My Blue Marble

It was a Tuesday. The doors opened at seven, so we got there around six forty five and parked next to the big fence where a group of middle-aged men were playing soccer. They had a tiny goal and feet that were disproportionately fast considering their gut's over hung their athletic shorts. SPF watched in admiration as the goalie shot in front of the goal with a kick that launched the ball across the field.

Nice save, he nodded.

We locked up the truck and headed back to the line that had begun to form outside the venue; a serpentine, eclectic menagerie of fans of the two-member, independent punk band we were there to see. We noted that the venue seemed to have a police station as a store front, though there was no activity behind the glass windows as the sun began to ease towards the horizon.

Once we approached the end of the line, two women holding a sign stating "Free Make-overs" walked by. One of them was wearing ballet slippers that had been blackened by daily use, it seemed. She walked by on her toes. SPF's eyes widened.

Eventually we found our way around to the back of the line and stood between four college-aged guys in full suit and tie and a band of three friends in white-face make-up. At first I was afraid that we didn't fit in and jealousy eyed the black and white striped leggings that a girl was wearing a dozen people behind me in line. But then I realized, this is the type of crowd where everyone fits in who is there to see the band. Everyone is welcome.

We had been standing in line for a few minutes when a girl came around the corner in what I can only describe as a purple French Maid's outfit. She, too, had a white-painted face with red circles on her cheekbones and geisha lips. She stood next to us, arms outstretched, until we noticed her. About her neck hung a sign that said "Will trade hugs for hugs." I, being a hugger, immediately hugged her once I read the sign. She smiled what I can only describe as a genuine smile. She then fished around in a bag around her arm for a Hershey's hug which she handed to me. I felt like I was cheating because I had already received a hug for a hug, but I accepted the offering and she went about her way, stopping also to give SPF a hug, and on down the line.

A little further down, once the doors had opened and the line had started to move, we encountered another silent, white-faced friend. He had a tray carrying an odd assortment of bobbles, papers, and knick knacks. On the tray itself was written something to the effect of "Give something and take something away." Knowing that we would be searched heading into the venue and in all practicality not needing to carry anything around, I was bobbleless and had nothing to donate. It was with some pause that I decided to turn over my newly acquired hug for a blue, foggy, pock-marked marble that was on the tray. I felt bad that I had given up my hug, but I also became enchanted with the marble. I looked at the line in front of me and tried to determine who would have been carrying it around in their pocket and why. What I found most fantastic was that there were several crumpled dollar bills on the tray that no one seemed to be interested in. The mysterious traded items were more exciting and enticing that a simple dollar could ever be.

After that we made it inside where we were dusted off by some more French Maids because we were "Horribly filthy," according to our duster. Inside was an even stranger site. There were drum beats in the middle of the room with a decorated and lively belly dancer swirling around and entertaining the crowd, there was a woman against one of the walls with a sign around her neck that said "paint me" and an assortment of paint brushes and finger paints available for her decoration. There was a face painting station where others were joining the white-faced patrons by having their own customized paint applied. The "free make-over" sign from earlier suddenly made more sense.

The first band was energetic, bizarre, and as eclectic as the audience. The second band was...dramatic. But in truth, we were all waiting for the pianist and the drummer, Amanda and Brian. They are two people who miraculously find a way to move you to your very core. They were brilliant on stage, a hundred times more moving than their albums, though I had already found their albums stunning. The connection that they had between each other was electric. There were countless moments where they would both be playing with an indescribable fervor but also maintaining a mystifying eye contact between each other. They were playful, funny, wise, and magnificent. They were musicians, poets, angry yet enlightening. I had feared that they would be callous and angst-ridden, as their music seems at times so dark and angry, but they could not have been more open and warm. She plays the piano with such emotion. And he was proven to be a brilliant drummer, and not just because he broke about a dozen drum sticks, though the energy he used to play was obviously a contributing factor to the music. At one point he hit his drum so hard, and at an inconvenient angle that he flew backwards off of his chair. The pianist was laughing too hard to continue playing.

The fans, although a few were stupid and annoying, were wonderful. When the music started, they stayed where they were and absorbed it. A standing room only venue without violence, without moshing, without shoving and yelling. I have not experienced that before. People were...in awe. There is no other way to describe it. Some fans would talk to the musicians during the pauses between songs, and they would talk back. Two girls climbed into the rafters for a better view and Amanda looked up at them and smiled while she played.

Four and a half hours later, we left. Our limbs were sore from standing and we both joked that we were getting too old for this, but at the same time we were not. There is no such thing. Not with a band like this.

We drove home listening to their latest album which I had purchased earlier that day, and nodded when certain sentiments resonated with us each in turn. When we finally got home and to bed it was after midnight and SPF was begrudging his early day at work the next morning, but we were both content.

Before I went to bed I put my blue marble on the counter top to remind me to give and receive hugs, to really absorb the things around me, to sing, and to always be myself, because I will always fit in at the places that are worth fitting into.