An Extraordinary View
by
S.B. Borgersen
“We’ve got them Jo, we’re actually going,” David said, waving the tickets in her pale face.
“Hmm,” she said as she sliced fruit for the top of the trifle, carefully arranging bananas and cherries in a circle on the cream topping. “There,” she said, holding the crystal glass bowl aloft, turning it, admiring her handiwork.
She knew she had no choice, much as she disliked smarmy Paul McCartney. In July they loaded up with the limited supplies allowed for the Concert on The Commons: a sealed bottle of water; a couple of food bars (no other food was permitted); two fold-up chairs; a blanket for their knees and their rain jackets. David wore his old Beatles t-shirt. Joanna attempted smile, tried to share in his enthusiasm.
The gates did not open until four. They joined the long line of Macca fans at just after one. It snaked around Cogswell and halfway up Robie. Everyone bubbled with excitement. Joanna began to feel it too. She wasn’t sure of the exact turning point, whether it was when the sound checks were being done, or when some of the early bands started playing, but she felt something. A shudder of electricity running up her spine. The field was cordoned off, only those without chairs could go up front, close to the giant stage. From their distance, David and Joanna contented themselves with watching the ants on stage, but watching the concert on the enormous side screens didn’t quite do it for Jo.
“If this is it, we might as well not have bothered,” she said to David. “Come on.”
They left their belongings in the dark damp grass and, hand in hand, they pushed their way forward through the crowd until they were at the edge of the stage. Joanna could feel David’s pulse racing with her’s.
For over two hours they stood and absorbed the art of the great Paul McCartney. Then, he came to the edge of the stage and spoke, she thought, to her.
“Have you seen the view? It’s extraordinary. Look at the moon over the Citadel.”
Joanna turned and looked up at the moon. Then over the mass of glowing fans of all ages, and, as Paul sang Mull of Kintyre with the Pipes and Drums of the 78th Nova Scotia Highlanders, Joanna felt like bursting with overwhelming joy.
© S.B. Borgersen May 27th 2011
by
S.B. Borgersen
“We’ve got them Jo, we’re actually going,” David said, waving the tickets in her pale face.
“Hmm,” she said as she sliced fruit for the top of the trifle, carefully arranging bananas and cherries in a circle on the cream topping. “There,” she said, holding the crystal glass bowl aloft, turning it, admiring her handiwork.
She knew she had no choice, much as she disliked smarmy Paul McCartney. In July they loaded up with the limited supplies allowed for the Concert on The Commons: a sealed bottle of water; a couple of food bars (no other food was permitted); two fold-up chairs; a blanket for their knees and their rain jackets. David wore his old Beatles t-shirt. Joanna attempted smile, tried to share in his enthusiasm.
The gates did not open until four. They joined the long line of Macca fans at just after one. It snaked around Cogswell and halfway up Robie. Everyone bubbled with excitement. Joanna began to feel it too. She wasn’t sure of the exact turning point, whether it was when the sound checks were being done, or when some of the early bands started playing, but she felt something. A shudder of electricity running up her spine. The field was cordoned off, only those without chairs could go up front, close to the giant stage. From their distance, David and Joanna contented themselves with watching the ants on stage, but watching the concert on the enormous side screens didn’t quite do it for Jo.
“If this is it, we might as well not have bothered,” she said to David. “Come on.”
They left their belongings in the dark damp grass and, hand in hand, they pushed their way forward through the crowd until they were at the edge of the stage. Joanna could feel David’s pulse racing with her’s.
For over two hours they stood and absorbed the art of the great Paul McCartney. Then, he came to the edge of the stage and spoke, she thought, to her.
“Have you seen the view? It’s extraordinary. Look at the moon over the Citadel.”
Joanna turned and looked up at the moon. Then over the mass of glowing fans of all ages, and, as Paul sang Mull of Kintyre with the Pipes and Drums of the 78th Nova Scotia Highlanders, Joanna felt like bursting with overwhelming joy.
© S.B. Borgersen May 27th 2011
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