A friend invited me for a Milwaukee weekend. The Indigo Girls were performing at Summerfest. I jumped in my Geo Metro and hit the road.
Then, I hit Summerfest traffic. And Third Ward parking was impossible. Stuck in my airless tin can, sweating and swearing were all I could muster.
I finally found a closed M & I Bank drive-thru and just left my car. I was two hours late meeting my friends, who’d given up. I was in a city I didn’t know, without a place to stay, with a car that was likely towed. Then I went where women go when we need a quiet place to breathe. The bathroom. There, I ran into a different group of friends. They embraced me and asked me to join them at the Indigo Girls concert.
In the bleachers, I was in my gay glory, lookin’ fly, decked out in my Doc Martens and white V-neck tee, singing along with the band. There were no cows. And the band was in front of me, live. I looked to my immediate left, and found the original group of friends I was supposed to meet! Reunited and it felt so good!
As the Indigo Girls finished with “Closer to Fine,” I felt so aware – of being surrounded by friends who accepted me, listening to world-class music and full of joy on a hot summer night. I was more than fine. I was home.
