Concert number one.
Small town band, not many fans,
Just the ones who were truly “in the know”
Or were too bored to sit at home
On a Thursday night.
The speakers are up
Way too loud for this tiny venue.
The bass is pumping
Through every bone in my body.
People are surrounding the small stage
Jumping and screaming and singing along
Without a care in the world.
Others are lounging on the ragged couches, drinks in hand.
I’m one of the ones in between. I’m at the edge of the stage crowd
Not quite an insider, not quite an outsider.
There are only three or four of us, but for some reason
We never talk.
We each keep to ourselves, enjoy the music, and go home
Separately.
Never go out for pizza after the show like everyone else.
We’re just there for the music
And nothing else.

Concert number two.
Our little band is opening for the Jetts.
No one knows who they are either, but more people know them
Than our little band.
I spot a few outsiders here, and again, they’re mostly
In the back, sipping drinks and chatting.
All the insiders are up by the stage, still jumping, still singing,
Still not a care in the world.
I can only see one more in-betweener
Standing near the edge of the crowd, feet tapping
Enjoying the music, but not really showing it.
Like me.
I almost go over and say hello, but then I realize
If we’ve never spoken before, there must have been a reason.
So I hold back, and decide I’ll ask him about it
At the next little show our little band plays.

Concert number three.
One month later,
Just our little band again, in the tiny venue
With the too-loud speakers.
I see him again, getting a drink from the back,
Walking to the front,
Feet tapping, softly singing, standing at the edge of the crowd,
Like me.
Again, I want to walk up to him,
Ask him how the last show was,
Ask him how much he actually enjoys this music,
Ask him for his name.
But I don’t.
And at the end of the show, we go our separate ways.
But this time, I get myself a slice of pizza on the way home.

Concert number four.
Another little show, but this time, the drummer’s younger brother
Brings his own tiny band
With their own tiny fans
So our secret venue looks more like a sub-par daycare center
And less like the giant garage it really is.
I don’t mind, I like the kids running around.
But there are no outsiders today,
They can’t drink with so many kids nearby,
So they’ve moved out for tonight.
I can’t find my guy tonight, maybe he couldn’t make it.
Maybe he left because of the kid band and the kid fans.
Maybe he’s hiding in the corner.
But I don’t see him.
I decide to skip the pizza tonight
And I go home alone
As always.

Concert number five.
Our little band was supposed to open, but the singer got strep.
I’m here anyway, I like this band too.
I’m singing along, almost an insider today, but not quite.
I can’t see any of the regular crowd here,
Not the regular insiders or the regular outsiders.
I spot my guy near the front of the crowd,
Head bouncing, arms waving, enjoying himself more than I’ve ever seen before.
It’s almost like a secret side of him that he never lets out,
I like it.
I let go a little more, sing a little louder, jump a little higher,
Smile a little brighter.
I see him after the show, talking to the guitarist, smiling bigger
Than I’ve ever seen before.
I want to go up to him and
Tell him I’ve seen him before, hi, how is he, how was the show,
What’s his name.
But before I can decide whether to interrupt or not, I’m being pulled along in the crowd of people, helpless against the flow of bodies.
I lose my chance to speak to him, but I promise myself
Next time.

Concert number six.
Out little band again, in our own little venue.
The regular insiders in their spots by the stage,
The regular outsiders in the back with their drinks,
Three in-betweeners including me. No kids this time.
I see my guy at the other end of the room
I remember my promise to myself,
And as I’m walking toward him,
He looks at his phone,
His eyes go wide,
And he walks out.
And my stomach falls to my feet, half in relief and half in surprise.

Concert number seven.
Our little band has a new bassist
With his own bassist groupies
From his old band I guess.
But the band still sounds great, even with the too-loud speakers.
I take a seat on one of the empty couches for the night.
Too tired to stand, but still wanting to come, wanting to hear the music,
Wanting to see him again.
He’s there.
At the edge of the crowd, but not moving
No feet-tapping, no singing along.
My heart wants me to ask what’s wrong, but my head tells me no
That would be too intimate a question for a first conversation.
He seems too sad to just go up and say hello,
So I stay on my couch and he stays in his spot
And we go our separate ways again.
But I get a slice of pizza
Just for luck.

Concert number eight.
Big venue, small bands, our little one is opening again.
I’m standing just inside the door, smiling politely at every face that walks in.
Waiting for him, but I don’t want it to seem obvious,
So I smile at him, a little bigger than for everyone else,
And he smiles back, eyes surprised but lips genuinely happy.
I watch the back of his head walk to the edge of the crowd
I feel myself sigh a little as he’s slowly surrounded by people
And I take my place right at the edge of the crowd.
But I can’t pay attention to the music tonight.
I can only see him, having fun, singing along.
I remember my promise to myself
Made so long ago with good intent
And I decide I’ve actually made a step toward it.
I smile, and then before I know it, I’m pushed along in the crowd
Until I’m outside the building.
I take my place at the door, smiling again.
But I don’t see him coming out.
So I sigh and decide that’s as close as I’m going to get tonight.
And I get a slice of pizza on the way home.

Concert number nine.
Even bigger venue, even bigger bands, even more expensive ticket.
But I have a feeling he’ll be here anyway.
And he is.
And I’m not.
I’m watching the concert on tv
In my room, with the blinds closed and a bowl of soup in my hands.
When I asked to be sick a few days ago, I meant I wanted to skip that test
Not the concert.
So I’m watching the local news coverage, and I see him in the crowd.
He looks lost kind of. Like he’s looking for someone almost.
The camera doesn’t stay on him long.
It goes back to a full view of the stage
And I can’t even sing along, my throat hurts so bad
And I feel sorry for myself just sitting at home
So I turn off the tv
And I focus on my hot soup - I’ve already spilled some on my blanket -
And I slowly fall asleep.

Concert number ten.
Back at our garage venue again, with our little band
Except they’re not that little any more. They have new fans
From all the shows they did as openers
And they’re planning a tour.
I’m happy for them, but I’m going to miss my concerts.
I see my guy at the edge of the crowd, but the edge of the crowd
Is slowly creeping into outsider territory
So the outsiders are taking their drinks out somewhere else
Where there’s more room, but not as good music.
As usual, I’m sucked in by the songs, and then I scan the crowd for him,
But he’s not there.
So I walk toward the door.
And just as I’m getting there, I see him
Smiling at everyone politely, searching every pair of eyes for something, someone.
He smiles at me, and it’s all I can do to not fall into his arms right there,
But I keep walking. Calmly. Smiling.
As I get outside, someone taps me on the shoulder.
I turn around, and there he is.
Smiling.
At me.
And only me.
“Hi,” he says. “I think I’ve seen you before.”
I nod, at a loss for words.
“At another concert?”
I nod again.
“So, how was it?”
“Great, as always,” I manage to get out. I can barely recognize my voice
It’s so girly and giggly.
But then he says something about how he’s happy for them going on tour and he’s getting to design their shirts that they’re going to sell
And then he asks me,
“Do you want to go get some pizza?”
And I nod.

Concert number eleven.
The band’s last hometown show before their big tour,
I’m no longer an in-betweener.
But I’m not an insider either.
And the outsiders are literally outside this time.
I’m one of a pair.
Just him and me.
Arms wrapped around each other, singing and jumping without a care in the world.
And we leave,
Hand in hand,
Out past the pizza place, and into the coffee shop
Where we each get a midnight snack muffin,
And walk back home
Hand in hand.