Last night The Killers were in town.
In lieu of Family Home Evening I put charcoal around my eyes and David drove me (all prickly) to the concert. I had emailed him earlier in the day and foolishly written that I wasn't going. He wisely ignored me.
And now a confession: it was the first concert I've ever been to. And I think David was out of practice because we got there in time to see the opening band and the theatre was still only half full. Most people only showed up in time to see the Killers' first song, "Joyride."
It was a great concert. Absolutely incredible to see them live.
I danced. I screamed. I jumped up and down with the drummer's pounding. I begged for more. David screamed at me between numbers, "This is so good!"
The Killers' latest album has been the soundtrack of my life for nearly a year now as I've shuttled kids to and from. (David introduced me to it, of course.) One day last winter I told David that it might be the best album ever made. A few weeks later he announced he had tickets to their concert for my birthday.
We crawled into bed late last night and whispered our throaty goodnights because we were hoarse from screaming. And this morning, with a sore throat and charcoal smeared down my cheeks, I hummed "For Reasons Unknown" as I tied the girls' hair up for the day, and thought about my love affair with David.
There were a million reasons I fell in love with David. (Someday I will tell you the story about the one at the gas station in Orderville, Utah that sealed the deal.)
But last night, I remembered this one.
He is dancer.
He was always the cool guy who listened to cool music and introduced me the joys of a really good bass guitar and a soulful melody, of the language that only a rock band has, and of the transformation of words by rhythm and electric guitar and a bass drum as deep as your secrets. I felt like a groupie around him sometimes.
Last night in my new Bonnie Tyler voice I told him how strange it was that we had never been to a concert together, as he has been my music tutor all these years. And it seems like the thing to do when you are young.
He smiled and reminded me of how poor we used to be. When the choice between food and music was always food.
And so there we were. Fifteen years later (when the choice is now between food and music lessons) with four children and a mortgage on a Monday night, escaping for just a few hours back into our early courtship. It felt like a memory. Like a door to a life before spelling lists and medical staff meetings. When we were young. I was vibrating by the time we left.
And sometimes you close your eyes
And see the place where you used to live
When you were young.