Some of my previous essays have explored the topic of “moments of time”. These are those special events that happen, in which you experience some external and unusual occurrence(s) that grabs your attention and senses. They stir up emotions or insights and leave a memorable imprint upon the memory cells of your brain. They can be an “aha” or a “shazam!” type of thing. Or sometimes a brief glimpse of clarity. A moment of time has a beginning, a middle, and an end. It can last a few seconds (e.g., déjà vu event) or perhaps several hours (e.g., overnight camping out with a dog). They’re not predicable, it’s difficult to plan for them. They can be random or nonrandom. When they do happen, you may or may not recognize them in real time. And if you can, then you can be a conscious and willing player and go with the flow, and thoroughly enjoy the wonderful moment, before it ends. So, it’s important to have your antenna up for them.
The moment of time I write about here, represents a confluence of space, time, and light. It’s what I call a random moment. It just happened, there was no underlying cause. It was a mid-June Wednesday evening and I was intending to hear some live rock’n’roll music at a small, indoor venue. The plan, and it’s a good one, has been repeated many times: attend the evening show starting around 8:30 pm, catch a good live music buzz, leave the club at a reasonable hour, get back home before midnight, catch enough sleep, and then be at work at 8 am the next day. And enjoy that wonderful “after-show glow” a person usually gets to have for the day after a concert. This is that nonchalant feeling, with a “happy to be, part of all I see” attitude, that causes a person to trivialize things like work and seriousness. This relaxed mood can make you feel a little giggly and goofy and wanting to infect other people with the attitude; which can be problematic with serious people.
I was to meet my two, middle-aged hoodlum friends to see the alternative rock band, Cracker, at a club called Wooly’s in Des Moines. The club’s web site stated the show was to start at 7:30 pm, which meant the opening band would play first, and Cracker would start playing around 8:30 pm. I arrived early at the club as to scout out seating and any crowd “vibe”. Unfortunately, when asked, the door man informed me that three bands were playing tonight, and Cracker wouldn’t start playing until 9:30 pm or so. Realizing this meant two hours of standing around, waiting for the main show and getting home much too late, I was pissed off enough to not buy a ticket, letting the door man know about it, and walked out.
This change in plans led me to meet my two friends at an outdoor patio and bar across the street from the club. The patio was adjoined to a two-story brick building, which housed the bar. The patio was a brick courtyard, with wrought iron chairs and tables scattered about, partially surrounded by a short, rail fence. We were situated on a slight rise of a hill, about mile east from downtown Des Moines, with an unobstructed view of the buildings that made up the city skyline, framed by the western skies.
On this night, summer storm clouds were rolling in from the west. The evening sun was still bright enough to back light the waves of shape-shifting clouds as they formed dollops and columns, and low hanging mist swirled in and out and around the tops of the skyscrapers. As the clouds churned over, their colors changed, like a carousel, from white to orange, to magenta, to blue, to purple. The view was quite captivating at times. We weren’t sure if rain or a tornado was coming our way, but the aesthetics of it all made this uncertainty much more entertaining.
When a rogue rain cloud came our way, it would cause a brief outburst of rain. This forced the patio people including me and my two friends, Dan and Steve, and the other seven or eight other people to get up and scurry over to and stand under a tree or against the brick walls, to avoid the rain. When it stopped raining, we would return to the chairs and tables. This was like musical chairs and made for a fun, group exercise and acted as a mixer for the patio people to meet each other.
During the second cloud burst and scurry to the wall, I was the fortunate one who got to stand with two young women under a tree and we started a conversation. Their names were Michelle and Jenn. They were in their early twenties and seemed to be very much enjoying the summer. Each was well-tanned, wearing summer clothes, and appeared to be physically fit. They were energized and wanted to chat. They just got back from attending the four-day, outdoor Bonnaroo music festival in Tennessee. As they described their experiences, they made animated arm gestures and little dance steps, about the different performers and music styles. They liked some of the techno dance bands and some of the rock’n’roll shows, but didn’t know many of the bands. Each bragged about camping out in a tent and not being intimated by sleeping around a lot of males who at times were aggressive in making offers for hooking up. Each day of the show was an adventure for them: seeing morning-to-midnight live music acts, using bathrooms and staying sanitary, eating and drinking, hanging out with cool people, and avoiding uncool people. Sleeping in a tent. The three of us were engaged in a three-way chat and I swiveled my head back and forth, as each talked. Both of their faces were full of smiles and expression as they gleefully recollected multiple events of the show. They were sharing experiences and wanted me to feel what they felt during the festival.
I realized they had it. They had the “after-show glow”. It may have been a couple days after the show, but the Bonnaroo girls were feeling that residual, live music, energy buzz you get to keep after the show. When the rain stopped, we all moved back to the tables and chairs. Steve, Dan, and I sat at a table, within easy speaking distance of the Bonnaroo girls. Introductions were in order. For us guys, our introductions were brief, as we wanted to know about them. Michelle told us about being from a small town in southwest Iowa. She graduated last year from Iowa State University with an elementary education degree. She was tall and athletic, her brown and gold hair pulled back in a ponytail, like a softball player. She wore an appropriate yellow sun dress, which was also short and quite flattering. Jenn was of Asian ethnicity, she was very brown, because of the days in the sun at Bonnaroo. Her shoulder length hair was dark black with a wonderful sheen, which shimmered even in the fading light. She had a smaller and compact frame, and wore a white, cotton t-shirt (no bra) and olive green, baggy shorts. Perhaps these were the same clothes they wore at Bonnaroo.
