the next stop…
Ramon and I made a pit stop at the Black Sheep. The temporary way station became our watering hole as Stellargirl and her friend dropped by. We were all drunk, happy, flustered and giddy because it was Saturday and our normal lives were still on the periphery while we saw nothing else but the immediate moment, the exactitude of the present and the shadowed faces before us. We toasted to change and to each other, to lives yet lived, to girls and boys and our dreams and the inescapable future. How many rounds of beer did we get, and how many tepid jokes were told!
Ramon just got a new house with Melissa; Wayne helped Scott moved to Houston; Stellargirl and I will start a business; I was clearly drunk and happy at the thought of getting my moped and maybe a new job and the thought of seeing you again. We called for more rounds and more brevity. We called for escapism and many things to fracture and disintegrate, so the world can be spontaneous and free. I left, stumbling into a taxi to catch my midnight bus as I remembered my last adventure with you. I headed back, after the taxi had turned the corner, after getting urgent text messages from Ramon that my departure was a bad idea. We toasted once more and Stella and I dialed Katy and Joan to give slurred updates. I was in a strange mind, allowing the hazy currents of whatever-goes to seep dictate my thoughts. I made my way out the door again, this time really racing to Arch and 11th, making a dash for the already departed bus.
I got to the station only to find that the next bus was leaving in two hours. My brain was a feast of spices and fire and moments freed from their key and lock. I settled in for the long wait under the fluorescent light in the mournful holding area and watched luridly as brown dark faces stooped against the walls and heaps of bodies crumpled on the plastic seats, arranged in rows like display cases for the forlorn and unwanted. Angels of desolation, wings clipped halos shorn, all wanting to fly again but instead they’re chained by this sinking mournful world, making their way towards destinations a half step forward and who knows how many steps back…
Ramon and Melissa were waiting for me in neutral outside of the station, their Ford Focus purring patiently. They opened a door for me and I jumped in, reserved ticket in hand for the next day’s repeat cycle. I guess they came after me, not quite sure what I meant by "I'm off".
Off we drove, towards north and the winding roads of Coshohoken, speeding through the uncomfortable night, as trails of yellow light streamed behind us and the highway seeped cool air over my temples. The radio clock blinked 1:00 am when I blinked awake from the backseat. The car smelled of new leather and the faint odor of disinfectant. Melissa opened the sunroof to the yolky moon. Dave Matthews yodeled about don’t drinking the water… I promised never to drink anything ever again, but I took a sip of water anyways. And we sped on, round a neverending curve, exiting towards a number-letter sign 19A or 91A, slowing down until we reached a broad driveway under an orange streetlight. Ramon thumped me a few times to shake me from my reverie.
I fell on a new couch in the new living room among half opened cardboard boxes and a flickering TV set. Saturday crashed into the disorganized catalogs of my befores and agos.
The morning bus driver was a little crazy manic guy. We plunged towards the turrets of Manhattan on a cool summer tollway. The clouds stretch like rubberbands across the sky, deepening the compendium of blues as their moisture reflected the pale sun. The bus heaved back and forth like a labored woman. I didn’t pay notice, as I scored the first seat in the first row of the bus again, where the scene was spectacular.