In the spring of 1995, I purchased tickets to see Boston (the band, not the city) at the Fargodome in Fargo, North Dakota, one of the stops on their Livin’ for You tour. I suppose I dialed a box office number to do it, and I imagine I rattled off the digits of a credit card to secure our spots.
The old 1995 diary is spare of details to corroborate my memories of the event that took place on May 24 of that year, but no matter; my mental files of the exciting occasion have remained impeccable these (almost) thirty years later, although apparently not impeccable enough to recall Husband and I ate a picnic on the way to the venue or that no opening band played that night, but that’s where the little book of trivia fills the gaps.
Husband had begun a job at American Woods, Inc., a precision custom millwork company, the previous day, and from its description online today, they’ve been at their fine craftsmanship for three decades, so it was a new place back then.
As we hurtled down Highway 29 from Grand Forks, North Dakota—where we lived at the time—toward Fargo after Husband’s workday, exuberance flooded my body. Behind the wheel, Husband was a tough read. He yawned four or five times—his new job had yanked him out of bed too early that morning—but it wasn’t that he didn’t like Boston. It was just that without my influence, he never in a million years would’ve paid money to see the group, he admitted at some point along the route.
At last, we arrived at the Fargodome. Nothing could’ve faded my smile, not even our trek to scale the great heights to locate the nose-bleedingest seats I’ve ever purchased in my whole, cheap concertgoing life. If memory serves—and we know by now it really doesn’t—wide swaths of unfilled chairs circled the place. But we dutifully went to our correct spots all the way up at the top anyway. Wasn’t it so nice to have the wall behind us to support our backs, though?
The band started with the greatest rock and roll song of all time, More Than a Feeling, the opening track from Boston’s 1976 album and plunged forward into the setlist from their 1994 album, Walk On.
Although someone must have dimmed the lights during the show, I recall the stadium bright throughout my beloved band’s performance, so brandishing my BIC lighter’s flame didn’t bring the expected chills. I surveyed the expanse. Was I really in the presence of musical greats that appeared as mere specks on the stage far below? My teenage fantasy of seeing the group lived on.
I stood, waving my lighter, and sang along to the rock group’s tunes, but where was Husband? He sat next to me, elbows to knees, his head propped on two fists, and snoozed.
No concertgoers sat near us, and Husband wasn’t much of a companion, slumped in his seat like he was. I could’ve succumbed to loneliness up there at the ‘Dome’s summit, but no. I was living out my dream all by myself, and my isolation from humanity dampened nothing of my resilient spirit.
I looked out this morning and the sun was gone
Turned on some music to start my day
I lost myself in a familiar song
I closed my eyes and I slipped away
My diary entry ends with a bland “We got home at 12 a.m. It was a 2 ½-hour long concert (no opening band),” so maybe I’ll ditch my documentation in favor of my grand recollections.
Ah, Boston. I still love you.
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