It Started Out With a Concert...

Hands Down - Dashboard Confessional
It Started Out With a Concert¦

¦of course. But it was truly love at first sight.
He was the singer for the opening band, a small town emo group. They had the acoustic guitar, tight pants, and long bangs. It was a dream come true for a boy crazy seventeen year old like me. His dark brown hair reflected a bluish tint in the light, and his green eyes shone. He knew how to take control of a crowd.
I stood in the front row, pushed against the waist-high stage. The room was already sweaty and I couldn't help but feeling suffocated. Girl clones pushed this way and that, trying to get noticed by the band members, to stand out in the small crowd, and elbows went everywhere. It wasn't even good moshing music.
I couldn't help but notice him staring at me. I was nervous at first, like when people keep looking at you because you have something in your teeth or your skirt got stuck in your panties when you walked out of the restroom. Then somebody's hand flew up and hit my forehead, and I blacked out.
The bodyguards had seen me fall, after all I was in the front, and my friends were trying to pull me through the mob. I woke up on the side of the stage, and there he was.
"Are you okay?"
"Uh." I grabbed my head, trying to think about what had just happened. It hurt, and I felt groggy. "Yea.," I slurred.
"Thank God you woke up!" one of my friends screamed, "what would your mom have said?"
It was normal for her to say things like that. She was always nervous about her mom and, just moms in general. Greatest fear: her mom finding out she wasn't a virgin.
I was sitting on the cold, wooden floor that reeked of spilled alcohol and dirt.
"Let me help you up." God, he was adorable! He smiled his quirky smile and pulled me off the floor by my waist with ease. I was shocked that someone who looked that anorexic could have superhuman strength like that.
"Hey¦you're still in high school!" I studied his face closely. I remembered him from somewhere.
"Glad you remember me."
"Yea you were that kid who stalked me in seventh grade!" as usual, my mouth had betrayed me and blurted out my thoughts.
Even in the dim light I could see his face turning red as he reached behind his ashy neck pretending to scratch an itch.
"You were really great tonight. Well at least, what I saw of it," I subconsciously laughed, trying to make an awkward situation less.
It didn't work.
"Thanks."
My friends had abandoned me, obviously knowing who he was.
"I think my friends left me¦could hang out with you tonight?"
"Sure," he smiled again, grabbing my hand and starting to pull me towards the VIP area of the stage, "We're going to miss the next band."
His skin was smooth, yet clammy from his set. My stomach leaped and I felt like I was going to heave, I liked it.
The next three hours were filled of singing along and shaking hands with all the sweaty band members I wanted. What I most like though was just standing next to him and when he would lean over me to tell me something about the bands, "accidentally" rubbing against my exposed skin.
The headlining band was finished, and I didn't have one bruise on me.
"You know, this was probably the best concert I have ever gone to."
"I'm glad you enjoyed it," his voice was sincere, and his face was flushed. We walked in the cool air, a big contrast of the stuffy air in the hall. I shivered, and he put his black safari jacket on my shoulders.
"Damn! Her car's not there!" I groaned as we reached the parking lot and her silver convertible was nowhere to be seen.
"I can give you a ride home if you wait around for a little while," he eagerly offered, "I have to help the band load up."
The frost lingered from my open lips as I exhaled waiting for them to pack up. They refused my request to help, so I had nothing better to do than sit on the platform leading out from the stage door, waiting for my Romeo. I watched as the skinny boys bent up and down, picking up heavy gear and placing it in a beat up gray van. I think it had been originally white.
"Ready?" he finally asked, lifting me off the platform before I had a chance to jump off. He held me in his arms for a few moments before gently placing me on the rocky ground. My stomach moved once again, and he noticed me grab it, "Let's go eat. I'm hungry too."
I couldn't resist spending more time with him, so we went to a local coffee shop. Two hours and five lattes later and we were on my doorstep,
"Great, you made me late for my curfew." I chided. My head was spinning and I didn't want to go in, to sneak into my room at three in the morning and only being able to think of him.
"Tomorrow a bunch of us are going to the movies," he stated, "Pick you up at three?"
It wasn't really a question, and I wouldn't be one to deny the rocker of my fantasies, so I agreed, "I can't wait!"
"So, I guess I'll see you then," our chemistry was so in sync, we both lunged at each other and kissed at the same time. It was sweet, and he was amazing. The moon was shining and by the time we had enough self restraint to get our hands off of one another, it was three thirty.
I actually successfully sneaked in past my kind-of-uptight parents and replayed the previous hours over and over in my head.
It felt like three years until three o'clock on the Sunday afternoon. It had taken forever to pick out the perfect outfit, and I was so nervous to meet his friends. He went to the same school I did, but we hung out in totally different cliques. He was with the emo-rocker-skaters and I was with the honors-preppy-posers.
My parents went to marriage counseling every Sunday afternoon. I was out at that time anyway so it didn't phase them. He picked me up in his beat up brown station wagon that shook so hard when he accelerated, I was sure it would collapse at any given second. It smelled like salt and Ralph Lauren cologne. It reminded me of the summer parties my friends and I would have on the beach.
We pulled in a parking spot close to the theater, and he squeezed my hand before we opened the doors, "Scared?" he asked.
"No.." I tried to say.
"Sure.." he whispered, "Don't worry. No matter how bad they look they won't bite you. Well one of them might," he laughed at his own joke.
We walked towards the mob waiting in line at the cinema, his arm around me. I couldn't help but feeling proud, that I had a sexy new boyfriend that new how to wear girl pants and striped scarves better than me.
There were about ten people that we walked up to. Four of the five boys looked just like The Academy Is¦'s singer with different colored hair. "Welcome to part of the ameba," a boy with spiky black hair and a bright pink tee announced to me.
"The ameba?" I questioned.
Another boy with too much eyeliner answered, "Yea. Our group."
"It changes size and breaks off into smaller groups that look just like the parent," explained a girl with two piercings in her lower lip.
They were the most welcoming people I had ever met at the time. They didn't judge by outer appearances like my associates, but they asked me all types of questions.
The parts of the movie that I actually watched were terrible. I was too busy trying to find a comfortable way to get close to him and avoid the cup holder, and listen to the Ameba's commentaries. I don't even think he was watching the movie. The whole time he was touching my blonde hair or stroking my arm.
After that we were inseparable. We spent as much time together as we could in school and after, and I was a frequent groupie at their weekly band practices. Life was going pretty good.