After a minor skimerish with the security guards, a trip to the car and a brief, tense moment at the entry gate, I was finally in. You can feel the steady beat throbbing deep inside you - and this is just the DJ's records. The first band has yet to set up.

Maria gets there a bit late. I miss the first few minutes of Reach 454 to meet her. We enter the throng of people at the far back. Steadily we move forward. It gets harder as we get closer and closer to the front. Here come 12 Stones. Awesome. They really know how to move a crowd. I begin to forget myself in the hot, misty world of marijuana smoke, beer and sweat. Sometime during Juliana Theory, I loose Maria.

We kinda saw it coming. All this time, and I'd been scanning the crowd for Art, who I'd lost since Reach 454. People pushing, bodies sliding, skin sweating to the beat. Maria ended up behind me. No sooner had we agreed on where to meet after the concert in case we were seperated, than it hit us: The Mash Pit.

Ooo, it was awesome. Enfuriating, muscles clenching, tense and ready. Come on, try and hit me. Just TRY it, mother-fucker. I got knocked about, I knocked back. My chest tightened, couldn't really breathe. Too many people around me, bashing me. Not enough to hit back. Soon, it was all over. The angry tide of impatient souls ebbed and the sea of sweat and skin was calm once more. Maria was gone, lost in the whirpool of arms and heads and torsos. Too bad. She did not survive the storm... Or so I thought at the moment, anyway.

And suddenly, there in the midst of so many people, I was alone. No familiar faces or voices or smells, even. For an instant, a cold ripple of - fear? - sweapt over me. But the ripple became a warm tingle, then a hot shock of charged exitement. I wasn't alone, merely free. Free, for no one knew me or cared to know me, and I felt the same for them. Now I was very close to the front of the crowd. It was very packed here, closer than sex. I could feel so many bodies up against mine, but there was no promiscuity. Just hot sweat and thirst. Thirst for more water, thirst for more music, more of the rock god.

And sleepily, through the blaring world of chaotic harmony, I began to notice those masses around me. On my left a couple, the male protective of his girl, to my right a group of stong, lean teenage boys, bouncing and swaying, roughing around. Sometimes they playfully rammed into me, or tugged on my shirt. They were like puppies. Rabid puppies. Sometimes they grew impatient and tried to let off their fury on me. That's where elbows come in. After exchanging a few playful bruises, they learned to keep their distance, while still pressed up against my side. Kids!

A long pause while Evanescence set up. I was VERY close to the front now. People weren't people enymore, and I was not myself. We were a single living, breathing, prespiring organism known as a Mob. The thirst was too much. Our clothes were soaked, sweat poured into the eyes. It was all very cuddly. And Lord knows I hate cuddly. But this was different, now we were one. My eyelids drooped as my inner child was lulled to sleep by the heavy beat of the speakers. I stopped using my legs. I didn't need them. No use fighting the Mob, the only thing to do was become part of it. And those around me supported me, let my legs dangle lifelessly while they held me, cradled me, hovering. The smell of weed was heavy and intoxicating in the thick smog around me. I was STARVING, but thirsty more than that. I no longer cared to move.

People were lifted up over me and passed along. I got kicked quite a few times on the back of my head, but I let it slide. If only because I couldn't punch them; my arms were pinned to my sides. Art promised me I'd wake with a few bruises in the least. Oh well.

Here comes Amy Lee and Ben Moody. Then they're all there. We can't see them, but we can sense them, almost smell them out from behind the lights blaring into us. How mortal we must look to them.

"Now I will tell you what I've done for you..." And it starts. Evanescence at last! Her gothic beauty is unnerving and pleasent. Why can't we all be pretty like that, I wonder. But it's as if our mother had just come to our cradle and enveloped us with her voice. "Amy, I love you!" and "Amy, please blow me!" almost drown out her eerily beautiful voice. She laughs and sings, we all bow down and stare in wonder.

