Capturing My Childhood
When I was sixteen, I had a crush on Ariana Grande.
She was beautiful, portrayed a sweet personality on camera, and I liked her new song with Mac Miller. That was it. I was more engulfed with the idea of having a crush on her than actually liking her. After all, I didn’t have a celebrity crush and I needed one in case I turned famous overnight with a Vine video and was invited to celebrity parties. We were both from South Florida. I was single; she was single. It made perfect sense. So when she was performing in town, when I was seventeen, I decided I was going to take a picture with her.
The concert was Jingle Ball — an annual holiday show during the last few weeks of the year hosted by a local radio station. The date was December 21st, 2013. I was determined to take a selfie with her. I had no idea how — but I was going to do it. Better yet, Eithan and I would do it.
Eithan was my partner-in-crime in high school. Our friendship was serious: we were insistent about only dating girls who were also close friends so we could all hang out in a group, and we always had priority seating in each other’s cars. There were five months left of high school and our unspoken goal was to have a story-worthy night every weekend. We were in the cusp of leaving our childhoods behind and entering the intermediary phase where we weren’t burdened with real life yet, but no longer held an aura of innocence. At seventeen, everything was fresh and exciting. Girls, parties, driving.
This was the time to get in trouble. I had five months left to get into serious trouble before I was no longer legally considered a minor. Even today, I am nostalgic, not for the age, but for the mindset I held. Anything was possible. We were kids. Every experience seemed new and every night felt full of possibilities. A story waiting to happen. The world was ours. Taking a selfie with Ariana Grande was simply another thing, another wild idea that seemed out of reach. Another story we would tell.
Eithan and I never admitted it until after we graduated, but we needed one other.
Eithan was the type of guy who could talk his way into or out of anything. His job was taking care of any interferences along the way, while my role in the mission was coming up with a strategy for how we would get the actual photo.
When we came up with ideas during class on Mondays, we never knew how we were going to get something done; we just knew we had to figure it out by the weekend. It didn’t matter if it was finding a way for Eithan and his crush to coincidentally bump into each other at a party or taking a selfie with a celebrity, preparations were my task.
My planning began.
I followed Ariana’s Twitter account. Could I find out where the artists would hangout before or after the concert? Who was Ariana with? Could we somehow get our hands on VIP tickets? How could we spot celebrities if we saw them backstage? What do celebrities even wear? What was she wearing? Was this creepy? Maybe. But we were serious about our missions. Would Eithan and I finally try to get into an after-party in Downtown Miami like we always said we would? Was there a meet-and-greet event happening? I also tried to find a blueprint of the arena. The blueprint wouldn’t help us at all, but it made us feel prepared.
Friday came. In Econ class, Eithan and I realized we were no closer to meeting Ariana than we were on Monday. But prepared or not, it was time to take my selfie.
Tonight’s the night. I put on a pink polo shirt, then leave to pick up Eithan at his house. He takes one disdainful look at me.
“You don’t wear polos to concerts.”
It’s both a comical and obnoxious statement as we go to that same concert the following year to which Eithan himself wore a white polo. One of the first things I learned from Eithan was to never take his fashion advice.
“Give me the update,” Eithan says.
“You’ll see when we get there,” I say, knowing there’s no update.
The initial step is finding a way inside. We aren’t paying for tickets. Paying would make the game too easy. We arrive at the arena around 8 PM. This is when lesser known artists perform before the concert makes its way up to superstars like Ed Sheeran; we have time to figure things out before Ariana is up on stage. The first play is to walk around the venue — feel it out. Look for openings. Discuss. Is there an open door with a distracted enough security guard next to it? Is there a door nobody is watching? We don’t know exactly what we’re looking for, but we are looking.
