Day 24: Soldier Field
At the loading dock entrance from about 3:30 to 5:30pm, there was what had by now become the old familiar scene. I felt obliged to stay, having handed Bono's cousin AJ a letter for him informing of Elsha's immediate cyber presence. The stress had become a new normal, being there with dozens of pushy, excited and nervous fans as we awaited the arrival of the band. At one point I stood up to hold my space at the rail, to discover a single feather had somehow appeared under my seat and was now lodged firmly between my feet on the grass. I chuckled to myself, and messaged Gina about the synchronicity of the angels leaving me their calling card at this point in time. If God would send His Angels, indeed, they were right under my nose all along.
On the rail, I passed around my frankincense oil to us all, the powerful scent calming our frazzled nerves. We were there together, a small tribe of hungry ghosts.
Eventually, the black Escalade with the police escort pulled past my spot at the rail, and a cheer went up down the line. I later saw a photo of Bono waving from inside the vehicle, his window rolled down for just a quick drive by acknowledgement today, only a second or two after he had passed my spot, hidden behind tinted glass windows.
The crowd quickly dispersed, disappointed, and I remained at the rail for a long time, chatting with Elsha over Facebook video messenger. Marcela stuck close by me for a long while, as if I knew something she didn't, which I did, but it didn't make any difference in the end. No one came out to fetch me and Elsha, and Bono made no further appearance to greet the fans at the loading dock that evening. Eventually, Marcela said goodbye, with a couple of quick cheek kisses and a smile. My anger had turned to affection for my new friend in whom I had seen myself so clearly, in my relative sobriety. I was grateful for her, after all.
I felt a familiar disappointment. I was amazed, seeing how I had set myself up for predictable disappointment repeatedly, and I knew I was done waiting by the loading dock for this year, at least.
That night, I celebrated in the wide open spaces at the back of the floor, dancing with new friends, having my photo taken by fellow fans who appreciated my PopMartian outfit and U2OPIA license plate necklace, and accepting a high five from security guards who must have enjoyed watching me cavort about the place through the whole of the Joshua Tree. I had found a platform, and in my own secret world, I was onstage too.
One more time, early on, "A Sort of Homecoming" was the jewel of the set. In the end, I ran out of the stadium as "The Little Things..." began, to wave goodbye to the band as they buzzed past; "Four jerks in a police escort, that's funny" (Bono's quote, 1992). I didn't see them through the tinted glass of the vehicles, and that was okay with me.
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