- We were able to get Taylor Swift tickets but marked them for the wrong day in our calendar.
- Swift's concert started at 6:30, and our map said we'd be arriving at 8:47.
Both of my daughters were sobbing in the backseat. My husband maneuvered as if driving a getaway car. In less than 18 minutes, he managed to grab me from the basement where I was doing laundry, find the last Zipcar in our neighborhood on Memorial Day weekend, and get us out of our apartment on the road to the Taylor Swift Eras Tour at Met Life Stadium in New Jersey.
This cruel return of our five year old nightmare ignited more than horror and panic. Stricken with guilt, Allison consoled her baby sister once again. Meanwhile, Gillian hid her sorrow from another freaky glitch that would prevent her from seeing Taylor again.
Our ETA was 8:47. We knew all too well the concert started at 6:30.
We marked the wrong day in our family calendar
Last fall, Allison, a meticulous planner, had us register as Verified Fans on Ticketmaster. Since they both had classes, I, with an Ethernet connection, was tasked to make the purchase.
She prepped me for every step. Charge the laptop. Get in line but never re-enter with another device. Don't let the computer sleep. Avoid refreshing the browser.
We had debated which day but decided it didn't matter as much as the location. She studied the seating chart and ranked desirable sections.
After watching the screen for hours and rushing to pick seats, not built for speed, I had to lie down. The adrenaline overrode default habits; I, a time management coach, didn't put the concert on our shared digital calendar.
Months later, Allison did but on the wrong day.
Earlier that week, we saw seats in our section going for $3800. I kicked myself for not buying more. Thinking of other fans, they said it was wrong to take more than we needed. I only agreed, fearing karma.
I imagined the hordes wanting to stone us now.
We missed the first 10 songs
Allison searched Twitter. Swift had started singing only 22 minutes ago. She reassured her sister our chances were good.
My heart ached for Allison. She crocheted matching tanks whose lace pattern hinted at butterflies from the debut album. We planned to watch the "Reputation Tour" and "Miss Americana" back-to-back on Netflix while she glued turquoise rhinestones and Gillian and I folded laundry. While I was gone and the TV was on pause, Allison checked on the digital tickets. They were labeled "today."
In our mad rush out, we didn't have time to change, leaving the bejeweled tops.
When they were little, and I controlled the playlist, I introduced them to an up-and-coming country singer. I liked that she wrote her own songs and was candid about unpleasant feelings. By the time my daughters took over Spotify, Swift was always in the rotation.
Five years ago, we got tickets to The Reputation Tour. Shortly thereafter, Gillian was diagnosed with Osteosarcoma, a rare bone cancer. The concert fell on one of the 18 weekends she would be hospitalized for chemotherapy. Even if the timing were better, the crowds would be too dangerous for her immune system. The side effects — nausea, fatigue, and burning foot pain — and being wheelchair-bound made it impossible.
Leaving Gillian behind was hard. Watching Allison's torment made it worse. She sacrificed time with friends, balancing visits to the hospital with homework. Yet, she enchanted Gillian, distracting her discomfort with gossip and delicate nail designs.
Allison was willing to give up the concert. Gillian wouldn't hear of it and urged her to go.
The stadium in sight, I opened the windows. Allison made me buy special earplugs, concerned the volume would worsen Gillian's hearing loss, another byproduct of cancer.
Sure enough, we heard "Willow." Allison assured Gillian Swift had only sung 10 songs.
There was no traffic around the stadium, but the drop-off lane was no longer open. We looped around again. We passed fans sitting outside the mall across the street. I calculated that would be our backup plan.
We spotted a direct route to the stadium. My husband dropped us off, and we started to run.
When we made it to our seats, we held each other and cried. Allison got us here. Gillian was alive. Every song was our song.