The Florida State Fairgrounds

It had been on the calendar for months. We were going to the Florida State Fair Grounds to see Trace Atkins and Toby Keith.... mostly Trace Atkins. We've lived on our island for almost a month now and had unbelievable weather. We've had rain twice - hard rain with wind, too - but short lasting, and this during the worst season in Florida. It seems the winds around here blow storms inland, or out to sea - they miss the island. But we went into the interior for the concert, far enough that the palms thinned and turned into trees draped in Spanish moss. And as we sat on the highway, stuck in Tampa traffic, the skies darkened and it began to rain.

We had planned to go to the Hard Rock Cafe for dinner first, but it seemed as though the rest of the concertgoers had the same idea. The parking garage nearby was full - absolutely full. We went up five stories of wet dripping concrete only to find every spot full and dozens of cars circling. Madness. We cut out losses and headed to Steak and Shake. Twice during dinner the power went out and we heard the generators buzz as it flickered back on. But the worst was when it came time to pay. They sent me to the register with the money, and I waited. And waited. The rest of the family joined me and we waited. No one came to help us. There was a crowd of employers there who stared at us blankly.

"Can we pay?" my dad asked, again and again.

One woman just kept staring at us with an absolutely blank expression, shaking her head slowly. My dad was ready to just walk out, but my mom was sure we'd be arrested. So I reached into my purse, found exact change, and laid it out on the counter. Then we left. What that was all about, we had no earthly idea.

The sight of the fairgrounds looked like it had been taken out of some horror movie. Everything was grey-blue and threatening, wet with rivulets of running rainwater and lit up by flashes of lightening. Here and there revelers waved the Confederate Flag proudly over impromptu wet shirt contests and tailgating parties.

We parked the car and started the long walk, through marshy, swampy areas. We were in sandles, my sister in high heels, and the mud and water came up over our feet with almost every step. We dodged the deep puddles, but even the shallow ones put sand under our toes and set frothy foam coming up out of the soles of my mom's sandles. And she kept muttering about snakes and gators. Gators was rediculous, unimaginable in the crowded parking lot, even with the wilder areas surrounding it. Snakes seemed unlikely as well, but at least possible. I kept telling her that there wouldn't be any snakes there, it would be a snakes' worst nightmare, etc.

There were cowboy boots and hats and American flags everywhere. Women hard before their time. The ubiquitous beer belly. The smell of cigarettes. Harsh voices. All excited. This was a big night. We got our tickets, walked a little further. We had reserved seats, so we were part of the half of the audience with a tarp over their heads to keep the rain off.

Trace was good. He was a huge man, just as described. My mom kept shrieking that he was an absolute monster. He's about 6'6'' and filling every inch with muscle, anyway. The screens sometimes showed him from the pack, a profile, topped with that big cowboy hat. He looked almost rediculous, like a giant shuddering snowman as he moved to the beat. It was just the angle, though. Straight on, he was the picture of masculinity - traditional, arrogant, muscle-bound masculinity.

The young boys in the row in front of us were rather interested in my sister and I. I sat on the far end from them, so my sister got the worst of it. Between Trace and Toby, the older one came over to sit by me and started flirting rather shamelessly with me. I replied only when absolutely necessary to be polite. I felt a bit sorry for him, after all. It's not as if he knew. He told me he was 15, and I sort of gave a smile and a laugh, and thought I'd finally end it.

"I'm nineteen," I told him.

Well, he was surprised, and seemed to acknowledge at first that he was way out of his league, but then he pressed on at a slightly different angle, admitting that he could at least brag to his friends about 'impressing' a college girl or something like that. He didn't know. Didn't know that the youngest boy I'd ever kissed was six years older than this boy was, that all I kept thinking was, "Boys and Men, Boys and Men." And it was a little bit too bad. We had a few things in common, and he was cute enough. If only he had been five years older. ;)

Toby Keith came on. He's who the rest of the crowd had been waiting for, and they exploded. Out came the American Flags. The show started with a Ford Commercial on the big screen, admittedly an absolutely hilarious one. I looked for it on Youtube but I couldn't find it. :( It was called, "America's Toughest", and was a contest between different fake celebrities, and Toby Keith. The rappers tried to meet every challenge with cursewords and shooting, the pop group was made up of absolute pansies, there was a new age woodwind player who tried to chant and magick his way to victory, and best of all a heavy metal group who tried to be scary and ended up just looking stupid and rediculous in the hot sun, with their high heels breaking as they tried to run, and failing utterly to lift weights or do anything other than scream and hiss. And then Toby Keith, confident, smiling mockingly at the other contestants, easily winning each contest singlehandedly and by a huge margin, as teams of sexy blonde midwestern girls cheered him on. It truly was amusing.

Then he sang a few songs. It was just hard to care much about him after Trace, so we packed up after the third or fourth song and thought we'd head on out before the herds followed us and filled the concert grounds with traffic again. We waved goodbye to the flirting high schoolers, went down to the concession stand area, and my sister bought a shirt.

Then we ventured back onto the grounds, the swampy, swollen parking areas. We walked and walked. My sister couldn't decide whether it was more painful to walk with or without her high heels on, my mom was still petrified of snakes. Slowly it became apparent that we didn't know where we had parked.

Abandoned ticket counters, mossy trees, groups of latrines... each one began to look the same as those we had passed a thousand times. Were we going in circles? It was eerie to be walking around in the rain and flashing lightening, with water up to our ankles, our sandles soaked and slimy, through the rows and rows of shiny parked cars, all alone. We searched together. We split up. We shouted at each other from reasonable distances when we had gone a while without seeing the others. Each time we shouted, the other group responded hopefully, thinking we'd found the car. We hadn't.

Finally mom and sis parked themselves by a group of latrines and a tree labled "H" and my dad and I set off again, just the two of us. My dad kept clicking the alarm button on his keys to no avail. The fear that we would continue searching until the herd poured out, all found their cars and drove off, leaving only our G35, grew in us and suddenly felt very real. We found a G35, but it had Florida plates. We kept looking. Finally I found it, gave a screech... we all assembled and piled in, my sister and I wet and exhausted in the tiny back seat, pulling off wet shoes and revealing slimy dirty feet that were beginning to itch mightily. We tried to sleep on the long drive back.