Furthur

I had a dream the other night that I went to see Furthur at the WaMu Theatre.  The dream goes like this:  I took the light rail to the Stadium District and then spent a somewhat ridiculous amount of time trying to walk the few blocks to the theater.  I could see the sign for the venue between the stadiums but I was unsure how to traverse the terrain (fenced -in vacant lots, rail yard, highway on-ramps) between the station and the theater.  After following a thin dirt trail to a dead end at a busy intersection with no crosswalks, I found myself doubling back and eventually walking up a spiraling cement walk that turned into a bridge that passed over the vacant lot and the train tracks and pointed me in the direction of the WaMu.  When I arrived there was a tiny but lively scene of the usual crunchy neo-hippie folk.  There was a small parking lot with a rather pathetic Shakedown brightened up by a good-sounding band set up in a corner of the lot.  I saw two guys getting in each other's faces, which you hardly ever see at shows, but they eventually went their own ways without real incident.  I sat on the sidewalk and ate the sandwich Silvie had made me, took a picture of the marquee poster and headed into the theater.  It was my first time at this venue, and it was interestingly strange.  They have a rather large space that can be used for convention-type activities, or which can be configured into a more intimate theater setting with a dark, cavernous lobby area with plenty of room in which to roam or stretch out.  It was 90 minutes or so until show time and I walked right up to the front of the floor (there was a stand of seats in the back and a large floor space).  There was a group of about a hundred early-arrivers who camped out near the stage and so I stood around for ages about three people from the rail, stage left.  There were distinct groups of folks but individuals from different groups seemed to interact in such a way that it seemed as if everyone knew each other.  A few people struck up conversations with me, but mostly I just people-watched, wishing I had brought a book, until the floor got quite crowded and show time neared.

As soon as the band launched into their opener, "Victim or the Crime" (a Dead tune being debuted by Furthur that Bob Weir dedicated to the NFL), one of the guys I had been talking to, Alex, sparked up a large joint.  He passed it among his friends until a nerdy-looking guy to my left tapped him on the shoulder and asked for a hit.  A few minutes later the joint was gone and I turned to my left to see the nerdy guy standing rigid, bug-eyed, with mouth wide open, while a girl behind him asked him if he was okay.  He shook his head yes but told his buddy that he had to get out of the crowd.  He had clearly entered orbit.   I made it a point to watch for when Alex would pull out another joint.

Meanwhile the band was continuing through a nice version of Bob's Lost Sailor > Saint of Circumstance combo.  They would end up playing a mix of tunes that weren't necessarily my favorites but which were really well done.  When Alex's second joint came around I made a motion for it and took a few deep puffs.  Moments later I started to blast off.  I felt like I was starting to float and at the same time I felt the floor slanting to the right and I was careful to remain upright in the tightly-packed crowd.  I saw instantly why the nerdy guy had panicked and headed for the back of the theater but I was determined not to become a casualty.  At any rate I had no choice but to ride the wave as I didn't trust my legs and feet to carry me across the floor.  So I kept on dancing and singing and trying really hard not to levitate.

It was during this time that a singularly strange thing occurred.  I was doing my best to keep my focus on the band but everything was suddenly so intense (the music, the people, the lights) that I briefly found myself wishing that Silvie was there to steady and reassure me, maybe take me out to a waiting car and drive me home and put me to bed.  It was just then that I turned slightly to my right and... oh my god, there she was!  Right there next to me.  She was moving towards me, staring into my eyes, and she had her arms out to me.  I was truly confounded.  What was going on here?   I just stood there, frozen, as the girl leaned in and hugged me and kissed me on the neck.  Part way through the encounter I decided that this was not Silvie.  It was a girl Silvie's height, wearing glasses like hers, who looked so much like Silvie that for a few confused seconds I really thought it was her.  Oh, did I forget to mention that she was wearing a turtle costume?  I watched her as she moved away from me and through the crowd, hugging and kissing each person as she went.

