Was it a good concert? I don't know, I don't really remember it that well. The important thing was that I was hanging out with her. I had never really liked Ann Arbor before I met her. Whenever we were together, though, the city seemed to come to life; less strange and quirky, and more vibrant and welcoming. I didn't feel different and out of place anymore, she had that effect on me.
There was a milk crate full of old vinyl records sitting on the sidewalk. We stopped and dug through the entire collection, even though I'd never heard of any of the artists, and neither of us had a record player. Everywhere we walked was an adventure, and everything we found was treasure. Whatever plans we made were always an excuse to hit the streets. It was the walk that was magic. The concerts, museums, and restaurants may all fade from my memory; but I'll always remember the walks, the streets of Plymouth and Petoskey, Traverse City and Charleston, Detroit and....Ann Arbor.
The sky was heavy and gray as we turned down Francis St. She never seemed to mind the rain. I, on the other hand, had pride in my ability to always find shelter at the last possible moment before the downpour. I couldn't forget, however, the day at the coffee shop when she walked right out into the storm. She left me standing there, cowering under the awning. I decided two things that day under the coffee shop awning; this girl was something very special, and I wasn't going to let her walk off alone in the rain ever again.
The drizzle got steadier and heavier as we walked along Francis, until it seemed as though we were the only two people left on the street. The sound of the blues drifted toward us from a tiny alcove, where an immaculately dressed black man sat on a stool with an acoustic guitar. With no regard for the pouring rain, he sat licking the blues to no one, like he had been waiting for us. Our own private show! Suddenly, the concert we had just seen was forgotten, and we were dancing in the rain to the blues.
To this day, I don't remember much about that concert. When I close my eyes, however, I can still see that man's gray suit and fedora. I can still hear the Memphis style of blues from his guitar. I can still feel my wet pant leg against my calves as we stomped in the puddles.
