The story I’m about to share is about one of the most incredible, unimaginable experiences of my life.

Grade nine was a tremendously pivotal period of my life for a number of reasons. In the beginning of the ninth grade, I was very alone. The school I attended was for students from kindergarten to grade nine and if I remember correctly, there was a whopping grand total of sixty-eight kids in my grade. Since the beginning of my time at that school, I was an outsider. I had dealt a great deal with being bullied and harassed, and I struggled to discover where I belonged among my peers. In each new year, I found myself spending my time in a crowd that was different than I had been in the year previous. Oftentimes, I would be welcomed into a group for another peer or two feeling sorry for my loneliness, and oftentimes, I would be discarded from the group later, once their sympathy for me had lessened. Being that I had already attended the school for nearly a decade, and being there were so few students in my grade, by the time I reached grade nine, I had already wandered my way through most every group of kids, and I had already made and then broken connections with nearly all of them in previous grades. So, by the time I reached grade nine, I found myself very alone. During breaks, I wandered the hallways in large circles, pretended to be consumed by the music on my hot pink, third generation iPod nano, or distracted by the miscellaneous items in my corduroy turquoise bag in attempt to draw attention away from my obvious solitude. I was lonely in grade nine – until I formed a connection with my friend, Ben.

Ben entirely changed the course of my ninth-grade experience. He accompanied me in the hallways, and he would talk to me on MSN Messenger every day from the time school was over to the time I would fall asleep in bed. Soon, we developed our own inside jokes, learned how to best communicate with each other, and built a bond that felt genuine. He would listen to me when I felt defeated, offer me ample advice when I found myself lost, and help me navigate my way through the social structures at school whenever I didn’t know where to go. Suddenly, I wasn’t so alone.

Ben introduced me to a world of music that I never knew existed. He would offer me one ear bud on the bleachers in the gym, and fill my head with new, wonderful sounds from bands like The Arctic Monkeys, Say Anything, and MGMT. But the most important band he ever introduced me to was called The Pink Spiders.

In the beginning, he only showed me three of their songs. He sent me downloadable links via MSN to Little Razorblade, Modern Swinger, and Hollywood Fix. I immediately added all three songs to my iTunes library and carried on listening to all three, on repeat, for days in a row. I had never felt so elated and vibrant from a first impression of music in all my life until I first heard The Pink Spiders, and it didn’t take long for me to dive as deep as I could into their discography on my own, until I had downloaded every album. I listened to their every song over and over and over again until I had everything ever created by The Pink Spiders completely and entirely memorized.

The Pink Spiders is a relatively small, pop-punk band from Nashville, Tennessee. They have three original members: Matt Friction, Jon Decious, and Bob Ferrari, though they have seen a sizeable roster of bandmates interchanging in and out of the band through the years. Though not widely recognized by a mainstream audience, they do seem to have fans from all corners of the globe.

Upon first impression, you may assume that their music is lacking depth, but in my experience, the more I listen, the more intriguing each song becomes. Their songs are very well put together, and I have often singled out one instrument at a time to focus on so I could fully experience the entire landscape of each song. Their lyrics are brilliant; catchy, captivating, and rich with meaning and profound ideas. (All while also sticking to themes like sex and drugs, and all the other elements that make up the foundation of good ol’ rock and roll.) They’re a band I never grow bored with, and their albums are still a prominent and regular soundtrack to my life.

Not far into my high school experience, I received some heartbreaking news: The Pink Spiders had broken up. If you ever want to devastate a fifteen-year-old, telling them their favorite band has broken up is a surefire way to accomplish that.

Leading up to the day I got the bad news, I would regularly daydream about seeing The Pink Spiders live. The chances of it happening to begin with were improbable, being as not well known as they were, and being that I resided in Alberta, Canada – an unlikely place for them to visit, but it was a nice thing for me to imagine. When I found out they were no longer together, no longer going to create and continue to build The Pink Spiders, that dream was taken away from me. The chances went from being slim to absolutely and utterly impossible. I often found myself envious of people who would express to me their stories and thrill in experiencing the live performances of their favorite artist. It is not uncommon for a person to get to have that memory in their lifetime, so knowing that was something I would never get to experience for myself was truly disheartening. Still, I continued to listen to them religiously, treasuring the warmth, excitement, and nostalgia that their music gifted me with.

