I attended the Joshua Tree concert with a very good neighbor friend of my era, who did not judge and or pretended not to notice as I sang every. damn. song at the top of my lungs, along with 50,000 other people. I screamed and sang so loud and long my throat was sore for days but it was all worth it. And so help me I cried. Like a lot. The lights were still up and everyone was still hustling to refill beer post-Beck and pre-Bono. Out of nowhere the first few cords of Sunday Bloody Sunday started and suddenly he was there, in front of me yet 50 yards away. I shot up out of my seat along with anyone else with a pulse and started screaming and yelling, much like the photos of the girls at Beatles concerts who I used to make fun of.
It was the kind of gutteral and emotional response that can only be triggered by friends who have been with you at your highest and lowest points, spanning 3 decades, just ask my 1988 diary. They've changed and evoloved and made some really horrible choices right along with you and they've just always been there. 3 songs in it was Bad and it practically brought me to my knees. My anthem song these past years that hugged me and lifted me from the bathroom floor through multiple miscarriages and allowed me to scream along at the top of my lungs in the confines of my car on my lowest days to and from months spent in the NICU. It was there in front of me, live, enveloping me and 50,000 of my now closest friends and then something released in me in those minutes, it escaped.