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Last night marked my third anniversary of witnessing the paramount harmonies of Ingrid Michaelson. Hundreds of die-hard Ingrid fans gathered in Wilmington, Delaware’s newest concert hall, World Cafe Live - a venue that certainly has infinite growth potential providing that the locality in which it is home to steps up its game. A note to N. Market St. in Wilmington, DE: people DO assemble for dinner after the 6 o’clock hour; it would behoove you to keep your eateries open past that time. I was accompanied by my partner-in-crime, Courtney - an individual who gave me the strength that evening to remind myself what it means to love who you are, and to always come out on top.
We were both equally perplexed at the average age of the concert; in the past, Ingrid’s concerts normally drew in a younger demographic (18-25). However, the climate for this particular concert was not of one’s previous. Nonetheless, it’s Ingrid Michaelson; regardless of the awkward vibe that the crowd was emitting, coupled with the fact that I felt as though I was watching the concert with my grandparents and 400 of their friends, I still thoroughly enjoyed every moment of Ingrid’s presence. Well, almost every moment…
Having a best friend, someone that truly knows you inside and out, normally means that most, if not all of your inhibitions are disregarded. While encompassed in the flowing arrangements of Ingrid Michaelson’s emotional songs, my best friend and I engaged in side conversations. One particular moment had us talking about something that probably wouldn’t be deemed a “PG-13” conversation. Nonetheless, an individual that was within close proximity to our presence overheard this carefree dialogue. Her commentary was as such:
This particular exchange was all too confusing for me. First off, the dialogue between Courtney and I was in no way overtly loud or obnoxious. I decided that this minor inconvenience to my evening wasn’t going to ruin my time observing the intoxicating Ingrid Michaelson. Easier said than done, though. The crude and direct tone of this individual was simply uncalled for. I replayed her comment repeatedly in my head trying to understand why she felt it necessary to be so impolite.
Sadly, Ingrid’s concert ended, and although there was a minor hiccup in the flow of my enjoyment, I still thoroughly enjoyed my time. I leaned over to “rude girl” and said, “I’m sorry for earlier, but I hope your evening got better and that you’re a little less bitter about life.”
…so perhaps the “you’re a little less bitter about life” part was unnecessary; however, in the grand scheme of life, it was quite harmless. The explosive environment that followed this harmless comment is something that I am still trying to process. The interaction was as such:
The boy accompanying her pushed us apart from one another in order to keep a spatial distance. Being that I was never immersed in her personal space, the fact that he felt it necessary to push her away from me was all too puzzling. As I glanced at her, I noticed the frustration building from within. Her blood was boiling. Why she was so mad remains quite a mystery. What happened next left me frozen:
I couldn’t move. I didn’t move. I stood their defenseless – confused – shocked. My mind raced back to seven years previous when this particular word was thrown at me as a greeting more often than my own name. The complex emotions that this girl struck within me are far too tangled for me to adequately communicate, however, what I can say is that her utterance of such a derogatory and disgusting word left me completely exposed. Courtney, without missing a beat, jumped in front of me and acted as my voice for I was left truly speechless. I grabbed her hand, squeezed it tightly, and held her back from any further altercations.
It took but mere seconds to realize that I was not going stand idly and let her win. What was I to do then? My feeling of weakness quickly transitioned into a fury of rage. All the strength I have ever accumulated over the years was being tested. Action had to be taken. There was no way that I was going to revert back to being a helpless 12 year-old boy that didn’t stand up for who he is.
Our eyes locked with one another – I began to walk towards her completely unaware of the words/actions/thoughts that were going to come out of me. I was scared. For myself…and for her. We stood face-to-face, her eyes flooding with fear.
(A cascade of tears flooded down her face.)
Before I walked away, I paused for a moment and asked her to smile. Resistant and unwilling, I told her I wouldn’t leave until I saw a smile. The smile came and all was made right.
For the first time…yes, the FIRST time in my life I stood up for who I am. While this interaction was highly unfortunate, I walked away knowing that my once defenseless demeanor in regards to my sexuality has grown into a strength that no one will be able to knock down. I am no longer the little boy that hides in the corner – I am no longer the little boy that buries his head in his lap to hide his tears from the monsters around him – I am no longer the little boy that hates who he is. I am me, and I love every bit of it.
The only relation this has to do with Ingrid is that it took place at her show last night. But I think it should be shared.
