“Yesterday I moved a mountain.” Actually, it was Friday.
When I started my day Friday morning, little did I know how it would end. I got ready that morning for one purpose—to take my baby to a routine doctor visit.
I wanted to go to Houston so badly that I could taste it, but I was sure my husband wouldn’t understand. Then on Friday, he mentioned an upcoming Houston business trip that he would have to take. I jokingly yet hopefully said that I wanted to go to Houston that day, but for different reasons—Steve was playing there. He said we should all go (even though the two Houston trips wouldn’t merge—we would still have to come back home and he would go back to Houston when his business trip came closer). It was an honest to goodness offer.
Panic Strikes
Oh--my--goodness. I already told everyone on the board that I was not going. No ticket held for me, no one expecting me. How would I get in touch with anyone in such short notice? What to do? What to do? Well, never underestimate the power of our circle of Steve friends. I posted a message begging for help and sent out some frantic emails. Then Super Dave PM’s me with the cell number of the Austin/Houston group.
I called the number, my hand trembling. A voice cheerfully answered, and I said, “Hi. I have no idea who I’m talking to…” I didn’t know what to say next. I didn’t have to. The voice says, “It’s Miss Fish!” So I blurt out, “It’s Lisa!! Happy Mom!!” With such honest glee, she announces, “It’s Happy Mom” and I hear a group of voices cheering. Just a taste of what fun they’d been and were having, I could tell. I explained the situation, and then I got to talk to Shalagh (my Barry buddy). They just as well had been celebrities—audible voices of those who until then I had only communicated with in text.
Once my husband and I made up our minds that it was Houston or bust, the packing frenzy began. Packing for two adults and two babies is quite a task to complete when the clock is ticking.
We hit the road. I drove like I’ve never driven before. I drove like the wind. You know, there’s a fine balance between driving to make an important event on time and keeping one’s children safe. Yet, what should have taken 5 hours minimum took 4 hours and 20 minutes.
All the while, Miss Fish made frequent calls to me on our cell to check on my progress. How thoughtful and helpful.
We finally arrived at the hotel, and I went up with my husband and the babies. He would have dropped me off at the concert, but I had to be a mama first. My children’s first time in a strange hotel room, I felt compelled to go up with them and see that they were comfortable before I left.
The Road Less Traveled Really Does Make All the Difference
I kissed the babies and hit the road, Westheimer, in Houston. Wheeeeee! I was on my way! I thought about all of the songs that I couldn’t wait to hear live. Miss Fish checked in once again and I told her I was on Westheimer. She was glad to hear that and told me exactly where to find them in the club.
Now, Westheimer is a long, long street. It even changes names. I originally told Fish I was going to take another route, the one she agreed was the best route. At the last minute though, I decided to take Westheimer all the way down to the club. With my notorious nature of getting lost, I decided the safest bet for me would be to take the straight path. So that’s what I did. I took the straight path. To a fault. There are lots of reasons why I might have did what I did, but the end result was this: I missed the street sign of the street that I should have turned onto.
It’s what I do. I get lost. I get lost often.
“Have you ever been so tired of yourself?”
I called Miss Fish a few times, but I got that dreaded cellular subscriber in unavailable message. (Later I learned this was for a good reason.) I called my hotel help desk, telling them the street I was looking for. They never heard of it. I called Stuka. “Our business hours are…” Uggghhhhh!!! I passed a McDonalds. I turned into their parking lot on two wheels. Screeeech. Heads turned. The staff looked frightened. I ran out of the car and up to an employee and calmly explained my situation. His look changed from caution to pity as he said, “Oh, you’re waaay past that. That’s 15 minutes from here.”
I called my husband. From a map of Houston in the hotel room amidst cries of “Mama. MaMAAA!” he read off street names. “Where are you?” he begged. (One step away from missing Steve completely.) “I don’t know!” I lamented. For a moment, I had no idea where I was or how to get to anywhere—I couldn’t even get back to the hotel if I wanted to. I was a tiny speck on the face of our planet with no clue where I was. I was only sure of one thing—I was in Texas. A sniveling mess, I cried out to God to help me—please keep me safe and please help me to catch SOME of Steve’s concert. I’d gone so far. I’d gone too far.
But after a while, the streets I saw matched his map and there it was--that big, glowing, white sign that told me I’d made it. “Stuka.”
I park. I run like lightening to the door. “I’m Lisa. There’s a ticket up here for me.” There was. The door person went to put a wrist thingy on my arm. He pealed it and it stuck to itself instead of around my wrist. He cussed. I wanted to. My wrist was almost up his nose waiting for another band. He got another and fastened it on. “Enjoy the show,” he said. “Thank you!”
