Candlebox and Contact Highs...

I wasn't even out of grade school the first time someone accused me of living in the past.

It was the last day of sixth grade and I was going to be leaving the private school I had attended my entire life to go to a public junior high school so I could "make friends closer to home" before high school. I was weepy and melodramtic at the end of the warm May day (I know, me melodramatic? Never...), and many of my friends spent their time telling me it would all be ok.

And then this boy - this boy I thought I hated - told me that I should let go of the past, not try to hold onto it. I emphatically denied his allegation and I told him that I wouldn't miss him, even though I knew I would.

I had just turned 11 years old and this little punk made an observation about me that is true to this day - and I was in my late 20's before I realized it for myself.

I'm obsessed with the concept of time - planning for the future, revisiting the past, trying to eek out the seconds as they tick away on the clock. And I still miss moments that I wouldn't bring back if I could.

Maybe it's because I'm getting older and I want to relive certain moments. I know, that's why we have reunions and hang on to people and places...

Maybe it's a coping mechanism - nothing's happening right now (or something crappy is happening), so I'll think about something that was thrilling or someplace else I'd rather be.

Maybe I should stop spouting the psychoanalyst bullshit and focus on the topic at hand:

Mandatory Wild Turkey Shots.

Yes, required snuffs of sweet rich liquor on a hot Arizona summer evening in 1994. Well, either 94 or 95, since neither Remi nor I were old enough to buy liquor on our own.

We had decided to go see Eddie Money & Candlebox in concert at Westworld of Scotsdale when we were both home from college. It was hot - probably June since we hadn't yet had enough of the summer sizzling to keep us from being outdoors.

The group of concert goers consisted of me, Remi, Remi's brother and all his soccer friends (one of which both Remi and I had a crush on in high school). We met at the house the guys shared before the concert to caravan because it was the safe thing to do.

Well, ok, we met there to drink first.

The guys had a rule, every time someone entered the house that person was required to take a shot of Wild Turkey. Keeping with this line of thought, the rule soon evolved to include people leaving or entering the house from any one of the numerous doors around the spacious living room.

We managed to keep it together enough to drive to the concert venue - at least a 90 minute trip without traffic.

Upon arrival at Westworld, Remi's brother issued a blanket statement to the guys that they would NOT be getting us drunk. Naturally, no one listened and before the first band left the stage we were obnoxiously drunk, drinking out of any and all of the strewn beer and liquor cups throughout the group, shooting Wild Turkey from hidden flasks and leaning into the circles of people passing joints so we could get a contact high.

I distinctly remember Remi looking at me at one point and telling me she had to pee after Candlebox had finished their set and we were hoarse from scream-singing and jumping around. The problem? We were sitting at the top of the hill overlooking the pavilion and the port-o-jons were at the bottom of said hill. Guzzling down the last of the cups, we forged ahead (sending EC, the one we crushed on in HS for more beer for us) and rolled down the hill. I don't remember climbing back up, but we must have because I remember Eddie Money taking the stage as the evening turned cool and Remi's brother yelled to everyone that we were "CUT OFF!" (while we laughed).

I only remember snippets of the evening from that point on. Eddie Money did an entire set in what seemed like 2.5 minutes and then we were hurdling down the hill toward the parking lot. Somehow, we convinced them that Remi was sober enough to drive home. We made it out of the lot and to the nearest gas station to pee and surprisingly didn't get arrested in the convenience store for drunk and disorderly conduct.

And do you know why this story is relevant to the beginning of the post?

Just like Eddie Money sang that night, "I wanna go back, and do it all over but I can't go back, I know."

And while I still wonder how we got home that night (since both of us blacked out after the gas station and woke up the next morning at our respective houses), that isn't the main reason I want to go back.

There are just moments in life when the bigger picture doesn't matter - when there is nothing outside that moment, when all that matters is what is happening in that second - not what has passed, nor what is to come. And there is peace in not giving a damn about anything else for that brief time except the feeling of being there, caught up in something that will never happen again.

And then we spend our lives trying to cultivate that feeling because really, isn't that the point of life?