Question. Why is it that when I
need to go to class, you can’t pry me out of bed with a crowbar, but when I’m
in Atlanta the morning of a Backstreet concert, I pop right up? ‘Cause that’s
what happened that morning. B was already awake (she can’t sleep if she’s
excited, while I refuse to let anything come between me and my bed at night),
so she hopped right in the shower and started getting ready. We wanted to drop
by the Georgia Dome to see if we could upgrade our tickets, then scoot on over
to the hotel we knew the Boys would be at to see if we could catch them leaving
for the show. Oh yeah, and we wanted food. B had a sudden craving for bacon, so
who was I to deny it?
Once we had primped ourselves
(because any of them will see or care what we look like) we swung by Denny’s
and got food (B forgot to order bacon, and as luck would have it I had some on
my cheeseburger, oh the irony). While we were rattling on about the show, a
woman sitting at the next table leaned over and asked us if we were going to
the concert. Our instant “Yes!” was just a little over enthusiastic. She got
all excited and told us she was a huge fan, but wasn’t able to go to the show.
We chatted with her for a little bit before I got antsy and wanted to get the
hell out of there. We had a mission to complete.
Like I mentioned before, the night
before we’d left for Charlotte B and I had taken the to write letters to the
Boys. She wrote one to Kevin, and I wrote one to Brian. Each one was just a
huge giant thank you for all they had done for us. We both owed them big time,
and we wanted to let them know. The goal was to get each of them their letters.
We were determined to succeed.
Amazingly enough we got to the
Georgia Dome with NO trouble. For two people who had never even been in the
state of Georgia (well, that’s a lie, I’ve flown through it about 50 times), we
were doing a hell of a job getting around (especially considering I can’t find
my way out of a box with directions). The first thing we saw when we got out of
the car were about fifty signs proclaiming that Destiny’s Child was not
performing, and that Nelly was taking their place.
BWWWWWWWWWWWAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!
The poor ticket guy sat there and
watched us lose it before we could collect ourselves and get around to asking
about tickets. Nelly? At a Backstreet Boys concert? I had to call my brother.
(I did. He was jealous. Hee.) The guy at the box office was cool and we talked
to him for a little bit, but all he had to sell us were crappy balcony seats.
Right around then we realized that duh, Atlanta was home for Leighanne, and she
and Brian probably had a billion friends coming, which probably meant to last
minute ticket sales. Oh well. We had floor, even if it was bad floor. We could
always sneak our way closer to the front. B asked the guy for directions to the
hotel we were looking for, and shortly we were on our way to do some stalking.
(Eeek. That makes me sound scary.)
As we got close, B got sidetracked
by Starbucks and might have missed the pile of tour buses parked up the street
if I hadn’t started yelling like I was being attacked by an escaped convict.
All right. So the Boys were here. Score. I got excited, although I once again
succeeded in suppressing the Twinkie within. I wondered how much longer that
would last.
She made a hasty parking job in
the Starbucks parking lot and we busied ourselves grabbing cameras, film, and
autograph stuff in case we actually encountered them. Brian’s letter was tucked
firmly in my purse, easily accessible should I need to whip it out. We
approached the hotel cautiously, and came across a small cluster of about five
girls sitting out front. We stood off to the side for a little while, until
they started giggling a lot, and pointing to a guy standing on the other side
of the drive dressed exactly like A.J., right down to the tattoos. Next thing
we knew, one of the girls was walking over to him, and trying not to laugh,
asked him for his autograph. Well, that was all we needed.
Now, I am not the type that easily
approaches random people, but B is, so we strolled right up and said hi after
that. That’s another thing that is so awesome about Backstreet fans. We make
friends easily.
We introduced ourselves, and thus
met Misti (Brian fan), Tanya (A.J. fan), Jo (Howie fan), and Holly (Nick fan).
Turned out that Tanya and Jo were from Charlotte, and Misti and Holly were both
from Atlanta. (They were sisters.) They had all come together much like B and I
had, having met online through Backstreet sites and whatnot. We quickly made
another discovery. They had been in the Georgia car that was following Brian’s
bus the night before. Go figure.