The Moment of Truth
It was a large crowd. How nice for Steve to have had such a big audience. I didn’t know how I would get through. As I weave through with lots of excuse me’s and I’m sorry’s, I hear positive comments on the imagery on the screen behind Steve. I almost reach the front, see blonde hair and call out “Shalagh!” Fish looks up—she holds my hand and gently pulls me to them. I give her a quick rundown, she introduces me to Queen Jewel and Shalovee. Shalovee is holding up Fish’s cell phone toward Steve’s singing. “Lil Kris!” she explains. Then I that three feet from me, to my left, is… Steve! Oh, my goodness. It’s Steve. It’s him! He’s right there! Oh, my goodness. I ask Fish, “How many songs do you think he has left?” She answered with a look that combined empathy and optimism, “Two.” I soon knelt down because I was a little taller than the people behind me and they were there (long) before me. It worked out well, I think.
That’s when he thanked Houston. My heart fell a little, but I was ready to take on those last two songs as though they were the last two songs I’d ever hear in my life.
Steve began MLM. I couldn’t help but feel overwhelmed by everything that had just happened. I felt regret that I didn’t see him start the concert. And that I didn’t hear my favorite, Troposphere. Or Saturday. Or much else. But I decided to forget it. I was there and I was going to soak it up like a sponge.
The Concert—the Steve Experience
Some observations about his appearance…There’s a little tattoo on his inner right forearm—a little lightening bolt. Just an outline, not filled in. It looks black. He’s wearing a white jumpsuit. Everyone is. Not the Elvis variety, mind you, but a cover-up type of jumpsuit. Like something you might wear in space or when handling biohazardous material--yet fashionable. The Mints are all wearing the same white jumpsuits It gave a very crisp, clean, uniform presentation, visually. His hair is short but not too short, and I have to take his word on the male pattern baldness, because I don’t see any. He has a little stubble, but not too much. As he sings, I see a dimple. Ahhhh.
Now, that the imagery is out of the way, there’s the music. MLM pumped up from a live band is amazing. I would have liked for the volume on his microphone to have been turned up a little more so I could have heard his voice better, but that’s ok. I could hear it all the same. He sang with such emotion—so expressive, so comfortable, not appearing nervous in the least. He performed his music like he was proud of it and believed in it and breathed life into it without a trace of arrogance. There was a screen above/behind him with video playing. Had I been there longer, I would have looked at the screen more, but I was still in that awe-struck state that I was actually watching Steve sing his heart out. So, I mostly just watched him. And I loved feeling MLM resound in my lungs when they cranked up. We all bobbed our heads. Everyone was rockin’. It was great.
He began Dustmites. Wow. How hauntingly brilliant. Again, such _expression. He and the music are one. You really have to see this live to truly appreciate what following this dream truly means to him. Words can’t do it justice.
Then it was over. Steve said thank you. They started picking up the set. I wanted to hit rewind, but we were live.
At the merchandise table, Steve greeted his fans. I met him. I really met him, and it was wonderful!! He was very appreciative, gracious, sincere. I approached him again later for a picture (it took every fiber of my being to ask, because I didn’t want to be a pest.) Shalagh snapped our picture. He thanked me again. Imagine that--he thanked me, but the thanks goes to HIM! He has given so much of himself to all of his fans of all ages.
Here’s something I’m ashamed of, though. He was sitting down, finally catching a quiet moment from all of the chaos, and looks up. I’m standing there, utterly staring at him with the hugest smile on my face, like a star-struck teenager. Then I quickly looked away as though I hadn’t just been utterly staring at him. In my defense, I was still caught up in the awe of it all since it was relatively still new to me. Had I seen the whole concert, I think a little of that oh-my-goodness-I-just-met-Steve would have worn off a little. I smile often and big. It was just amplified on Steve. Sorry about that. I hate being stared at and there I did it to someone else.
Miss Fish, Shalagh & Robin were so welcoming—just like I was a long lost relative. They really looked out for me and took me under their wings (being experienced Steve concert-goers and all).
Later, our little group left and hung out in the parking lot. We talked and laughed. We saw Steve and I couldn’t help but notice how n one assumed anything and no one ran up to him. We stayed just where we were and left him be. I was impressed by that. I, however, still stared and smiled, though. Oh, well. I’ll be better next time.
A Reflection
If I knew then what I know now, and I knew that despite my best last minute efforts I would hear two songs, I would absolutely, positively do it all again. Hearing Steve breathe life into those 2 songs live was worth every moment. And meeting him…I’ll treasure that always.
While still in Houston, I played “Saturday” in the car, and I asked my little boy (he’s 26 months), “Who is that singing?’” He listened. He thought. Suddenly, he smiled and his eyes twinkled. “Steeeve!” That’s right, I said. Steve!
There are memories that will last a lifetime. These will be among them.