We lap the arena twice, pursuing various leads. We crawl underneath a gate leading to a parking lot behind the arena. Too hard to find a way in from there. We try getting into the building from the section where concert-goers take their smoke breaks. Get caught. We try to walk in through side doors random people can open for us and pretend we had been locked out looking for our parents or the bathroom. Chased out. We try all of it — twice. Yet our naïveté proves to work against us for once.
It has been a couple of hours and we still haven’t figured a way in.
There was something about meeting people we saw on TV. Part of our childhood was spent fantasizing what it would be like to be athletes or celebrities, or even taking a picture with them. There’s a bubble of stardom we, as kids, were constantly watching from the outside, although we could never actually be part of it. Now that we were in our last year of high school, Eithan and I were determined to somehow pop this bubble.
Eithan and I had met in seventh grade. Back then, we made up code names for each other for when we went on ‘missions’ like finding out who stole my iPod Classic that same year. But this was our biggest mission yet, and we were turning up empty. “Let’s just buy tickets. We can still try to sneak in backstage once we’re in. The important thing is getting a picture with Ariana,” I concede.
“You know that’s not how we do things. Just be patient,” Eithan replies. He’s both dedicated and cheap. After all, we’re there for me. I am the one with a crush on Ariana. This night is my story.
There is one last option we haven’t explored yet — the garage.
We walk past the big metal gates, leading to the underground parking lot, casually, as if we belong. The most challenging aspect of doing this is acting like we know what we are doing and where we are going. Our body language dictates whether we will be questioned or not. As we keep walking deeper into the private garage, the cars become brighter, longer, and more expensive. We make it to the end before seeking shelter behind a big, dark SUV to deliberate the next steps. We scan the area and notice various doors along the wall, any of which can possibly send us into the world we are after. I take a deep breath and look at Eithan, who is already looking at me.
As close as we think we are, it’s a Friday, it’s almost 10 PM, we are two single high school seniors, and we find ourselves hiding behind a car in a garage, no closer to our goal.
I look at Eithan, frustrated. “Whatever we’re gonna do, we gotta do it now. Time is running out.”
“Relax,” he says. “We still have a lot of time. Remember the good artists don’t even — Yo, don’t look now, but there’s a guy toward the end of the line of cars guarding one of the doors near the corner. There’s some people leaving through that door. Looks like people can go in through there too.”
“Can you tell if he’s checking tickets?”
“Not yet. Nobody’s gone back in; they’re just standing outside.”
We were there for the picture. We wanted our friends and classmates to be in awe. But I think Eithan and I also wanted to impress one another — and ourselves.
We decide we had two options. We can either try to sneak our way through one of the doors, or we can try to get in through the guard. The random doors were a bit more promising, but if we try that and it doesn’t work, we expose ourselves to the entire garage. I want the doors. Eithan wants the guard.
“Let’s just try — ” Eithan begins.
“Wait. There’s a big group walking toward him now. Let’s go,” I say, turning around, revealing myself, walking toward the security guard. Eithan follows. “Start crafting a story. Look you like belong,” I tell Eithan, my face still fixed on the guard.
My heart rate quickens as we morph ourselves into the larger group, all headed toward the security guard separating us from the door that surely leads to backstage seats of the concert. We stick behind them, pretending to belong.
“Are you guys late too?” I blurt out.
We get into small talk. They seem to be three or four families together, all in a rush to get inside. We remain at the back of the group but realize that won’t help us.
“Fuck. They have tickets,” I whisper to Eithan, still walking toward the guarded door. Eithan’s face remains unchanged.
There was no turning back now. We were seconds away of being in front of the guard.
The people in front of us hand him their tickets one by one. “Hi,” Eithan began, when it wasn’t our turn yet. “We were just inside but came out for a second. We realized we left our tickets in there with our parents. Can one of us grab the tickets while the other stays here?”
One of my favorite lines. Not a bad idea. But would it work this time?