They told us the lobby was packed
with people, and none of us could figure out why they hadn’t been kicked out
yet. We were of the general agreement that we would wait outside and be at the
front of the barricade when they finally put one up.
Then we got cold and wussed out.
Now, I have to say this. There are
lots of scary people that hang out at the hotel and wait for the Boys. The
girls we were now attached to seemed to know everyone in the friggin’ lobby,
and had terrifying stories to tell about quite a few of them. It became a
running joke that B and I secretly thought they were freaks too (we didn’t),
since they attacked almost anyone who passed us by (verbally people, they
didn’t jump anyone). It was actually
very amusing.
After awhile we got tired of being
in the lobby, and returned to the front. If it hadn’t been for the wind it
would have been a gorgeous day. Unfortunately though, it was gusting up a storm
outside and I almost lost my toes for the second time that trip. It paid off a
few minutes later though, because all the sudden Krystal walks out of the hotel
with her manager. Being the loud people we are, we hollered over to her and
told her the show in Charlotte kicked, and that we couldn’t wait to see it
again that night. She put a grin on her face the size of Europe and said thank
you.
New goal: Get picture taken with
Krystal.
It must have been another hour
before anything happened. I was sitting on a brick wall kicking my feet while I
concentrated good and hard on just how cold I was, because somehow I was just sure
that would make it better. Misti started digging for pens and paper, because we
wanted to exchange info and keep in touch. While she was writing stuff down, a
peculiar thing happened. Kevin strolled out of the hotel.
Kevin. Kevin Richardson. He was
walking right past me. And like it happened to me everyday, I causally reached
into my purse and pulled out my camera, so I could snap a picture. I think I
said something along the lines of, “Oh my God. There’s Kevin.” Misti never even
saw him, and B was too busy catching flies with her mouth hanging open to react
at all. He turned back towards us and said over his shoulder; “I have to put my
stuff down. I’ll be back.”
Yeah right. But I couldn’t have
cared less. Kevin had just walked within five feet of me. In case you didn’t
catch that, KEVIN walked RIGHT in front of me. Damn. What blew my mind was that
I remained completely in control the entire time. Even after the fact I
remained astonishingly un-Twinkied. As soon as B recovered (THAT took awhile),
she started ranting about why in the world she hadn’t handed him the letter.
Dude, who cared? We just saw a Backstreet Boy. And he wasn’t on T.V. And can I
say this? He was hot. I mean, really hot. Fucking hot, if you will.
“That’s it,” Misti declared.
“Y’all can wait for me to write my info down, I refuse to miss anything else.”
She was grinning when she said it, but I didn’t blame her for being
bitter.
So, that got us a little excited,
and we stopped caring about the cold. (That’s not entirely true, I whined like
a four year old, but it’s in my nature.) It wasn’t long after that that the
hotel staff started to kick people out, and just like we’d planned B, myself,
and our new buddies all wound up right up against the barrier they set up. A
perfect view. Score. We were very impressed; the hotel staff was being so cool.
When ‘NSYNC stayed in San Antonio, the Marriott people had been assholes. (That
still didn’t stop Sue, my best friend, from touching Lance, then promptly
spinning in a circle and running straight into a pole.)
“Do you have any idea how cold it
is out here?” B whined after awhile.
“You know what? I did miss that.
Thanks for the heads up. What would I do with out you?”
That got me a nice roll of her
eyes. “I’ll bet they enjoy doing this to us,” she grumbled.
I snorted. “I’m sure they do. They
know we’ll park our asses here all day. I’d so do it if I were them. I’m
twisted like that you know.”
“I know.”
“Yeah, but you’re insane, so that
makes up for it.”
Not too long after that my fingers
were about to go the same way as my toes. I was worried that I wouldn’t be able
to work the camera when the rest of the Boys actually did come out. I swear,
the things I do for the Backstreet Boys. And you know what? It was rewarded
moments later, because a gasp ran through the crowd outside and lo and behold,
Nick Carter came strolling out of the hotel.