I spent a great deal of my high school years developing my full musical palette. My iPod library became a confusing place, filled with artists that sparked joy in me from my childhood, like Britney Spears, Hilary Duff, and Lindsay Lohan, and cozy old-school country artists, like Johnny Cash and John Michael Montgomery. It contained the powerful sounds of metal with artists like Children of Bodom, Amon Amarth, and Dimmu Borgir, 90’s-era rock like Nirvana and The Offspring, and timeless artists that outlived me, like Pink Floyd, Ozzy Osbourne, and Van Halen. The more I went on to discover my full musical taste, the less alike The Pink Spiders were to anything else I listened to. Still, they made their way onto every playlist I created, and their CD’s continued to be the most used in my collection. Forevermore, they would remain my favorite band.

Let us fast forward to my early adulthood. Picture me, twenty two years old, in May of 2016, opening my Facebook and stumbling upon a post written by The Pink Spiders announcing that the three original members had gotten together and decided to put on one more show, (show singular, not tour) three months later in August of 2016, to celebrate the ten year anniversary of their album, Teenage Graffiti. My whole body tingled when reading that post. My eyes flooded with tears and I couldn’t stop laughing. I was punched in the gut with a fantastic energy equivalent to the amount required to lift a rocket up to the moon!

I had to go.

The show was in Nashville.

I had to go.

I didn’t have much money.

…

I had to go.

I had to go! This was truly a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity, and I mean, if Eminem has taught me anything, it’s that we’re supposed to seize those kinds of moments. Knowing it wasn’t a decision of whether I should go, all my focus shifted to figuring out how to get me there. My family worked with me to help me find the cheapest flights and hotels we could find, and I put every penny I had available towards the trip to Tennessee. I spent around $500 on a plane and a room, and a whole $13.50 on my ticket for the show. The three months leading up to the show shifted from seeming way too soon to ever be able to figure out how to make it there, to the longest, most drawn out countdown of my life.

Finally, the day had arrived for me to begin my solo weekend trip. My journey began with a two-and-a-half-hour drive, for through researching the most inexpensive options to bring me to Nashville, I learned that the airport in Calgary offered a flight $100 cheaper than the airport twenty minutes from my home. I brought along with me all my Pink Spiders CD’s and listened to them for the whole duration of the drive. My mom has a friend in Calgary who kindly allowed me to store my beloved Celica at her house, and graciously drove me the remaining twenty or so minutes to the airport so that I could catch my flight.

After I zig-zagged my way through customs, I had time to kill before my flight left, so I stopped at a lounge for a drink. Inside, I wound up chatting with two guys sitting at the bar that were around my age. The first guy’s name, I have long since forgotten, so we’ll just call him John. The second guy’s name was Ashley, and I don’t think I could ever forget his name. John and Ashley told me that they were headed off to Montreal to attend a metal music festival. They said they were going to go party with some friends that they have only ever met online. Or at least, Ashley had only ever known them online. John had known them for much longer than Ashley, who had only been in communication with them for a few months. I suppose that one day, Ashley was hanging out with John, and John had mentioned Ashley’s name to his online friends. Upon hearing Ashley’s name, the internet friends assumed Ashley was a girl, and John and Ashley decided to keep that going. They were careful to always refer to Ashley by name, instead of using words like “he,” or “him,” and they answered all questions about Ashley with partial honesty.

“Is Ashley single?”

“Yes.”

“Is Ashley cute?”

“Not my type, personally.”

“Would Ashley hook up with any of us?”

“I don’t know,”

and so on. John and Ashley were careful to make sure that their online friends never saw a photo of Ashley or heard his voice. Their visit to Montreal would be their internet friends’ first ever true introduction to Ashley, and I desperately wish I could have been there to witness their reaction to Ashley; a hefty, hairy, British man.

