Not-so-typical Tuesday

Several months ago, I bought a ticket to see Snow Patrol in their “Fallen Empires” tour. I saw the concert announcement in a local radio station's email. I set my heart to go. I love Snow Patrol, and their music is very dear to me. As the day for the ticket sales approached, I couldn't find anyone to go with me. Alas.

Or alas not. I could either say “man, guess I won't go,” or I could buy a single ticket and just go.

I bought a single ticket.

Weeks went by, and I pushed the concert back in my mind; it went behind school, the starting of movement classes at Franklin, the ending of winter guard at Brentwood, and work. The concert ticket was propped up on my end table next to my lamp, and I looked at it frequently. It seemed so far away – there was so much to do before.

But suddenly, winter guard ended, and school took a week break, and it was the Monday before the concert. Here's the thing – I'm not particularly outgoing. I probably have some sort of social anxiety disorder. I generally don't like doing things by myself. And there I was, set to drive downtown, park, find my seat, and (hopefully) enjoy a concert the next day. By myself.

The day of was a normal Tuesday; it was full of work. I ate dinner at home and watched the traffic, taking note of which way to go. Downtown was busy with the concert and a Predator's game, so people were everywhere – a blessing and a curse. I wasn't wandering around Nashville alone, but traffic was particularly bad. I drove and splurged on $10 parking right behind the venue.

I walked into the venue and relaxed a degree. I had made it inside. I had safely parked. I was in the Ryman Auditorium – arguably one of the most beautiful concert venues in the world. I trudged up the stairs, walking past signed posters from Hatch's Show Print autographed by famous (mostly) country stars. I walked around the top and found my section. I crept down the stairs hesitantly – there were already people sitting next to my empty seat. I walked up and tucked my purse under the pew, and the people sitting next to me turned.

“Oh hello!”

My night probably would have been not as enjoyable had I not been sitting next to the nicest couple in the Ryman that night. They were an older couple (mid 50s, probably) and had never been to Nashville. They bought tickets when they were available online and drove the 11 hours from their home state of Louisiana and decided to make a trip out of it. He was a technology consultant; she was a tutor and teacher (irony?!).

We talked about everything – music, Nashville, the flood that happened nearly two years ago, sports, education, technology news. But it was when the man left to get a beer did I ask the question whose response would endear them to me for the rest of the evening.

“How did you meet?”

She smiled and pulled her shoulders up a bit. And she told me their story. They had met in their late 20s while both were working on higher degrees. They married quickly and later had a son.

“We were married for eight years. Then we divorced. He remarried, had two other children with his other wife.”

The puzzlement must have shown on my face. They were sitting next to me, clearly together, yet she had just told me they had only been married eight years.

“Our son got sick about a year ago and had to go extensive abdomen surgery around Christmas. We got back together then. I said he remarried, but I just couldn't. He's been the one for me all these years - I couldn't imagine loving anybody else. So we've been together about four months now.”

The man returned, beer in one hand and a box of Junior Mints in the other that he handed to her.

“Funny how life is,” she said, before she turned and asked her husband about the lines at the concession stands.

We kept talking until the show started, but neither one brought up their story again.

The show was great. Ed Sheeran opened and did a poignant cover of “Poor Wayfaring Stranger” that was so haunting, the audience was totally still. Snow Patrol played a little bit of everything – old stuff, new, their big hits, quieter songs. They played nearly two hours.

I shook both their hands as the lights reappeared after a four song encore. I wished them safe travels and an enjoyable time in Nashville. I left the Ryman and walked back to my car, only making one wrong turn trying to find my car in the parking garage itself.

I drove home and kept the radio off, preferring the wind rushing through my cracked window. When I got home, I shut off the engine and sat in the driveway. I had seen a band I treasured. I had done it alone. I had met two random strangers who shared their lives with me momentarily. Somehow, a Tuesday night concert had restored my faith in strangers and myself.