Hundreds of people cram into the small, humid Granada Theater in central Dallas after standing outside in the blazing Texas heat for hours on end. I’m next to all the other teenage girls packed together in the standing-room-only theater so tight that I can barely breathe. This is something that becomes especially difficult when you can’t even see over most people’s shoulders. Their eyes scan every nook and balcony in the venue hoping to catch a glimpse of the band they’ve waited months to see. 

Every small pause in the intermission music makes the crowd scream the band’s name, mistaking it for the start of the concert. Despite the suffocating environment, the freeing feeling washes over me the second the lights dim and the unintelligible screams of hundreds erupt.   

When The Wrecks finally take the stage, they are all I think about for the next three hours. 

This concert ended up being the best one in my life. But I barely even thought about going less than 24 hours before. I barely knew the band and not even a handful of songs. But sitting in that empty parking lot, the impulsivity of summer floated throughout the car. I decided to buy the tickets. Only $27 for a band I didn’t even know existed six months ago. 

Just days before, I was on what felt like a never-ending family vacation to New York. Our trip started in Syracuse and ended in New York City. My family couldn’t stop stepping on each other’s toes. At every turn there was a new problem. Another argument. I needed an escape. I needed an out when I got back home. This trip was the final tipping point in the never ending spiral that was that summer. 

At the exact same time, my best friend Lili was moving to Arkansas. We spent almost every day we could with each other for all 18 years of my life. No matter what was going on we always had each other. Although the 5 hours to Fayetteville, Arkansas isn’t that far, it felt overwhelming. Our time together was coming to a close. 

Lili had been talking about going to The Wrecks concert since they announced their tour months ago. But she was leaving to go to Portugal for a month. She begged her family to move the trip so we could go, but they wouldn’t budge. So I went in her place . 

 That’s how I ended up with the tickets. In a blisteringly hot parking lot and with my car’s broken ac in the middle of July.

To me, concerts are one of the few places where everyone can come together in celebration of one artist. A few hours where nothing matters except the music. Belting every song I know at the top of my lungs. Ignoring the thought of waking up for school tomorrow. It all  feels so exhilarating. The joy I feel from artists interacting with the crowd. The members of the band telling mini-stories throughout the set to introduce the next song.

It lets me ignore my never ending list of worries for as long as they keep singing. Including my best friend moving a treacherously, untravelable 5 hours away, and my occasionally irritating family. For once my mind is finally able to go quiet and not race with a million thoughts for those few hours of the day. 

I spend the next morning trying to recover from the night before. I wake up with my voice scratchy and hoarse from screaming all night. I trudge my way through the day after only getting 5 hours of sleep. But no matter how terrible I feel it’s always worth it. Looking forward to the next concert makes it worth every second of suffering.