Now, let’s get one thing straight.
I’ve never had anything against Nick Carter, but I also have never had a
reputation for being his biggest fan. I will admit that after the Millennium
concert I saw the year before my respect for him jumped off the scale (the
perfection with which he delivered the high note in ALAYLM literally took my
breath away), but still. Nick was supposed to be nothing more than a
fifteen-year-old kid. Always. Period.
.
So here’s my question. When the
HELL did that boy grow up, and why the fuck didn’t anyone tell me?
You could have driven a train
through my gaping jaw, no pun intended. I started snapping pictures right away,
too dumbstruck to do much else. I tell you what, when in a Backstreet crisis,
hand me a camera. I can take some badass pictures.
He barely paused before
disappearing onto his bus, but that was ok. I’d gotten a few shots of him.
Dayyyum if that boy didn’t look good in yellow. If that wasn’t enough to send
me into cardiac arrest (although believe it or not I was still as cool as a
cucumber), he came back out. Isn’t he supposed to be the one that tends
to avoid this shit? I mean, come on. There was a crowd of psycho fans
surrounding him that included people who drive eight hours to freeze their
asses off in the cold and people who dress up like A.J. Would you want
to stick around? But he did. Walked back off the bus. And started signing
autographs. In less than a heartbeat B and I had whipped out our Backstreet
Official Books. Since we were in front, he was right there. He signed our stuff
and continued on, and I was coherent enough to thank him four times.
Oh my God he smelled good.
Then came the kicker. Holly and
Misti started a round of Happy Birthday, since Nick turned 21 the next day. It
took oh, a nanosecond, maybe less, for the rest of us to join in. Nick looked
over his shoulder at us, gave us a grin that would melt the polar ice caps, and
continued signing. I swear to God, if I were a squealer I would have squealed
right then. It was the cutest smile I had ever seen, and I didn’t feel nearly
as cold anymore (hey, I have the right to be corny sometimes and I’m choosing
to exercise it).
I wonder if he realizes how much a
little act like signing a few autographs and tossing a smile, something he
doesn’t need to do (he doesn’t owe us anything, I mean, they produce their
music, they sing it for us, and go on tour for months and months at a time, all
for us) means to people like me. There are so many people out there just like
me, who do the same things I did that trip, and that one little moment made it
all worthwhile. I’ll probably never get a chance to tell him this, but Nick,
you rock. Thank you. From the bottom of my heart, thank you. That’s a memory I
will never forget.
He gave us one last grin and wave
before disappearing onto the bus, and I snapped one more picture. Wow. My first
real encounter with a Backstreet Boy.
“Damn it,” I said.
“WE GOT HIS AUTOGRAPH!” B
screeched. “Oh, wait. What?”
“Now I’m going to have to change
my disclaimer. Not only have I sort of met one, I’ve seen the concert more than
once. Actually, a lot more than once by the time we’re done.”
B laughed, and then went
completely spastic.
“He rubbed my ELBOW!” she
hollered. “Nick fucking Carter rubbed my elbow! Did you see how
hot he was? When the hell did that happen?”
Exactly what I wanted to know. I
refused to say anything, knowing that she would quickly figure out I was having
the biggest Nicky Moment of my life if I did. She loves to give me hell when I
have a Nicky Moment. She and Dani both. Sometimes you just want to hit them. I
slipped once and they STILL haven’t forgotten it. Sheesh.
“You’re having a Nick Moment
aren’t you?”
Damn.
“You ARE! Where the hell is my
cell phone? I have to call Dani!”
For the love of Bob.
“You did see how incredibly fine
and hot and gorgeous he was, didn’t you? You saw how utterly lickable that man
was, right? And did you realize he was RIGHT in front of US?”
“I noticed,” I muttered, turning a
brilliant shade of cherry.
