Using Friends for Idols

---

Anticipation, it runs through my spine sending sparks in every direction. I await the future, but in that moment I was just like all the other acne filled teens and adults holding onto their childhoods as if they were holding onto a cliff hanging over a never ending drop, that drop was adulthood, we were all waiting for the concert to start.

I power walked through the never ending crowd dragging my friend, Tara, with me. I looked to my left to see the holy grail of Panic! at the Disco merchandise. We immediately hopped in line and started to make our choice on which band t-shirt would look good in our shrines. Once we picked our items all that was left was to wait in the line of the innumerable amount of people who, like us, decided merch was the way to go.

While waiting in the line and looking at the merch for the opening band, Tara finally spoke up and stated that her family knew the drummer of the opening band, Saint Motel. After a few exchanges of, "What?" and, "Oh my Gosh, Oh my Gosh, Oh my Gosh!" we finally got a grip on ourselves enough to desperately text every one of her family members to get the number of the aunt who actually knew the drummer. Even though we told ourselves that we wouldn't get excited because there is such a miniscule chance that we would actually meet Saint Motel; and even a smaller chance that we would meet my idol and singer of Panic! at the Disco, Brendon Urie.

As we were waiting for one of her family members to text us back with the vital information that will make or break our hearts. Time slowed, heart rate quickened, and the hyperventilating ensued. Every time my phone would vibrate or ding my hopes rose, and every time I looked down at my phone to see a Twitter notification or a text from someone that was useless in this point and time my hopes once again dropped to the floor. Although I had promised myself I wouldn't let it happen; I was definitely too ecstatic for a thoroughly dreamed about event that was at this moment, just a dream.

As the little optimism I had gracefully flew away, definitely mocking me, the familiar text tone that I had stupidly paid ninety-nine cents had reached my ears. The optimism rushed back into my thoughts as I saw a text from an unfamiliar number. For a few moments we were victorious. Tara's mom had texted back. We frantically typed in the number of an aunt that we would soon find out was, in fact, very unhelpful.

I had never typed so fast. I violently throw my politeness into each sentence by adding an unnecessary amount of pleases and thank yous and of course whipping out all of my profound vocabulary in order for the planets to align and to see my idol. As expected from a sixty year old aunt who probably uses her phone to play solitaire and actually call people; like how they did back in the good old days, typed incredibly slow.

A million years later she texted back, with a very accommodating, "I'll text my husband. He is at work though, so it might be a millennium until I get back to you." Sorry, did I say "millennium?" She texted that it would be a while, but my mind was trying to put the words together like a two year old trying to put together puzzle pieces. Even though she didn't say "millennium" it sure felt like one.

At this time my hope rose slightly at the possibility that her husband might be on break and happen to be able to provide the answers we wanted. I was still excited, not only because of or slim chances maybe rising, but because the music I love the most was about to be live and blasted into my willing eardrums. We shuffled into our seats and plopped down next to a man who was clearly dragged here by his child. We were on the right side (looking at the stage) of the venue and had a great view, especially for the amount of money we paid for seats, which wasn't very much. Music from alternative bands was blasting throughout the stadium. Naturally, we sang along.

Crimson and violet lights flashed on, cheering and screams started, and Saint Motel walked across the stage and into their positions. They started with a song called, "Puzzle Pieces," I will never know if I enjoyed their music and show so much because they were my only way to meet Brendon, or because they had a great show. I think I blacked out for a second because of how much jumping and scream singing we did during their set. Soon their bit was over and another band called, MisterWives, stepped onto their stage. They played a great show but the audience was hyped for the main event, Panic! at the Disco, so we got a little more impatient at the end of their set.

After the opening sets were done there was a Panic! at the Disco trivia that, of course, I knew all the answers to because like many other fans, I am a massive stalker. The countdown for the main event started and at each update of the minutes going down the screams got louder and hyperventilating once again ensued. I had checked my phone every second of the countdown from 10-0, to make sure I hadn't missed a peep from the unhelpful aunt and almost chimerical husband. When Brenden waltzed onto the stage and started with, "Victorious." I died on the inside.

The concert was breathtaking. The way Brendon danced and sang every lyric had me in shock. My phone was almost dead because of my perpetual checking and videotaping throughout the duration of the concert. I had somehow managed to keep my phone over 10% and no texts appeared on my screen. I let myself go and enjoyed every single moment of the concert. I attempted to absorb every lyric and word throughout the whole phenomenal concert, just like a sponge. Yes, I just compared myself to the least intelligent animal on earth.

As we solemnly walked down the stairs of the amphitheater and out into the crowded city streets of Orlando, without meeting Saint Motel or Brendon, we recollected the lovely times that were spent at the concert. As a fan who would have instantly broken down crying of joy if I had ever met my idol, I was disappointed. As a sponge who wants to absorb all the visuals put before me in the show, I had without a doubt killed the night.