It’s unbelievable how easy some things are. The reality is that rarely anyone is willing to try these type of things, but the boldest lies are the easiest to get away with. Surprisingly, the guard doesn’t let one of us go in — he lets both of us. We wait outside an elevator with the larger group. No idea where this elevator is taking us, but we don’t care; all we know is we’re happy to step inside.
The elevator opens and we eagerly step out alongside the large group we are with. The family rushes out, and Eithan and I look at each other and smile. We make it in. But we don’t step out into heaven or the VIP seating as we hope. We are simply inside the arena. Still more scheming to do, but we are in, which is the important part. We already hear the music and the screams of fans at their seats so we start looking for a way to get in. All of the sections we see are covered by a large drape and an arena employee checking peoples’ tickets before directing them. We hurry to the nosebleeds to discuss next steps. We catch Enrique Iglesias’ last songs and begin to scout other vacant seats within the arena.
The rush is remarkable. Being both the player and the audience of these games is empowering. We decide who we were going to meet, and when and how we’re going to meet them. We decide if we wanted to pay or not for the tickers. It’s like we are the celebrities.
At the next intermission, Eithan and I notice a lower section that is nearly empty, so we make our way to it. Each time a new artist comes on, we climb to empty seats closer to our goal. And finally, it’s Ariana’s turn to sing. At this point we’re sitting first level and can take in her beauty up close. She is wearing a short white dress. On a scale of one to ten, I am at a hundred.
I take a video before putting my phone down as she moves onto her next song.
“Yo,” Eithan says, as I admire Grande, “what song is this?”
“I have no idea.”
The concert is quickly over, but we aren’t there for the music. It’s time to get what we are here for: the picture.
We initially try to move onto the ground floor seating area but that proves unsuccessful. We proceed to attempt to literally sneak behind the stage. As in, we go to the seats closest to the stage and try to walk behind. Nope. Next is my favorite attempt — opening random doors inside the arena in an attempt to somehow end up next to all the artists.
Negative. It began to feel like we regressed to being in the garage again. So close, but infinitely far.
What about that gate we had crawled underneath earlier in the night? We couldn’t get into the stadium that way but maybe we could catch a photo with Ariana on her way out.
We decide our best bet is trying to get in from the outside, again. We had spent so much time trying to get in but starting fresh is our only hope. We already know the landscape of the arena so we don’t waste time looking around. We speed-walk through the front doors, realizing every second we waste could be the second we lose our shot at getting our photo. We wrap around the arena and now we’re on a small hill with a view of the outdoors parking lot. The size of two football fields, it’s full of limousines and trucks. Toward the end of the lot is a huge open door by which there is a lot of movement. Workers are loading things inside the trucks, coming in and out.
We walk up to the lot, where we are met with giant metal fences with no openings. It takes us about eight seconds to overcome them. Once we’re in the parking lot, we have to make sure we get close to the door where there is commotion as soon as possible. In the parking lot, we can figure things out, but being caught toward the fences and around the cars would be too risky for a made up story. We rush closer and closer to the arena every time a security guard toward the opposite end of the fence looks away. No room for error.
Ten minutes later we’re at the door. There is movement inside again. Employees in black shirts move equipment around. We are off to the side where nobody says anything to us. Everyone is too busy to even notice us. Nobody suspects anyone to be hiding here, anyway. You look for intruders outside dressing rooms, not in the backdoor of the arena where the equipment is housed. We are in plain sight and for the first time in our lives, like innocent kids, we’re grateful to seem invisible.
“Hey! What are you doing here?”
Shit. Well this was fun.
“Waiting,” I say, not lying.
“For?” a security guard asks a bit louder as he approaches us.
“My dad. He works with the cameras. He told us to wait out here where we wouldn’t get in the way of everyone cleaning up.”
Another line we had used in the past.
“What’s his name?”
“Marco.” The security guard leaves. I look at Eithan and smirk. We’re set. We’re in. Not only are we right next to the opening at this point, but we’re not going to be bothered. It’s all about waiting now. Surely this is it; the singers have to be nearby. My heart is pumping hard. I never get used to the feeling.