“YES!” she shrieked. Loudly. Very
loudly. “Score! Whits had a Nick Moment!” She looked at me again and dissolved
into helpless laughter. “And she’s still having it!”
You want to know what the fastest
way to shut B up is? Have someone inform her that Kevin is signing autographs
by his bus. That girl left skid marks tearing out of the crowd like she did.
She left her purse on the ground, wide-open, cell phone hanging out, wallet in
plain view. Crazy. Not that I blame her. If it had been Brian I would have been
faster and probably left something like my bank account sitting open on the
ground.
Needless to say I was quick to
follow, although I was smart (not something that happens often) and already had
my purse on my shoulder, so it came with me. My poor little hands were
practically frozen to my camera, but I figured if they were going to freeze
onto something that was the best thing.
When all is said and done, I
maintain that Kevin is the best of the five when it comes to dealing with fans.
He was just sitting there in that bus, looking as comfortable as could be,
chatting with fans and signing anything people shoved at him, including a home
made A.J. doll. He did have a funny look on his face for that one though.
Carlos, his bodyguard, was really cool too. Just the right mix between scary
and not scary. At one point, he bent over to a little girl, trying to hear what
she was saying.
“What’s that?” A big grin broke
out on his face. “You want to get on the bus?” We all broke into gentle
laughter. Despite the fact that there were a lot of is, I felt very relaxed and
very content, which was odd, because you’d think I’d be all hot and bothered
with a man as gorgeous as Kevin sitting that close to me.
I spotted B’s head to my right,
and saw with delight that she was holding her Official Book over her head for
him along with her letter. She was going to get the chance to give it to him! I
forgot about trying to get my own autograph as I watched her try and get it
into his hands. Kevin reached out and took it from her, noticed the letter, and
then looked around to try and see who gave it to him. B waved, and he
acknowledged her, signed her book, and kept the letter. My grin almost broke my
face. I then went back to trying to weave my way up to get him my book, but I’m
too damn passive. I just didn’t have the heart to run over the younger kids in
front of me, even if some of them were probably Twinkies. (By the way, this
entire time I was snapping pictures.) So, by the time I got to where I was
close enough Carlos was telling everyone that it was time for them to go.
Bummer. But you know what? I didn’t really care. I’m not a psycho bitch for autographs,
and I was already sort of planning on sending my Nick autograph to my best
friend. She has claimed Nick for her own, and I knew it would make her day. She
was already going to crawl through the phone and snap my spine for having
smelled him.
After I freed myself from the
crowd I skipped my way back over to our spot and actually managed to wedge
myself in right in front of the barrier again. Go me. I quickly began to wonder
if that was a bad idea, because B was in the process of going apeshit.
“Oh my God. Oh my God. Oh my God.
I gave him my letter!”
“I saw,” I said with a cheesy
grin. “And I documented the experience on film.”
“I cannot believe this,” she said
in astonishment. “Do you realize what has just happened? Why the hell are you
not freaking out?”
“I don’t know,” I said, unable to
believe the fact myself. “But I’m okay with being that close to perfection. Do
I need to be committed?”
“Yes!”
Dear God. I had just been within
arm’s reach of Kevin Richardson. Only moments earlier I had been within mere
inches of Nick Carter. Um, paramedics?
It goes without saying that we
took a little bit to settle down. B was flipping out over her autographs, which
puzzled me because it was her third from Kevin and her second from Nick. I was
lamenting the fact that I wasn’t going to see Brian, which meant I didn’t have
a shot to give him my letter. Aren’t I an ungrateful whore? Anyway, all at once
I became afraid that six pictures wouldn’t be enough for A.J. and or Howie, so
I proceeded to waste film so I could start a new roll. Those were creative
pictures. (Look! A tour bus! Look! The same tour bus!). I was all set. Bring on
A.J. and Howie.
Turns out there was no need to
rush. They took their dear sweet time, letting us get even number. Why can’t it
be 70 degrees all year long? Is that really so much to ask? Finally, the
exclamations of the people by the door announced Howie. Not that you could
really see him, he was flanked by no less than three cops who dwarfed the poor
man and hurried him behind the buses to avoid the crowd. Odd. Very odd. I was
disappointed, but hey. A.J. was still coming, and we had all of Philly to get a
hold of Howie. I could be patient. (This is where you burst into laughter.)
