by TL Travis
An hour later we were covered in sweat, grass, and who knows what else and bitching like mad. Mary brought us each out a bottle of water and sure enough when we’d finished her yard, she fed us lunch before sending us over to my house to get our yard cleaned up. By late afternoon, we were done, tired and beyond cranky so we both went to our respective homes, showered and went straight to bed. We didn’t talk again until the next day.
When I woke the next morning, I came downstairs and found my dad sitting at the kitchen table thumbing through the Sunday paper. I grabbed a pop tart from the cupboard and poured a glass of milk.
“Did you have anything to do with our yard getting cleaned up?” he asked from behind the newspaper.
“Um, yeah. Ricky and I thought we’d help out a little more.” I bit my lip to keep from blurting out the truth. I hated lying, on any level, but chose to think of this one as a positive omission of truth since it helped my dad out. Not that there really was such a thing as a good lie…
“Well you boys did a great job, and I appreciate the help. So thank you,” he said.
“No problem, dad.” I leaned against the counter, inhaling my pop tart.
A couple weekends later, Ricky’s mom took us to see Uncle John’s band play at the farmer’s market. She called it, “Time off for good behavior.” They weren’t too bad, and even played some Ozzy and Jimi Hendrix so we at least knew a couple of the songs. Afterwards, she let Ricky and I walk around unsupervised to check it out. We got a couple of cones from the shaved ice cart before heading back to where the band was set up. They were breaking down their equipment, but off to the side we spotted Ricky’s mom talking to their guitar player.
Uncle John eyed us walking up and took us over to meet his band mates. One by one we shook hands as Ricky’s mom and the guitar player joined us.
“Hey guys,” his mom asked, “did you have fun?”
“It was pretty cool,” Ricky told her.
“This is Brett,” she said before turning back to face him, “Brett this is my son Ricky and his friend Joey.”
When we shook hands he asked, “You guys into music?”
“Yeah,” we both replied.
“What kind do you listen to?” Brett prodded.
“Rock, mostly metal,” Ricky answered.
“Which bands are your favorites?” his inquiry pursued.
“Uh, Korn, Slipknot.” I fidgeted with the hem of my shirt, answering him.
“Old Metallica, Disturbed, Marilyn Manson,” Ricky added to the list.
“Nice, you guys like it a little harder than we played today.” He smiled.
We nodded, ready to head out having already seen all we cared to see at this point.
Sensing our boredom, his mom suggested, “Why don’t you boys go on ahead to the car? I’ll meet you there in a few minutes.” She handed Ricky the keys.
We didn’t need to be told twice, hollering over our retreating shoulders, “Nice to meet you,” as we raced each other toward the parking lot yelling, “Shotgun!”
On the car ride home, we bantered back and forth about our favorite bands.
“We sooo have to go to Ozzfest this year,” I said, banging my hands on my lap to the beat of the song playing on the radio.
“Yeah, Korn, Marilyn Manson, Disturbed. It’s gonna be sick,” Ricky excitedly added.
“I’m not sure about that guys,” Mary jumped in, bursting our bubbles. “I’ve heard pretty bad things about some of those groups and what goes on at their shows.”
“Mom come on,” Ricky pleaded with her. “We’re almost thirteen. The kids we go to school with go to concerts all the time.” He plopped his head heavily against the headrest, scowling and crossing his arms over his chest in protest.
“Dude,” I leaned forward, whispering, “pouting like a two-year-old won’t win you any points with your mom.” I caught Mary’s reflection in the rear-view mirror. She winked at me. Crap, I thought I’d said that low enough that she wouldn’t hear me.
“Ugh,” frustrated, he pulled his arms apart, “please, Mom?”
“I’ll make a deal with you. You finish out the school year with nothing below a B on your report cards, and I’ll let you go to the concert providing another adult I approve of goes with you guys.”
We looked at each other, grinning. “Deal,” he told her.
