I lost my 16 year old and his buddy
in the crowd. They were making their way
to the stage in the early show throng
before the opening act did their thing.
I stayed back because I knew better.
As soon as the headliner played their
first note, there was an immediate surge
forward and the mosh pit was suddenly
on fire with the usual pulse, jump, slam,
and surf. I thought to myself, well, I can’t see
them. I hope they’re okay. I hope that if they
are not okay, they will make their way out
of the pit and back to papa. I did not see
them again until the end of the show.
They were both none the worse for wear,
sweaty, happy, full of awe, and holding
a rock show spoil–one of the drummer’s
beat-up, nearly broken sticks, a token
to be treasured, a trophy, a talisman
of the whole rock and the whole roll.
michael jarmer 