If I were to try to explain what the Pink Floyd album The Wall meant to me, I would come off as a touch more insane than my baseline. I found it late, but I found it at a crucial time in my life and it propelled me through a lot of times when I would have frozen, deer-in-headlights style, without it. The combination of harsh poetry and Celtic foundational melodies (it’s there…just listen closely. Especially “Comfortably Numb”, “Thin Ice”, “Mother”) is soothing to my soul in a very measurable way.
So when Tim heard Roger Waters was coming to town with his “Wall Reimagined” tour, we bought tickets that very day.
None of us gave any thought to the fact that section 301 at the Bridgestone arena was very far off the ground. And none of us certainly thought that acrophobia would be a big deal.
I sat down in the seat and felt like I was sitting on the edge of a ledge. The show was due to start in ten minutes. I leaned over and told Tim I hadn’t been so terrified since Tower of Terror. That was a ninety-second ride, this was a ninety-plus minute show. I closed my eyes and told myself it would be okay.
Then the preshow music came on: Imagine by John Lennon segued into People Get Ready and I was wondering how many more Death songs were coming to remind me just how terrifying my circumstances were. “What’s next,” I thought, “Amazing Grace on Bagpipes?” Tim and I kept saying I’d be okay once the houselights went down. And the houselights went down. Spots chased one another over the crowd, and pyrotechnics synced with the music made the entire stadium vibrate. As soon as the guitars crashed at the end of the intro to Thin Ice (and my husband’s arm about got torn out of its socket by the grabs of his terrified wife) he looked at me and said “we have to go NOW.”
The walk to the First Aid station—about 200 feet–gave me an idea of how far gone I was. Arena personnel, vendors of cellphones and sellers of beer all looked at me goggle-eyed and asked my husband if I was okay. He still claims that he deserves a prize for not saying “WHAT DO YOU FREAKING THINK??? LOOK AT HER!!”
We made it to the first aid station and I crumbled into a trembling I couldn’t stop. I started into a keening wail like a woman who had just seen her whole family executed before her. None of it could I control. I just…broke. And at the height of it all we heard Roger Waters leaking past the concrete walls–“fat and psychopathic wives”. That was me. Fat. Psychopathic. Ruining my husband’s good time.
I was going to go wait in the bar where we’d had several blogger meetups.
The arena management found us two seats on the floor. I ended up seeing most of the show. But it’ll always be one of the most embarrassing events of my life.
Mother did it need to be so high?