Fragile // Shinedown

01: Daze

<< When you finally collide with the moment you can't forget >>

Rock concerts contain the greatest concentration of druggies and the unemployed, but that's only if you believe the stereotypes. I was never one for stereotyping.

I was raised on 80's hair bands, so I could appreciate the finer points of rock 'n' roll. This included expanding my preferences to include newer artists. This was the reason I was attending the Rockstar Uproar Festival. That and the people-watching.

Unable to use my phone due to battery-conservation efforts and being incredibly bored with my family who sat around me, I turned to the only other source of entertainment I had. Metalheads have a reputation and this crowd did not disappoint. Prior years involved everything from a drug bust near Porta Potty Alley to a streaker sprinting across the amphitheater grass while security just watched. I settled in for the long haul, eager to find another grand event of public stupidity before my favorite band had their meet and greet.

//

Four hours, three drunken fights, two aggressive PDAs, and one snow cone later, it was finally time to stand in line so I could meet four grown men. The line stretched past booths selling a great variety of useless items such as a Justin Bieber shirt that was sure to be a big hit with this crowd. My mother waited with me, my shield from old men's passes at me, in the blazing sun with over a hundred other sweaty individuals. The wait in line was at minimum ten times longer than the fifteen seconds you got with the band, but I would stand for much longer to meet Shinedown.

The crowd inched forward until I was mere feet away from the band's table. The realization hit me like a freight train. My legs went weak, my heart pumped furiously, and I broke out in a cold sweat despite the sweltering weather.

"Delilah? Sweetie, you're holding up the crowd," my mom gently whispered.

I looked up to see that she was, in fact, right, and the security guard was gesturing for me to get a move on. I was determined not to embarrass myself further, so I hurried up to the table. The first face I encountered at the table belonged to Barry. I handed him the photo to sign, still too awestruck to speak.

"I love your shirt," Barry said with a smile that tugged at his crow's feet, "Did you make it yourself?"

His question struck me out of my stupor and I grinned with pride, remembering the hours I had spent making my shirt just for this occasion. "Why yes I did!" I happily replied.

"Well it looks great!" He flashed a broad smile again, the sun reflecting off of his lip ring. "I hope you enjoy the show."

"Thank you, I definitely will!" I moved away from the drummer and stood before the next man at the table.

"Hey," Eric spoke as he shook my hand, "I like the shirt."

"Thank you so much!"

"No problem, how long did it take you to make it?" He finished signing my photo and passed it down the line.

"Not too long, just a few months of working off and on," I replied with a shrug.

"A few months? You must be quite the fan!" I couldn't see his eyes through his enormous sunglasses, but I was willing to bet that they were wide with disbelief.

"Yeah," I chuckled, "You could say that."

He smiled at me, shaking his head, and I continued on.

I watched as Zach signed my picture, the usually loud guitarist uncharacteristically silent. Being the perpetually shy person I was, I waited for him to initiate conversation. After what seemed like ages, he finally spoke.