Every few minutes, the circular screens would flash these words, eliciting an eruption of cheering, screaming, and hand-waving. My boyfriend Ben and I had been awaiting this moment with tranquility, meanwhile enjoying the opening acts of bands The Pierces and Metronomy. We’d made the drive down to San Jose through a stressful onslaught of Friday afternoon traffic; thankfully, our impatience had subsided.
Personally, however, I’d convinced myself that this was just a concert despite adoring the main attraction for a decade. I’d forgotten that the music was buried within me, residing comfortably beside the high school memories I cherish beyond all others. I’d lulled myself into a false sense of disinterest. I suppose I was under the impression that I was about to be let down, as if that was ever possible.
As I watched the members of Coldplay assemble onstage, I realized that I had forgotten the emotions that albums like Parachutes and A Rush of Blood to the Head had stirred in the deepest center of my being. And suddenly, as the sounds began to swell, the stadium was glowing with the intensity of a million strands of Christmas lights, and all those feelings returned to me. Instantly.