And then, my biggest hope is confirmed. We see different artists leave the arena mere feet in front of us. Groups of good looking people surround the artists as they walk toward their cars.
“I think that’s the girl from Fifth Harmony,” I tell Eithan.
Then came Miley Cyrus. Just feet in front of us.
It’s incredibly difficult not asking these celebrities who are right there for a picture, but we know we can’t compromise our position. Every second seems like an hour but time also seems to be moving faster than normal. A true hour comes and goes and still no Ariana.
Maybe she had already left.
When you’re a kid, your ridiculous dreams are still alive. You haven’t learned to lose hope, or distrust people, or be angry at the world. Your biggest decisions aren’t life-changing yet. Your world is reduced to your hometown and circle of friends. When you’re a kid, you still haven’t realized you aren’t the absolute center of the universe. You are the main character of your own video game. When you’re a kid, you aren’t burdened with the so-called “real world” filled with cravings, petty frustration, and exhaustion yet, because when you’re a kid, it’s like you are the celebrity exempt from the outside.
Next thing I know, someone else exits. I feel my blood rush through my veins when I spot the familiar face — Ariana Grande. Walking toward her Cadillac. She’s with a small group, the most notable a tall, muscular security personnel. This is it — ninth inning of the game and I’m at bat.
I don’t care about the consequences or the security or employees around. I am getting a picture. My feet begin to move. I’m walking toward this girl I have decided I have a celebrity crush on. I’m about to do it.
In college, I’ll be too scared to tell the girl in class I have a crush on her, I’ll be nervous for presentations, and sometimes I’ll have anxiety and feel lost. But now, right now, I am seventeen and fearless and I believe in myself and I’m chasing my dreams even if they’re stupid and I’m walking toward Ariana Grande and I am going to ask her for a selfie.
Eithan and I walk back to my car and I’m staring at my phone and I’m asking him which picture I should post on Instagram. I was quick enough to snap the selfie with Ariana but it’s a bit blurry and I’m not looking at the camera, and I don’t look good because she is covering most of my face. I realize in that instant I should’ve focused on the actual picture and enjoying the moment, instead of looking at her. Crap. Everything Eithan and I did up until now, we executed perfectly.
Except for one part — knowing how to actually take the photo.
But I’m excited about posting this selfie and having this story to tell next Monday in school. I’m smiling but deep down I also feel weird. Sad, almost. I want to tell Eithan there’s this feeling inside of me I can’t describe. Why am I sad? I just took a picture with the girl of my dreams. This feels like nostalgia. But for what? How can I be nostalgic for an experience I am currently living?
Seven years later, I have a better idea of what that feeling is: withdrawal. A withdraw from the high that is my childhood and an end to these adventures. Yes, I have my picture, but the night is over. High school is coming to an end and there is nothing I can do to slow the transition down. College is next, and after that is adulthood, and every minute that passes I am further away from that selfie of me and Ariana.
But Eithan is excited and has his nose is glued to his phone so I don’t say anything. Of course, it was never about Ariana. It’s about the picture and temporarily avoiding that feeling of nostalgia and the fear associated with it. A deep fear that childhood is coming to an end and this feeling that anything is possible might disappear. I am excited for the future but will I still be bold and lucky enough to do what I just did? I am playing a game with withdrawal and I am losing because I am playing against time. Will I ever get to be a kid again? Is being seventeen actually about the age? Or is it about the innocence? The aura? Did I live my childhood to the fullest?
Can I begin to answer these questions by pulling out my phone at looking at a photo?
The next year Eithan and I are in college and we’re still friends but some things, as expected, have changed. We’re not speaking every day anymore. Our adventures have, for now, been put on hold. But come December he picks me up this time, and he wears a white polo to the concert, and we try it all again. And again, it works.
But this time I actually smile and look at the camera.