Wow, and I can't believe it. Only four people, a wooden barrier and a security guard stand between me and Evanescence. Look, there's Ben! Wearing a Metallica shirt. And between songs, the gothic lead singer sipps from a bottle of water. Oh, don't be cruel! 12 Stones quenched some of our burning heat with a few drops of very-much-appreciated cold water, but Juliana Thoery only taunted us with their ambrosia. "Water! WATER!!" I let the others cry for me, for opening my mouth means letting precious humidity escape. And my mouth is dry as it is. Ha, funny, ain't it? Dry mouth, soaked skin. Ben holds up a bottle full of the holy stuff. Then he takes a swing and spits it out at us, baptizing us all. In the back of my mind, I knew that was kinda sick on his part, but my instinct had taken over, and I cheered and begged for more with the rest. After Amy spit on the back of his head with a laugh though, he opted for merely sparing us a few drops straight from the bottle. Oh, thank you, thank you! I'm not sure if the water mingled with our sweat or evaporated on our skin. It helped, nonetheless.

Then came the familiar melody, and we cheered as Amy began: "How can you see into my eyes like open doors..." Then Paul was back, jumping around like an energized monkey. How he did it, I have no clue. But he contaminated us all. Soon, we were all jumping and twirling with him, all together as one. Damn, the song was over too soon. It flowed into 'Tourniquet' and then some. But like everything, it had to end sometime. Now the words from Amy's mouth were not song, but a joyful "Goodnight!"

ONCORE! ONCORE!

The technicians rush about the set, and people begin to leave. Now I can actually SEE the wooden barrier. The show's over... or so they think. I stick around.

Yup, just as I thought. Here comes Amy again. We all cheer. The others try to claim their old spots, but hey - you move, you loose. Too bad. Amy's at the keyboard now and we all know what's coming next. "Which one do you think I'm going to play next?" she asks us with a flirtish smile. We all answer as one: "IMMORTAL!!!"

Of course it's My Immortal, what else would it be? "I'm so tired of being here..." Beautiful. A couple of more songs, and this time it's really over. I hover a while, until my fellow comrades - for that's what they've become now - abandon me to fend for myself. Time to put my weight back on my own legs. It feels like I just got out of a swimming pool. A very HOT swimming pool. My clothes cling to me, even my faded jeans. Where are Maria and Art anyway? I don't even try to look around for them. Maria's too short. Art's too Art. I'll let them come to me.

I stand by the entrance and here they come, together. "Where were you?" we all ask each other at once. A few casual explanations, then Art hands me his car keys. What's this? "You're driving," he says, holding up his glasses for me to see. Battered. Completely. A lens is missing, and I think the other got cracked or scratched.

Well, THIS is new. No, not the broken glasses. Last concert I went with Art was heavy metal, SiniStar. That time he got a cut on his head over his ear. Art loves the mash pit, you see. But the fact that Art was allowing ME to drive HIS car. He's so picky with it! I mean, I KNOW I don't have a licence yet, but I'm a WAY safer driver than my sis. Unless you try to race me. Then it's just: Fuck etiquette, the beef is on! So it was weird driving Art's white Ford Contour. I think it's a Contour. Aw, fuck it.

The point is, we drove to Art's house, he got some contacts on and he dropped off Maria and me at my mom's work. By then it was almost time for my mom to leave anyway, so this time I drove Blinkey (to no one's surprise) to Maria's house and then home. Man, was I hungry! I'm tellin' ya': second-hand marijuana smoke will STILL make you get the munchies. I had six sandwiches. Two ham, two cream cheese, a penut-butter and one that was just butter and sugar. All downed with a glass of milk. Then I went to sleep. And I woke up with a stomach ache from all those sandwiches. Go friggin' figure!

Maria called and said she woke up with a KILLER headache, Art's fine except he probably got bitched-out by his mom over the glasses, and I'm OK too. Except for the mild stomach ache, I could go out tonight and do it all over again. I love rock concerts.