A.J. came out of the hotel in
typical A.J. fashion. Animated, vocal, and running behind. He slapped as many
hands as he could reach, begging our forgiveness because he was running
unbelievably late. I managed to get a few pictures, but there were people in my
way (damn them) and I was too busy snickering. Leave it to A.J. And can I add
that he pulls off those cornrows nicely?
Okay, that was it. Of course we
had to pick the city where Brian was home rather than at the hotel. That just
sucked. But I got over it quickly. We had just had unbelievably close
encounters with 3/5 of the Backstreet Boys. Pretty damn cool if you ask me. By
that time though, I was a human Popsicle (cherry flavored if you really want to
know), and wanted OUT. Make that IN. Someplace warm. Like, the car.
We regrouped with Misti and the
others, and they asked if we wanted to go to dinner somewhere. They hadn’t
eaten in 24 hours, and I’m always hungry anyway, so that was a no brainer. We
discussed our options, (B hates Wendy’s, why I will never know, and I refuse to
eat Taco Hell.) It was an absolute blessing that we hooked up with these girls;
they were awesome and they knew their way around. B and I didn’t have a clue
how to get back to the Georgia Dome, which definitely had suck potential. They
decided to give us a taste of Atlanta by taking us to The Varsity, a local
tradition. They guaranteed us grease, and we were all about grease.
The Varsity was a crazy place. It
was huge, and it was packed. Not that it mattered; at that point nothing was
going to bother us. We put ourselves in line, still glowing (or maybe it was
just defrosting) over the events of the afternoon. It was somewhere between
five thirty and six, leaving us plenty of time to eat before heading to the
Dome.
It was a good thing, because it
took us about a year to get our food. Misti and I waited at the counter while
the others went to sit down, and we swapped Backstreet stories and talked about
school, etc. She and I were both Brian lovers, so of course he came up once or
twice in the conversation. She told me that we could be friends as long as he
was married. If (God forbid… and I mean
that), he ever became single, nothing was going to stop her from getting to
him, including me. I agreed with the promise of visitation rights.
Once we were finally seated (just
our luck the room was freezing), we started revving ourselves up for the
concert, while we continued swapping stories. Turns out this was definitely not
the first time they had been Boy hunting. They had actually been through a lot
of shit. Devoted fans. I’m telling you, Backstreet fans just can’t be stopped.
We simply don’t settle for less than fair treatment and a glimpse or two (or
more) of the five guys we spend all of our money on. Can you really blame us?
I’ll bet the Backstreet Boys could have lived off of our small group for a year.
It was so worth it though. I mean,
look at us. Instant friendships. Misti and Holly had driven Jo and Tanya from
Charlotte to Atlanta, and were going to drive them back, just to be able to see
them and hang out with them. That’s an eight hour round trip they were about to
make. You don’t do that for just anyone. It just blew my mind that it was all
because of the Backstreet Boys. Do you ever wonder if they really know they
effect they have on us? I mean really know? It honestly astounds me
every time I think about it.
Before long we were ready to hit
the venue. We piled back in our respective cars, B and I pulling out behind the
other girls in order to follow them to the Dome. We were still itching to find
better tickets, and were hoping to try our luck with scalpers. Sure, we were
thrilled about being on the floor, but we had crap ass floor. We wanted good
floor. I have been to a slew of concerts in my time, but the only time I’ve
ever had floor seats was way back floor to the Dixie Chicks. I wanted good
floor, dammit. And I was going to get it. (Just FYI, I am all talk; I am as far
from a badass as you can get, but it’s fun trying to sound like one; besides, B
was with me and she is all talk and all action, especially when it comes to
Backstreet, so it was pretty much guaranteed we’d get what we wanted.)