I continued to ride the wave of those few tokes through the first set (with the floor now tilting to the left), wondering if I'd be able to walk through the crowd at setbreak.  To my relief I was indeed able to make my way to the lobby and my legs gained strength and coordination as I walked from end to end of the sprawling, purple-lit lobby.  After standing in line at the water fountain (I was so parched that I took a full minute at the fountain, which was less time than most folks took - clearly dry-mouth was going around).  I made my way back into the theater to await second set, or as I think of it now, Paranoia Time.  Suddenly everyone seemed, in one way or another, sinister to me.  I stood next to a guy who took off his jacket and started flexing his arms like a boxer loosening up.  I was convinced that he was going to start something so I moved to a different spot.  I found myself standing near a group of people and thought I heard one of them say my name and tell me that she knew I was watching them.  I got the hell out of there.  As the second set started I moved about a half-dozen more times because people were creeping me the fuck out.  Even when I'd found a relatively good spot to stand, I would be looking around every few seconds to make sure no one snuck up on me.  I kept checking my wallet.  At one point I ended up next to the boxer guy again!  I freaked out and two-stepped the fuck away from him.  Another guy tapped me on the shoulder and told me that the song they just played was great.  I nodded and agreed with him but I thought he must have been insinuating something, or had some ulterior motive.  Another time I thought I heard my name, this time my full name.  I bowed my head and fled.  I ended up hunkered down next to the soundboard operator with my back to a railing so that nobody could get the drop on me, and I kept my eye on everyone.

I wasn't in the best frame of mind, obviously, but I did manage to enjoy the set.  The band played great versions of "Passenger", "Estimated Prophet", and one of my faves, "Jack Straw".  As the show drew to a close I was feeling a bit less paranoid, and a little more steady on my feet.  I decided to cut out before the encore, mainly because I thought it was getting too late and I didn't want to call Silvie from the train too late, or (god forbid) miss the last train.  I walked out and took a few more snaps of the poster outside as I turned the corner and headed back the way I had come 6 hours earlier. 

I climbed the stairs to the walkway and was soon on the spiraled concrete walk down to the street level.  I passed a homeless person at a quick pace, feeling a lot less high and paranoid, but still wary of my surroundings.  As I rounded the curve I saw a figure ahead of me.  He looked to be a kid in his twenties with layers of clothing and a backpack, and he was weaving from side to side as he went.  I was clear-headed but unsure of whether to hang back or speed past this guy.  Besides the homeless man there was no one else around, and even though the walkway was adequately lit, I still felt decidedly less than safe going down that walkway.  The kid shuffled to the right side of the walk, so I decided to walk briskly past on the left.  As I passed him I turned to look at him.  He turned too, and when he saw me he ran directly at me, with his hands up in front of him, screaming at the top of his voice.  I jumped back and sprinted thirty yards or so back up the walk.  He didn't come after me, but turned and continued to walk to the bottom of the walk.  He had gotten scarily close to my face and his scream was menacing but also kind of anguished-sounding.  I gave him a few moments to reach the bottom and was glad to see him turn right, as I was going to be crossing the street and continuing forward.  When I reached the bottom I looked down the street to see him striding beside another lone walker.  He seemed to be harassing the person or arguing with him.  At one point he took off his sweater and angrily flung it down on the sidewalk.  I paused at my crossing.   The streets were deserted and I didn't know if I should follow the two in case an attack happened or run like hell away from there or get out my phone and dial 9-1 and wait to see what happened next. 

What happened was that the guy who was being harassed moved onto an ascending walkway and the messed-up kid turned away and gave up.  I decided I didn't want him to see me and start walking back my way so I took off across the street, sprinting two more blocks to the train platform.  The platform was of course deserted and I realized that, as the platform had only one access point and there was no indicator as to when the next train was coming, I needed to find a way out of there in case I saw the kid approaching.  On the other side of the northbound tracks there was a too-tall fence, so I planned an escape across the southbound tracks, over a short concrete barrier and onto the busway.  From there I'd just have to run for it and hope he was too out of it to pursue.  But after a small eternity the train thankfully arrived and I was pleased to find it far from empty this late at night.  I rode the rest of the way in ease after a night of adventure with a great story to tell Silvie when she picked me up at the station.