I shift from one foot to the other as my sister and I stand in line outside of the huge arena – normally our hometown football team's field. Tonight, it's hosting one of only a few bands in history that have ever necessitated this much seating before.
It's the middle of August, and the air is dense with humidity and pollen. Tennessee's seasons can be pretty dramatic. Going from upper 80s and 90s in the summer to low 50s and 60s whenever it feels like it. Tonight's low is 68, which is great in regards to not getting cold, but not so great in the air quality department. Oh, I should mention that I have seasonal allergies and a touch of asthma. I say a touch, because while it was bad when I was a kid, it has greatly dissipated over the last few years. That reminds me, did I leave my inhaler at home?
I try to remember the last place I saw it. I know I'll be fine - it's been so long since I've really needed it - it's just more of a personal comfort item at this point, I suppose. I'll be fine, though. No need to freak Emma out.
I look at my sister, who is bouncing on her toes, way too excited to even notice my own discomfort.
We are standing outside of LP Stadium, waiting in the long line of preteen to teenage girls waiting to turn in their tickets for a concert held by none other than One Direction. The billion-dollar boy band. The heart-throbs of the world, selling out albums in nearly every country. The greatest band of all time.
Not the sarcasm in my tone.
Here's something else you should know about me. I don't like boy bands. I don't like most of that genre of music. And I especially do not like One Direction.
It doesn't help that my 14-year-old sister has spent the last four years of her life doting over them, constantly talking about how she is in love with Zach or whoever the dark-headed one was. She had made me resent them more, because I could never hear the end of them. New songs, new albums, new photos released, cute interviews, etc. And now she had out-done herself. After a two years of begging our parents for concert tickets, and silently begging One Direction to actually book a tour date in or near our hometown in Nashville (which, being the country music capitol of the world, unfortunately tends to deter non-country bands) she finally convinced them to drop a stupid amount of money on these tickets for her birthday this year, and One Direction finally decided Nashville was worthy of their time. They were going on a world tour for their new album, Midnight Memories. At least, that is what Emma has been telling me.
I still can't believe she had convinced our parents to put all her birthday money into buying the tickets. Not only that, but these were VIP tickets – meaning we had backstage passes... meaning that after the concert finally ended, we would hang around to meet them personally. And because she wants me to be the one to experience this with her (mostly because none of her friends are "true fans" like her), I had been suckered into accompanying her to the concert I had been dreading for the past three months, ever since she got the damn tickets.
I look at my phone. It's 6:49P.M. This is going to be a long night.
The line finally led us to the indoor portion of the arena, where it was slightly cooler and more breathable. I sighed in relief, and pulled off my bag. I set it with Emma's purse on the line where security guards were checking for weapons. When they both came out clear Emma and I were let in, our tickets were scanned, and my sister made a bee-line for the doors that led inside the stadium. Or outside, rather. I trudged wearily behind her. It had been a long day at work, and because it was a Tuesday I had classes to attend at college tomorrow morning. Only my second day of sophomore year in college, in fact. I hope my sister knows how much she is getting away with making me come here with her. There are a hundred other things I should be doing right now.
We find our seats, not very close to stage but close enough for a decent view.
The lights go out and everyone screams in excitement for a few seconds, before going quiet in anticipation. A guitar strums a few distinct cords, a voice booms the first line from the stage, and my sister jumps up and down screaming "Midnight Memories!" before they are even two seconds in. The lights are cast to five separate spots on stage. The tallest boy with the long curls steps forward to sing the next line.
And the show begins.
The atmosphere was incredible – I will give them that. Honestly, pretty much any concert can be fun in person, because of the vibes of the crowd and the personality of the band and the light shows as the loud music. It's all really well done. I don't know any of the songs, and most are not my style, but I couldn't help but enjoy a few of them. The more rock-sounding ones, at least. Either way, the concert was quite long. By the time it was over, it was past 10P.M., but the night was still young for adrenaline-filled Emma. Once the encore finally ended, the overhead lights came back on and the crowd began to disperse. She squealed as we worked our way through the crowd and toward the indoor portion of the arena to cash in our VIP experience.
Oh boy.
We are led up by a team of people, mostly security guards, who are kind and polite and genuinely just excited that Emma is so excited. I am glad they are making this fun for her. I'm sure I am too tired to be very convincing at this point.
All too quickly, we reach a room behind the stage, a door is opened, and my sister suppresses another squeal as a lounge room with five distinct figures occupying it comes into view.
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Until I Met Him
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