I think God was smiling on us, or
at least taking pity. The parking lot attendant people had extra tickets. It
wasn’t exactly good floor, but it got us from 500 level to 300 level, so it was
definitely an improvement. We figured we could sneak up to the little round
stage from there. It was only one section up, and the Georgia Dome was so
friggin’ big there was no way the security was going to be that rough, unlike
Charlotte, where Tanya had told us they were absolute hobags.
Misti insisted on examining our
tickets to make sure they were legit, so we wouldn’t get screwed over. They
were, so we got them and started the long ass walk to the venue. (Parking for
the Georgia Dome sucks.) The four of them had 100-section floor, which was
awesome. We were getting so pumped. This time we would really get to see the
show, as opposed to our obstructed view seats in Charlotte. I was dying to see
the screen; I had the feeling we missed a lot the first time around.
It was probably a bad thing that
there was a special entrance for people with floor seats, because I think my
head swelled up to the size of Canada. We even got special armbands. Shit, a
far as I was concerned I was on top of the world. The six of us stuck together
right up until Krystal was about to go on, when we went to our seats after
determining where to meet when the concert was over. B and I instantly started
plotting when we needed to move in order to get to the small stage, which was
up in the 100 level floor. Aren’t we evil? Between plans, we kept cackling
about our seats, reminding each other every five seconds that we were in fact,
on the floor.
Right, back to Krystal. She was
good in Charlotte, but Charlotte was nothing compared to Atlanta. In my opinion
her delivery of ‘My Religion’ had been a little weak the night before, although
she’d gotten right into things and pulled out a kick ass performance. Maybe it
had been our place somewhat behind the speakers, or maybe she had just improved
off the night before, but this time she was fucking amazing. Wow. Who knew that
someone that tiny could have a voice that big? I was truly floored. Hello, my
name is Whitney and I am a Krystal Addict. And boy does she know how to work a
crowd. Towards the end of her set, she broke into Happy Birthday in honor of
Nicky, and so we got to sing it again. Awww. Damn, she can sing. Whew.
“Damn it, we are going to meet
her,” B said determinedly. “I want my picture with her.”
“Ditto!” I exclaimed. Isn’t it
great how we think alike?
We passed the time before Nelly
chatting with the people sitting around us. There is something about Backstreet
that makes me very bold. I’m usually very hesitant to open my mouth to random
people, but at the moment I would have started a conversation with Jack the
Ripper. Dude, we were on the floor!
I can’t say that I am a big fan of
rap, but I have to admit Nelly put on a helluva show. I was jamming, getting
into it, ya know. I would recommend it to people. That didn’t change the fact
that it was just plain bizarre that he was opening for the Backstreet Boys.
Okay. Then it was time for
Backstreet. We were on the floor, for Backstreet. Did I care it was parking lot
floor? Hell friggin’ no. Those lights went out, the Boys came up, and I gave it
my best bellow. My voice teacher was going to hate me. Eh.
Remember when I mentioned I
thought we had missed a lot when we couldn’t see the screen? Um, YEAH! Try the
whole intro. The whole meteor thing came as a complete shock to us. All we saw
in Charlotte were the fireworks. When ‘Everyone’ kicked in, the camera work was
all black and white, which was really neato. (Can I say words like ‘neato?’)
I know I mentioned ‘More Than
That’ before, but I have this obsession with that song, and this time I got the
full effect of it, so I’m going to bring it up again. The screen. The SCREEN.
If the vocals and the fog and the dancer weren’t enough, dude, the SCREEN. Are
you getting what I’m saying here? There were clouds drifting past sunset,
beautiful scenery, awesome shots that just captured that song
completely. (Do you think I’m psycho yet? Please say yes, otherwise I’m scared
of you. ;) B must have felt the same way, because at one point a girl about two
rows in front of us held up a gigantic poster that blocked our view, and it did
not make her happy.
“PUT THE POSTER DOWN!” she roared.
And you know what? The girl flippin’ heard her, and dropped the poster.
I couldn’t believe it.