“When and where exactly is this concert being held?” she asked.
“July twelfth at White River Amphitheater in Auburn.” Ricky knew it by heart, we’d been talking about it for weeks on end.
Mary laughed. “Had it memorized did ya? Well, let me check it out and we’ll sit down and talk after your final report cards come.”
She barely had the car parked in the driveway before we jumped out and raced to the front door. As soon as it was unlocked, we barreled up the stairs and headed straight for his radio. Once the tunes were cranked up our jam session began.
A couple hours later, Mary came up to let us know dinner was ready. She was laughing as she walked off, I’m assuming it was at our inability to play our air guitars in tune with the beat of the music. But we didn’t care, we were sweaty messes who’d worked up an appetite and were having a great time doing it.
“Hey guys,” Mary said, handing us our plates. “Tonight, you’re staying next door at Joey’s house.”
“We are?” Ricky mumbled through a mouthful of food.
“Lovely.” She scowled at Ricky talking with his mouth full. “Yes. I already talked to Joe and he said he’d be home. I’m um, I’m going out.” She stared at Ricky, gauging his reaction.
I eyed them both, trying to figure out what I was missing.
“You all right, Mom?” The concern for his mother showed through his question. They had a great relationship, one I regretted not having with my own mother.
“Yes love, I’m okay. But Brett asked me out to dinner and a movie and I said yes,” she told him, patiently awaiting his next question.
“Oh, okay.” He shrugged and resumed inhaling his hamburger.
No one seemed upset, so I dug back in. I didn’t think Mary’d ever gone on a date before, at least if she had neither of us knew about it. Which didn’t say much for our attention spans, or lack thereof.
The last couple weeks of school flew by, our weekends were consumed with yard work, so they basically had become non-existent. Ricky’s mom and Brett were seeing more and more of each other, but Ricky said nothing to me that led me to believe he was upset about it. Brett was cool to us, always talking about music and introducing us to more classic rock. When our report cards came in the mail, they showed we’d worked our butts off to get the grades needed to be able to go to the concert in July.
Our birthdays were a little more than two weeks apart, mine being May twenty-sixth, and Ricky’s on June tenth. Since we didn’t have a lot of friends, mostly by choice, Mary opted to have a barbeque at her house to celebrate them as well as our promotion from junior high to high school and invited my dad too. When everyone had gathered in their backyard, she handed Ricky an envelope at the same time my dad handed me one.
“Boys, while we’re happy you ended the school year with excellent grades,” Mary said, eyeing us suspiciously. “Which I hope wasn’t a fluke. But, you’re both transitioning into high school this fall and have more than earned these. Happy birthday!”
We ripped the corner of the envelopes open carefully, hoping we knew what was inside and didn’t want to risk tearing them. The thrill of finding our concert tickets and sixty dollars in cash each made it hard to contain our excitement. The grins on our faces mirrored those of our parents.
My dad reached over, patting my shoulder. “Good job, buddy, I’m proud of you. Save that money so you can get a shirt there. You’ll regret it if you don’t, it’s almost like a concert rite of passage.”
“There’s one catch,” Mary started, and I swear my heart stopped on the spot, fearing her next words. “Brett and Uncle John are going with you.”
Our
heads swiveled to the side in unison, locating their faces smiling back at us from across the yard. While it would’ve been cool to have been let loose without parental units around for the day, having those guys with us wouldn’t be too bad. We shrugged and went back to staring at our tickets.
“Ricky?” his mom asked, “can I see you inside for a few minutes please?”
“Um, yeah, okay Mom,” he said, tucking his ticket back in the envelope before following her.
I went back to staring at my ticket, thinking about all the bands I was going to see that day. This was going to be the best day ever. Trapped in my daze, I hadn’t noticed that Uncle John and Brett had walked up to me until one of them shook my shoulder. I looked up and found myself staring into Uncle John’s laughing eyes.
“Are you guys stoked for your first concert?” he teased.