They let us know they had both completed their first year of teaching at a grade school in West Des Moines. Michelle had to work part time during the summer, but Jenn didn’t have to work for the entire summer. For the benefit of Dan and Steve, I insisted they repeat their Bonnaroo adventure. This time, they were even more animated, whether sitting down or standing up to demonstrate something about the concert. It’s like they had a case of the kid fidgets, there was frequent movement whenever they spoke. This could have been due to their age, or the beautiful summer light and sweet-smelling air, or the after-show buzz. And they were constantly smiling to us or to each other. Big smiles.
The Bonnaroo girls spoke of many things, and they wanted to know what we thought. They described the difficulties of working real jobs. So, this was an easy one for us three old guys to pontificate on work: the good, the bad, and the ugly. We explained the need to have money but also to doing something meaningful. We didn’t lecture them. We poked fun at ourselves. This was especially true when we brought up the idea of retirement; which was a completely bewildering topic to them. All five of us talked about getting along with family members. They were approaching it from being children of parents and we were coming in from the other side of being parents. This evolved into how family members, and then all people, can be cool or uncool. We all agreed that it takes effort to understand other people and get along with each other. We talked of tolerance but also of avoiding, shunning, or smacking someone as alternatives; whether it was at an outdoor concert or the family dinner table.
We spoke with varying levels of sincerity and jest, which provided enough thoughtfulness and whimsy for an engaging group dialogue. With the clouds changing shapes, the skies became a canvas for what we imagined what we saw: physical anatomy, animals, poop. At times the cadence of sharing spoken words of five people, was almost lyrical. This was all accented as the evening skies grew dimmer and the rain clouds were blending into the darkness.
We three old guys were like exotic animals to them. Michelle and Jenn seemed fascinated by our depth of knowledge but also by our candor and humor. For each of them, this may have been the first time they actually had a real, engaging talk with adult males; other than some kind of fatherly-family funeral thing. They were curious to know what we thought about topics that were of interest to them. It was rapid fire, no contemplation or deliberation. Since we could keep up with them on diverse topics of live music, work, cool/uncool people, and camping, we kept the conversation going and this established a mutual respect. They brought a certain freshness to the topics and we brought wisdom. However, when Steve flicked a cigarette butt over the fence and onto the grass, they scolded him for a few minutes; more about hurting the environment than harming his lungs. That butt flicking was something uncommon to them and Steve was a happy bad boy to comply with their schoolteacher directions to pick up the butt and discard it properly.
Because of a few rain drops falling or feeling the need to loosen up, the Bonnaroo girls would briefly stand up and stretch or shuffle feet or take a few dance-like steps. Whether sitting or standing, they were a delight to watch. To be honest, there was an erotic aura around them: their bodies, the dancelike movements, and the waning light. Us guys were smart enough to not stare or gawk. But taking short glimpses, whenever we could, was acceptable. I know they caught us sneaking peeks, but they didn’t act offended. I think they knew what we were doing, and they were confident in their abilities to handle us. We were a little dangerous, but we were also fun, and it created a little sexual intrigue. This added fuel to keep the dialogue evolving, on both sides.
Sitting there and listening and talking, I realized how uncommon and special this moment was. The Bonnaroo girls were combining innocence with curiosity in a most fascinating way. Their innocence was more of an openness, a lack of bias. They weren’t prejudiced towards us, they didn’t treat us like fathers or uncles. This wasn’t childlike immaturity. It was more of an adult Pollyannaish approach to being open and a willing actor in an uncertain event. Their curiosity led them to engage and be proactive. They were confident in reaching out and exploring the challenges of conversing with three unknown men. As teachers, perhaps they were interested in learning. Or just enjoying a new type of silliness on a June evening. This combination of “Innocence & Curiosity” as being demonstrated by them, seemed to be a very desirable human quality. They were giving off positive vibes and I think everybody was either consciously or unconsciously enjoying it.
As the last of the day light completely faded away, the skies became totally veiled in darkness, and there were no longer any visible threats of storms. Without that wonderful light, it was difficult for us to see each other. After having a few drinks and talking on a litany of topics, our tongues were getting tired and our group conversation had run its course. It was past 9 pm and Michelle let us know she had to go to work the next morning, and it was time for them to leave. Some of us said “thanks” for an enjoyable evening of chatting. There was a polite and maybe a heartfelt hug here and there, as we each said goodbye. As the Bonnaroo girls walked to their car, deflation came upon us guys, and the darkness was now very omnipresent. We sat there in silence, recollecting what just happened. I stood and watched them drive away and waved. The moment was over. It was time to go home and we did.
Epilogue: Virtues
For the next few days, my brain was stuck on that moment of time and why it seemed to be quite memorable. It was unexpected. It was authentic and spontaneous. It was a wonderful mix of outdoor aesthetics with fun and unscripted banter, spiced up with a little sexual tension. So was this indelible imprint partly due to alcohol and spending some quality time again with my friends of 30+ years? I concluded “yes” to all these reasons for explaining why it was indeed a wonderful moment.
But it was also something else. Something about the human condition and the Bonnaroo girls. They combined innocence with curiosity, giving them a lack of bias and cynicism, which gave all of us the freedom to speak openly and genuinely…while still being playful. Their curiosity led them take the time and risk to exchange words with three strangers, that became a delightful group talk for 40 minutes or so; which seems to be uncommon. All that shared dialogue sparked a good vibe, a good collective feeling. It was worth doing, it was fun and decent. It seemed almost righteous. For that moment of time on the patio, it was as if we were being good human beings, and it deserved should be replicated. But it also made me think how infrequent this feeling happens to me. I then realized the girls’ combined innocence and curiosity was something deeper. It was wonderful and desirable human quality. It was a virtuous quality.
One Response
What a dumb idea!