‘Show Me The Meaning’ rolled
around, and B and I started preparing ourselves for a venture to the small
stage, a section up. Oh we are sly. Er, oh B is sly. Suffice it
to say before we knew it we were standing right next to that little stage. I
mean, there was stage, then there was us. Not stage, five thousand people, then
us. Stage, then us.
“What did I tell you?” B said with
a knowing smile. She pshawed me. “And you thought we couldn’t do it.”
It’s true. I didn’t. I now know
the error of my ways.
We watched the end of the screen
show of the Boys in the dressing room, much funnier this time now that
we could actually see it (Howie and his hair…AAAAAAAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA), and
then glued our eyes to the stage next to us. Moments later, the music for ‘I’ll
Never Break You’re Heart’ began, and as if by magic, there they were. Brian,
Nick, A.J., Howie, and Kevin were suddenly right there, directly in front of
us. Onstage. It was the equivalent of front row.
I’d never been this close like
this before. Never. We were right there, right up close, while those five men
sang the songs that have changed my life and moved me beyond my ability to
understand. Some people might think it’s stupid to make a declaration like
that, but that’s bullshit. To me, music is like breathing. I need it. I draw
strength from it, I find myself in it, and lose myself at the same time. It’s
why I write. It inspires me, it helps me understand what I don’t understand,
and it soothes my soul. Somehow, for some reason that I don’t understand and
will never try to, the combination of their five voices strikes a note
somewhere deep inside my heart. It drowns out the room, drowns out the noise,
drowns out the thoughts I don’t want to deal with, and elevates the ones I do.
They do it like no other voices can, and to suddenly be where I was at that
moment was one of the greatest experiences of my life.
It just so happened that Brian
chose our side of the stage to sing to. For those who don’t already know, Brian
has always been my favorite Backstreet Boy. I love watching his face while he
sings, and I’ve always thought his voice sounds something like an angel’s. I’ll
admit it, I was waving with the rest of the people standing there, but for the
most part I was just listening, and singing along softly. I had to resist the
urge to close my eyes and just sway. Beautiful. They broke into ‘I Promise You,’
and I kept my eyes glued to Brian. He was right there. Right there. It was like
something out of a dream.
All of the sudden, I noticed
something. He was looking at me. Not in my direction, not at the person behind
me, or B, who was just in front of me, but at me. I broke into a smile
and just grinned at him, singing along to myself like I’d been doing. Brian
Littrell had just made me feel like the most special person on this earth. B
looked back at me with a grin of her own.
“That was all you,” she said. “He
was looking right at you.”
I nodded wordlessly.
To this point, I was so awestruck
I couldn’t speak. I couldn’t possibly be more so. But picture this. ‘I Promise
You’ ended, and A.J., Kevin and Nick all stepped down from the center of the
stage, which was raised slightly higher than the rest, and sat down at the
edge. I was now looking directly at Nick, who was seated directly in front of
me. Brian and Howie stepped up to center stage, and I could hear the opening
for ‘How Did I Fall In Love With You.’ Brian faced our side of the stage, and
began to sing.
No one will ever be able to
convince me that that is not the most beautiful song they have ever recorded.
Thank you, Howie. This had to be the proof that I didn’t need that these voices
came straight from heaven. That’s all there was to it. Nick started mouthing
the words to the song, closing his eyes here and there when the music got to
him. He felt it. I could see it on his face.
I took picture after picture,
forcing myself to wait for the right shot. Brian came and stood directly behind
Nick, singing blissfully away, and I was staring at the greatest photo op a
Backstreet fan can get. No, not quite. The real one came when Nick picked up
the blue rose, held it to his chest, and closed his eyes while Brian sang on.
Then I almost died. I surrendered all oxygen, it’s overrated anyway, and just
watched, unable to tear my eyes away.