“Hell, oops, heck yeah,” I told him.
They grinned, ignoring my slip of tongue.
Whew.
“Hey guys, I’m going inside to see if Mary needs any help,” Brett told us before walking off.
“Don’t worry, Joey, we won’t hover around you guys. There are some bands there we want to see too,” he assured me.
“No worries,” I said, right as Ricky magically reappeared beside me. He was fingering a chain with something silver hanging off it, and it looked like he’d been crying.
Uncle John leaned in, hugging him. “Your dad was a good man,” he told Ricky before walking off.
“You okay?” I asked. “What’s that?” I pointed to the chain.
“My um,” he sniffled, “my mom gave me my dad’s dog tags from when he was in the Marines.” He rubbed them between his thumb and forefinger.
“That is seriously cool. Can I see?” He took them off and handed them to me. I ran my fingers along the embossed lettering as he closely watched me. I could see he was anxiously awaiting their return. “That’s awesome, dude. Here you go.”
He slid them back on before whispering to himself, “I only wish I could remember him.”
Chapter
Three
Concert day – July 12, 2003
We were so amped up that we didn’t sleep at all the night before. Having never been anywhere near the area let alone at the concert venue itself, we didn’t know what to expect and were excited to check it out. While summer in Seattle only got into the eighty-degree temperatures normally, it was still hot to us. Since it was an all-day outdoor concert with multiple bands, John and Brett said we needed to get there no later than noon or potentially risk parking miles away and having quite a hike to the arena – which none of us wanted to do. Ricky and I were so hyper that to have us walk any further than the distance of the parking lot would have been excruciating for all involved.
Even though we left the house way early that morning, we still pulled in to a ton of cars already in the lot but were able to grab a spot that was only a couple of blocks walking distance away in the dirt. We spotted some shade trees along the way and did our best to keep close to them, but there weren’t as many as we would’ve liked and had we thought about that beforehand we would’ve brought along sunscreen. But oh well, we were here, and we didn’t give a shit about anything other than seeing our favorite bands playing live.
Waiting outside in a line that wrapped around the building only intensified our nervous energy. I tried to remain calm but was so geared up that it was hard to contain my excitement. I focused on the crowd and determined concerts were the absolute best place to people watch. There were some seriously interesting characters waiting alongside us and watching them helped pass the time and soon enough, they’d opened the gates and we were being frisked and herded in like cattle.
Once inside, we ran straight over to the first merchandise selling booth we saw. There was no way we weren’t getting shirts from our first concert. I found a black one that had Korn in the middle on the front, surrounded by smaller pictures of the other bands. On the back, it showed all the concert dates and cities for the entire tour. It was so badass. As soon as the guy handed it to me, I slid it on over the shirt I was already wearing. When I turned to show Ricky, I found he’d done the same thing and bought an identical shirt. Nothing was wiping these stupid grins off our faces, not today.
We spotted Uncle John and Brett standing over by the picnic tables in the center of the walkway holding bottles of water up to us.
“First band goes on in about an hour,” Brett said, handing a bottle to each of us.
“Thanks,” we mumbled, quickly chugging down the cool liquids.
“I’m sure you guys want to take off and check things out without us hovering. What say we meet back here around four and grab something to eat before the headliners come on?” he asked.
“Sounds good to me,” Ricky answered.
“Ditto,” I chimed in before we speed walked toward the stage area.
This was the first time Ozzfest was being held at White River Amphitheater from what Uncle John had told us during the drive down. He said it’d been held previously at the Gorge in Quincy, Washington. Having never been to either place, it was all was new to us, but there were a ton of people here. I heard one of the announcers say that over fourteen thousand tickets had been sold.
When Cradle of Filth took the stage, their fans turned the grassy area into a giant mosh pit. Security formed a human barricade between the crowd and the moshers to try and keep things from getting out of hand while other guards were running around with fire extinguishers putting out the bonfires that kept randomly popping up. We stood back, taking the various scenes in and debating whether to brave the insanity of the pit. It didn’t take long before the adrenaline coursing through our veins overruled our brains and our crazy asses made a break for it.
