2 minutes away from the concert venue, streets saturated with parked cars, it dawned upon me that I had not considered the parking situation. A responsible man always considers the parking situation. Despondent but desperate, I cut my death spiral of negative thoughts short and stopped the car. I opened up a parking app on my phone and proceeded to book a spot in a parking garage about 3 minutes away within the span of about 20 seconds. What followed was a procession of self-glaze–for what other man possesses such quick thinking and extremely competent on-the-fly problem solving skills? Alas, this too was short-lived, for I was stopped before a crosswalk when a car horn caused me to abruptly step on the gas pedal. Trying my best to look past the death stares of the lovely couple whose lives I had almost just taken, I gingerly approached the parking garage.
There are times in life when our unconscious memory kicks in. Memories once ours, now scattered in spaces outside of us, tucked away in the wafting scent of rain-absorbed asphalt or in the distinct flavor of a dish tasted only in the cooking of a late grandmother, until we haphazardly stumble upon them. What follows is an overwhelming flood of emotions and thoughts perfectly preserved from a distant time. Coincidentally, I had parked in this same parking garage three years prior for a different concert.
What have I been up to since then? Why am I still here, in the same city, the same garage, overcome with the same wistful listlessness which consumed me then and continues to consume me now? Am I changing? Growing? Maturing?
I arrived by foot a little early. The usher directed me to my seat. For last-minute tickets, my view was surprisingly decent–quite central and not too far from the stage, with plenty of vacant seats on either side of me. The venue itself was lovely and charming. Plush, velvet seats were set atop an ornate carpet. The sloping balcony overhead reminded me of the theatres of old which I had only encountered in books from my childhood. Recorded bird sounds filled the room, and the pristine serenity of a magical forest or sacred grove seemed to preside over the waiting audience.
When the lights dimmed, warm, melodic nylon strings began to play. The grand curtains gradually drew back, revealing the singer and her orchestral ensemble. Her clear, resonant voice pierced the dark and enveloped my heart. My blurry, dry eyes made the soft lights on the stage refract, and as the lights turned and twinkled like stars in the night sky, my questions about the world, about who I am and who I’m becoming, seemed to turn and twinkle with them, equally luminous and fleetingly beautiful.
marginalia 