The raccoon shambled like a drunk into the path of my headlights. At first I thought it was a cat or maybe a stray dog, but then I recognized its bandit mask and ring-striped tail. I slowed my car to a crawl, hoping it would move out of the road before I came to a complete stop. The raccoon kept walking towards my car. I rolled to a stop, mesmerized by the light reflecting off its shaggy coat. It lurched left and right as though confused or intoxicated until it finally found the side of the road and disappeared beyond the cone of light.
“Maybe it’s rabid,” one of my friends said as I accelerated and turned a corner.
“Maybe it got it a fight with that cat.” I jutted my chin in the direction of a very satisfied-looking cat that stalked away in the opposite direction that the raccoon had gone.
I dropped my friends off and then drove home, blasting music to keep myself awake. I woke up thinking about that raccoon, wondering what its story was.
Last night, I drove down to Portland with some friends to see the Ballroom Thieves play with the Maine Youth Rock Orchestra. It was the kick off of their nine day tour. If you have a chance to see them: go! Here’s a link to their tour schedule.
The Port City Music Hall was packed nearly shoulder to shoulder. A faint smell of beer permeated the air – not as heavy as it sometimes gets; this was an all-ages show and there were lots of families with kids. It always takes me a little while to get used to being so close to strangers. I don’t really like being touched even by people I know and love, so it takes me a few songs to get to the place where I can relax and let go and ignore the accidental brushes from people dancing next to me.
I love to dance. If there’s music playing, chances are I’m bopping my head or tapping my toe or slapping my thigh to the rhythm of the song. I love that moment at a live show when the drum first sounds and the beat of my heart joins with the beat of the drum and they take off together. Everything falls away and it’s music and movement until the music stops.
Last night was one of those nights where I wish the music could have gone on into the wee hours of the morning. It was one of those nights where I would have gone on to the next show and the next until there were no more shows to go to. It was warm and clear with a bright waxing gibbous moon. But the Ballroom Thieves show ended and I had a two hour drive back home through the clear, quiet night. I drove and one of my friends read off a list of hilariously misnamed children’s books until we lapsed into silence. I had music running through my head right up until I saw that raccoon in the road.
I think that raccoon was the night’s crowning glory: a last bizarre touch on an already surreal night.
Thank you for Reading.
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