Before they sang ‘Time,’ A.J.
hauled Nick to the center of the stage and made a huge deal about it being
Nick’s birthday. Nick’s face turned this funny shade of red, and he tried to
hide his head as everyone started singing. It was such a Kodak moment, which
truly sucked because I had run out of film. Kevin slung his arm around him at
one point, and then they all gave him a huge group hug. I kicked myself
repeatedly for not bringing my other roll of film. It was too precious for
words.
When they broke into ‘Time’ as
they crossed back over the bridge that had been lowered to allow them a way
back to the main stage, B and I made our way back to our seats. Did that really
happen? Or was I dreaming? I really wasn’t sure.
I didn’t have much time to think
about it, because they kicked into ‘The Answer to Our Life,’ and I was
mesmerized by the screen show going on behind them on the stage. They showed a
pack of running mustangs at one point, and I shrieked. Horses and Backstreet.
What a combination.
Okay. ‘The Call.’ I’m going to
tell you the true story about what happened during that song, because B is a
big fat liar, and whatever she tells you is wrong.
See, Nick does this thing with his
hips during the fast songs. The best example is ‘Shining Star.’ I’m very
appreciative of the things he can do with his hips. But that is NOT why I
almost fell off my chair. We’d been standing on our folding chairs throughout
most of the concert, okay? ‘Get Another Boyfriend’ is a very fast song. It
makes you want to rock out. So when they sang it, I of course, tried.
And literally almost fell of my chair. Not that I hadn’t been doing that all
night (about eight times during ‘Get Another Boyfriend’), but that didn’t
matter to her because it happened to coincide with a particularly devastating
Nicky Pelvic Thrust ™. You’d think a horse back rider would have good balance,
but I don’t (well, on the horse I do, very good balance, actually, which makes
it even more puzzling). It didn’t help that the video just so happened to be
playing on the big screen, and at that same moment (of all the luck), that one
shot of him driving the car in the video (you know the one I mean, don’t even
try and tell me you don’t) showed up. I do have to confess to something there.
I screamed. Like a girl. High and shrieky, loud and obnoxious. But Nick was NOT
the reason I fell out of my chair!
When it was over B and I made our
way out with the sea of people headed for the exits. We were yelling things at
each other and in general flipping out about the entire day, freely babbling to
anyone who wanted to listen, and probably a lot of people who didn’t. After
much pushing and shoving, and a pause at a souvenir counter to purchase all
five individual photos of the Boys, we finally made it to our friends. We
pounced on them. Went ballistic. It was fun. I think it’s safe to say you could
not find a happier group of people anywhere at that moment.
The walk to the parking lot was
all to short, and we had to say goodbye. B and I were going to drive out to my
cousin’s to spend the night, and it was back home for us the next day. I was
glowing with the knowledge that we had four new friends to show for our trip,
which made every mile worth it.
B spent the entire car ride making
my life a living hell. I cannot even repeat half the conversation, because my
mind will burrow even deeper in the gutter than it already is. I plead the
fifth for most of the trip, and responded to her taunts by playing ‘Not For Me’
really, really loud. Until the riding comment.
“Giddy up,” she sang teasingly. It
had something to do with Nick. She definitely had him in mind when she said it.
“Ride it, ride it, ride it,” I
replied.
“Yeah,” she said with a knowing
nod. “You would know a lot about riding, wouldn’t you? You know how it’s done.
Ya know, with someone like Nick.”
I deadpanned. “I know a few
tricks.”
She almost had to pull over,
because she was laughing so hard she was crying.
“You did NOT just say that!”
I played dumb and innocent, which
I can do very well.
“You know Dani is going to hear
about this.”
Of course she was. I knew I was
going to get it, but I’d given up by then. If I was going to go down, I might
as well enjoy the trip.
By the time we pulled up at my
cousin’s house, we were exhausted. We crawled into bed sleepy but deliriously
happy. One thing was still troubling me though.
“Do you think we’ll find them in
Philly?” I asked after awhile.
“I know we will,” B said
confidently.
“Do you think we’ll get Brian my
letter?”
“I won’t rest until we do.”
“Really?”
“Of course.”
“You’re awesome.”
“I know.”
Philadelphia,
here we come.