Rain Boots
I did not expect to cry at the boygenius concert. I just laughed out loud, typing it out—am I a stereotype? Sad girl at the sad girls show.
But really, it was the opposite—just this sudden swell that caught in my throat, tears rolling down my cheeks. I’m thinking how fucking lucky, even though the too-tall guy in front of me won’t stop shifting around and blocking my view with his head. When did I get this way? Maybe it was the pandemic, and how much I missed real life and how often I’d imagined moments like these. Or maybe I’m just old now, finally have enough years behind me to believe in the preciousness of things. It could also be that my brain is shrinking, and I’m easily overwhelmed by a spectacle, like a baby. Or all three!
It had rained the day before, and the more people that walked on the grass, the more it gave up the water beneath it. I watched a girl’s entire platform Doc Marten sink into the ground, the sole disappearing into a sudden muddy puddle. I was happy to have thought to wear my rain boots. You can’t predict everything, but every once in a while a plan works out.