Five weeks ago, I learned Prince was coming to Atlanta.
Four weeks ago, the day after Prince tickets went on sale, I had two.
Three weeks ago, just as we were preparing to leave to head to the city, the show was postponed.
Two weeks ago, the concert was on and was awesome.
One week ago, as I sat down to a picnic lunch with friends in the most amazing private garden, a text popped up on my phone from my husband telling me the news.
Besides the memory of an amazing performance from someone, obviously in the midst of a struggle no one really knew about, I will always remember the atmosphere in the theater. The woman sitting next to me was super excited, telling me how her mother took her to see Prince in 1985 and how she has loved him ever since. The couple behind us, well, the woman, was expressing her displeasure of waiting on the sidewalk, by herself, for her friend/husband (?) to arrive. His response to that was to shift the conversation to marvel at the scene from earlier when Prince road past us outside and waved from the backseat of a black Suburban. During the performance I looked around me; down, behind, across rows of people packed into every seat, dancing in their seats, waving their arms, singing, loving Prince.
|Prince performing Heroes in honor of David Bowie|