Peeing Before Dark

There must be far more than 10,000 people on this lawn. A sea of colors as far as the eye carries. We are as one giant Seurat painting come to life (I actually have no idea if Seurat is who I am imagining, but it is the first name that pops in my head). Our blankets acting as statements of territory we claim as our own. Chairs forming a semi-circle to guard our designated homestead. I sit within arms reach of others on all sides. We are as a field of one, each in our own mini universe, all really nothing more than tiny parts of a whole. This is Tanglewood on a Tuesday night, waiting for the show to light up the sky.

And yet, as I survey this landscape, my mind keeps returning to this one disturbing thought: I absolutely have to go to the bathroom before it gets dark or I will never find my way back here. I survey this territory while it is still light out. Trying to orient myself in relation to the tree with the branches that swoop low, to the edge of the movie screen that is attached near section 18 of the large shed where those who have shelled out more money than I will agree to spend do not have to worry about memorizing their surroundings. Desperately I attempt to pick out landmarks that will be as beacons should I need to go to the lavatory to pee after dark. There is a table about 40 to 50 feet to my left, on the same latitude (or is it longitude) as I am, with a number of lights on it that can be my guide. About 100 feet behind me, directly behind me, there is a small sign that I can surely use to my benefit.

My cell phone is of no value here, the sheer number of them stuffed into this terrain making even the thought of calling for help an impossibility. This must be how those who set out across our nation lived like hundreds of years ago, having to rely on the stars or the winds or whatever humans had to consider BCP (before cell phones) to navigate. I fully realize this situation comes with both a sense of potential accomplishment and an equal amount of dread.

I am most fortunate on this night. I announce to those with whom I am sitting in our tiny domain that I am heading to the men’s room before darkness has fully enveloped us. Armed with multiple methods of retracing my steps, I make a successful round trip, feeling every bit the equal of Christopher Columbus when my boat docks back into the waiting arms of my chair. Here I remain, resting in comfort and basking in the ease with which I came, I saw, I returned, until we depart the venue hours later.

If you are wondering, the concert was magical, the evening air just brilliant and Tanglewood everything it was meant to be. Perfect in every way. Unless of course you happened to be that person lost in the dead of night, desperately trying and failing to find your way home amidst what, for you, has become an indecipherable sea of troubles.