A funny chapter from my book Life in the Asperger's Jungle
I do have noise sensitivities. I get nervous and can have panic attacks from fireworks, barking dogs, yelling people, and city chaos. But give me a good driving beat, anywhere from 60’s rock to techno, and I am right up at the biggest loudspeaker, or in the middle front of the stage, rocking to the music. I can stim to my heart’s content and be normal. When the music starts, I can’t sit. I MUST DANCE!!! The harder and more driving the beat the more I MUST DANCE. I absolutely can not understand people who can sit still and not dance. Though now in my elder years I do see the appeal of sitting in a chair and resting now and then. But only when I’m tired. Eric also loves a driving beat, and he introduced me to techno music. I loved to sit in the back seat of his over-speakered boom box car and feel the base beat vibrate through my body.
When the beat is strong and I’m in a crowd of like minded crazed dancers where the music is way too loud to even pretend to have conversations and make small talk, I am finally comfortable and can let down my barriers and merge with the crowd. I become an energy junkie, all of us moving and jumping together. Without talking. I didn’t get to a Grateful Dead concert till my 40’s, but from the first second I knew I belonged.
My daughter Astrid wanted to go to a Tesla concert in Sacramento at the Arco Arena. Two other of her girlfriends were going. I was worried about her going to a concert without responsible adult supervision, including an adult driver. It happened that my friend Michelle was a Tesla fan. She offered to go with Astrid, and even pay her way. I was welcome to go along, but I had to buy my own ticket. Tesla was actually the local band opening for the nationally known group Poison, heavier metal than Tesla.
Finding Arco Arena (even though it could be seen easily from the freeway) and parking successfully was a big accomplishment in my book, but the rest of the car seemed to take this part of the adventure as easy. Ha! None of them could get even near to my stamina and bravery once we got inside.
Our admission tickets entitled us to a seat overlooking the floor, which had been transformed from a basketball court into a stage and mosh pit. After finding seats high up and far away, which seemed to please Michelle, Astrid and her friends decided to wander down to floor level to check out the action.
I tried to sit with Michelle and make small talk, and enjoy the music from far away, although the idea seemed stupid to me. And of course, when the music started nothing could keep me in my seat, so far, far away from the music. I jumped around in my seat for a few minutes, then, making some sort of apology to Michelle for not being social, ran down the steps to the mosh pit. Not quite the united loving energy of a smashed together Grateful Dead dance crowd. I could feel the edge to it, but still I was drawn in. I was nearing 40, but had worn a black miniskirt, black tank top, and my fave dancing boots, black leather with fringe.
Once in the mosh pit, I noticed that the object seemed to be to get to the front and touch the stage or the musicians. Okay, a goal. I pushed my way in. Forward was a challenging direction and smashed in among everyone we all moved together as some pushed, and then others. Back and forth. I would have fallen over except for being held up by surrounding leaning bodies. I loved it. The main danger seemed to be guys with girls on their shoulders who would fight and the rest of us would sway back and forth. Ebb and flow.
I kept pushing forward, pulled by the beat and the stage. Confetti (the old fashioned paper kind) showered mysteriously down upon us. The rest of the world no longer existed. Only the music, the crowd, and the stage, where even crazier people gyrated, writhed, and produced music. Several times I thought I’d lose my glasses, but miraculously they stayed on. The fringe on my boots somehow managed to get stepped on, possibly in those moments when we were all leaning sideways in defiance of gravity. I seemed to be the eldest in the crowd, but took pride that at least I was dressed appropriately.
And then…I TOUCHED THE STAGE! Nothing between me and the wild musicians but air. I celebrated and luxuriated in my success for awhile, and then felt okay backing off and letting others have the coveted position. I didn’t leave the mosh pit, but stayed there for the rest of the concert. Happily swaying back and forth in a mass of non-verbal humanity.
When the music stopped, I knew I couldn’t get back to our seats, so I followed the crowd out to the front door where I figured I would wait for everyone else. What I hadn’t realized was that none of them had been as consumed by the music as I had, and they had planned their exit much better, and were already there waiting for me. My daughter’s mouth fell open, and “Oh my God, Mother,” was all that she could say.
“I touched the stage,” was all that I could say.
Everyone seemed to be staring at me in an odd manner. I took a quick glance at myself, and noticed the footprints on my boot fringe, that my clothes were sopping wet, and every inch of exposed skin seemed to be covered with wet confetti. I really hadn’t noticed.
Astrid told me her trip to the mosh pit had only lasted a short time before one of the two friends she came with passed out from the heat and excitement and the people, and they spent the concert in a corner away from the madding crowd. Michelle already considered me a flake and a poor maternal model, and this just proved her point.
BUT I HAD FUN!!!