Keeping to the outline of the pit, we circled with the others but never fully delved into the center of the chaos. Punches were being thrown, and numerous kicks landed. One guy came out with a huge gash on the top of his head and blood trickled down the side of his face. He seemed drunk as fuck, so what he didn’t feel now he’d definitely be feeling it tomorrow. We felt bad for the security guards who kept trying but failing to break up the fights.
We kept our eyes open, watching for what you should and shouldn’t do because we knew at some point we’d be stupid enough to get into the middle of it. The warm summer temps combined with the massive body heat load made it feel like we’d been dropped smack dab into the middle of the desert. Being in the midst of the madness, it felt like Satan’s kitchen. By the time Cradle left the stage and the moshers disbanded, we were drenched in sweat.
Heading off toward the vendor areas, I grabbed a handful of Ricky’s shirt screaming, “That was fucking insane, dude!”
“What?” he said, poking his fingers in his ears hoping to clear them.
I laughed. “Can you hear me now?”
Stretching his jaw and shaking his head from side to side, trying to pop his ears, he answered, “I think so. That was crazy!”
“I know, right? Let’s go to the bathrooms and soak our shirts in the sink in cold water and cool off,” I suggested.
“Good idea,” he guided me toward the line for the restroom.
After soaking our shirts, faces and hair in the cool tap water, we headed back out to the grass area and waited while Disturbed got set up. They were one of the main bands we came to see, but Korn and Marilyn Manson were our top two must see bands for the day.
Disturbed had a tamer mosh following than Cradle did for sure, given Cradle was more death metal, so this time our dumb asses tempted fate and jumped into the center of it. Security kept reaching in and pulling us out, yelling that we were too young to be in that shit. But we didn’t care and kept sneaking around them to get back in. Every time we came back out, we’d catch sight of the same two girls giggling and watching us.
“What’s up with them?” I nudged Ricky, pointing in the girls’ direction.
“Who knows?” He grabbed my shirt and pulled me the oth
er way.
We dove back in when Disturbed broke into Stupefy, staying in until the pit disbanded when they left the stage.
“Crap, what time is it?” I asked Ricky.
“How should I know? I don’t have a watch. Hey man,” Ricky said to a guy passing by, “Do you know what time it is?”
He pulled his phone out. “Four fifteen.”
“Thanks,” Ricky said turning back to me. “We’re late to meet Brett and John. Let’s go.”
We took off for the food court area, finding them waiting by the same table we’d left them at.
“Get lost to the insanity?” Brett kidded.
“Uh, something like that,” I panted, bending over and placing my hands on my knees to try and catch my breath.
“You two are soaked. Do we even want to know?” Uncle John eyed us.
“Ha, probably not,” Ricky told him.
“Come on, you two, let’s get something to eat and get a couple bottles of water in you.” Brett led us over to join one of the many long ass food lines. “Tell us what you guys want so we can order it while you snag that table for us.” He pointed to an empty table down the way.
“Burger and fries,” we both said before taking off.
About fifteen minutes later, they showed up with the food. We’d become human vacuums, sucking it down without breathing in between bites. “Worked up an appetite, huh? If I had to guess, I’d put money on the fact that you guys were moshing?” Uncle John said, raising a questioning brow.
We didn’t say anything, purposely keeping our mouths stuffed full.
“Just make sure your mom doesn’t find out, Ricky.”
“Hey guys, don’t look now, but those girls over there are checking you out.” Brett bobbed his head in the direction behind us.
“Ugh, they’ve been following us all day like lost puppies,” I told them.
“Well, that won’t be a problem anymore,” John said.
We looked behind us, seeing the girls retreating backs. They must have been closer to our table than I’d thought.
“I think they heard you.”
