Page 10 of Behind the Lights

“Hey guys, I’m going inside to see if Mary needs any help,” Brett told us before walking off.

“Don’t worry, Joey, we won’t hover around you guys. There are some bands there we want to see too,” he assured me.

“No worries,” I said, right as Ricky magically reappeared beside me. He was fingering a chain with something silver hanging off it, and it looked like he’d been crying.

Uncle John leaned in, hugging him. “Your dad was a good man,” he told Ricky before walking off.

“You okay?” I asked. “What’s that?” I pointed to the chain.

“My um,” he sniffled, “my mom gave me my dad’s dog tags from when he was in the Marines.” He rubbed them between his thumb and forefinger.

“That is seriously cool. Can I see?” He took them off and handed them to me. I ran my fingers along the embossed lettering as he closely watched me. I could see he was anxiously awaiting their return. “That’s awesome, dude. Here you go.”

He slid them back on before whispering to himself, “I only wish I could remember him.”

Chapter

Three

Concert day – July 12, 2003

We were so amped up that we didn’t sleep at all the night before. Having never been anywhere near the area let alone at the concert venue itself, we didn’t know what to expect and were excited to check it out. While summer in Seattle only got into the eighty-degree temperatures normally, it was still hot to us. Since it was an all-day outdoor concert with multiple bands, John and Brett said we needed to get there no later than noon or potentially risk parking miles away and having quite a hike to the arena – which none of us wanted to do. Ricky and I were so hyper that to have us walk any further than the distance of the parking lot would have been excruciating for all involved.

Even though we left the house way early that morning, we still pulled in to a ton of cars already in the lot but were able to grab a spot that was only a couple of blocks walking distance away in the dirt. We spotted some shade trees along the way and did our best to keep close to them, but there weren’t as many as we would’ve liked and had we thought about that beforehand we would’ve brought along sunscreen. But oh well, we were here, and we didn’t give a shit about anything other than seeing our favorite bands playing live.

Waiting outside in a line that wrapped around the building only intensified our nervous energy. I tried to remain calm but was so geared up that it was hard to contain my excitement. I focused on the crowd and determined concerts were the absolute best place to people watch. There were some seriously interesting characters waiting alongside us and watching them helped pass the time and soon enough, they’d opened the gates and we were being frisked and herded in like cattle.

Once inside, we ran straight over to the first merchandise selling booth we saw. There was no way we weren’t getting shirts from our first concert. I found a black one that had Korn in the middle on the front, surrounded by smaller pictures of the other bands. On the back, it showed all the concert dates and cities for the entire tour. It was so badass. As soon as the guy handed it to me, I slid it on over the shirt I was already wearing. When I turned to show Ricky, I found he’d done the same thing and bought an identical shirt. Nothing was wiping these stupid grins off our faces, not today.

We spotted Uncle John and Brett standing over by the picnic tables in the center of the walkway holding bottles of water up to us.

“First band goes on in about an hour,” Brett said, handing a bottle to each of us.

“Thanks,” we mumbled, quickly chugging down the cool liquids.

“I’m sure you guys want to take off and check things out without us hovering. What say we meet back here around four and grab something to eat before the headliners come on?” he asked.

“Sounds good to me,” Ricky answered.

“Ditto,” I chimed in before we speed walked toward the stage area.

This was the first time Ozzfest was being held at White River Amphitheater from what Uncle John had told us during the drive down. He said it’d been held previously at the Gorge in Quincy, Washington. Having never been to either place, it was all was new to us, but there were a ton of people here. I heard one of the announcers say that over fourteen thousand tickets had been sold.

When Cradle of Filth took the stage, their fans turned the grassy area into a giant mosh pit. Security formed a human barricade between the crowd and the moshers to try and keep things from getting out of hand while other guards were running around with fire extinguishers putting out the bonfires that kept randomly popping up. We stood back, taking the various scenes in and debating whether to brave the insanity of the pit. It didn’t take long before the adrenaline coursing through our veins overruled our brains and our crazy asses made a break for it.

Keeping to the outline of the pit, we circled with the others but never fully delved into the center of the chaos. Punches were being thrown, and numerous kicks landed. One guy came out with a huge gash on the top of his head and blood trickled down the side of his face. He seemed drunk as fuck, so what he didn’t feel now he’d definitely be feeling it tomorrow. We felt bad for the security guards who kept trying but failing to break up the fights.

We kept our eyes open, watching for what you should and shouldn’t do because we knew at some point we’d be stupid enough to get into the middle of it. The warm summer temps combined with the massive body heat load made it feel like we’d been dropped smack dab into the middle of the desert. Being in the midst of the madness, it felt like Satan’s kitchen. By the time Cradle left the stage and the moshers disbanded, we were drenched in sweat.

Heading off toward the vendor areas, I grabbed a handful of Ricky’s shirt screaming, “That was fucking insane, dude!”

“What?” he said, poking his fingers in his ears hoping to clear them.

I laughed. “Can you hear me now?”

Stretching his jaw and shaking his head from side to side, trying to pop his ears, he answered, “I think so. That was crazy!”

“I know, right? Let’s go to the bathrooms and soak our shirts in the sink in cold water and cool off,” I suggested.

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