Finally, the time arose for me to board my flight to Ontario. I entered the very large plane and struggled to put my bag in the overhead compartments. I was fortunate enough to be seated next to a perfect passenger companion. We spent a great deal in compelling conversation, but when the time came where we both wanted to be alone, we both understood each other’s needs. In popped my earbuds, and we spent the remainder of the flight in comfortable silence. After an easy and very quick flight, we landed graciously on the other side of Canada.

When I first entered the Toronto airport, it was eerily empty. There wasn’t a traveler, nor an employee anywhere in sight. It felt like an apocalyptic set, or like a dream that feels real and vivid, but part of you is still aware you’re in a distorted version of reality. Being it my first ever experience travelling alone, being alone in the airport felt incredibly freaky. With little confidence and great uncertainty, I carefully, but hurriedly tried to find where I needed to be.

I finally made my way through the airport enough where small groups of people started to trickle out from corners and hallways, but things didn’t stop being bizarre. I glanced down at my ticket which told me I needed to be at gate A6D. I’m no stranger to the alphabet and its natural order, so I followed the hallway down passing A6B, A6C… I then found A6E, and A6F… and a dead end. Panic set in. A6D didn’t exist. I retraced my steps back down, and again back up the same hallway, careful to ensure I didn’t miss anything. Again, I discovered that there was indeed no A6D. Defeated, I asked for help from the first available employee. She instructed me to go up a flight of stairs and down a long hallway, and so I set off on my way. The further I travelled, the more I was overcome with a feeling of her instructions being incorrect. So, I decided to ask a second employee for help. Her instructions seemed more wild and incorrect than the first, so I carefully continued to re-explain where I needed to go, adamant to receive correct information. She was persistent and argumentative, but eventually, she realized that I was saying “A6D,” not “A-60.” Finally, I got proper instructions as to where I needed to go.

After I ultimately made my way over to the correct gate, I still had an abundance of time before my flight to Nashville took off, so I found myself a small corner and used my iPod to connect to the free WiFi to talk to my family back home. I didn’t bring my cellphone with me on my trip, so my iPod was my only means of communication. I shared my stories of the airport and my excitement about my trip with my sister, my mom, and my then boyfriend until the moment I needed to board the next flight.

The next plane I boarded was much smaller and more intimate than the first. A full bachelorette party shared the space in the plane with me, and this prompted the employees to gift each passenger with a free glass of champagne. As a 22-year-old, single traveler, the glass of champagne made me feel very elite and special. I’m not a big fan of the taste of champagne, but I sipped it with a sensation of glamour and allowed my imagination to carry me away in a fantasy of private planes, paparazzi and status.

Then, shortly before 11:00 a.m. I gleefully set foot on Nashville soil! The landscape of Tennessee farmland reminded me of home, but the sensation of thick, hot humidity served as a strong indicator that home was very far away.

Everything felt surreal during the first few moments I was in Nashville. I made it! I was elated and joyous! …and overtired, and foggy, …and confused and a little worried about what to do next.

The most natural first step was for me to get settled into my motel room. I hailed down a cab and gave him the name of my motel. I don’t remember, nor can I find record of the name of my motel, but I believe it was a Motel 6. Even if it wasn’t, it was something commonly known internationally like that, and for the sake of this story I’m going to carry on saying it was a Motel 6.

My cab driver brought me to a Motel 6 and I grabbed all my bags and headed in through the door and towards the front desk. I was greeted by a very kind man and I told him I had a reservation. His fingers tippity-tapped across his keyboard and he informed me that to his dismay, he could not find me in their system! He ensured me he would get it all sorted out, saying he had no clean, available rooms at the moment, but he was insistent that he would find out what happened to my reservation and that he would do all he could to get me settled in. I sat on a comfy chair in the lobby and waited for about an hour as he tried to resolve my issue. He then approached me and told me that he discovered I was at the wrong Motel 6!

He helped me get another cab and sent me off on my merry way. The taxi took me further and further away from the main drag of Nashville, and when we finally reached the correct Motel 6, I immediately learned a very valuable lesson.

As I mentioned earlier, I made it my mission to make this trip as cost-effective as possible. The lesson I learned upon arriving at my motel was that when looking for a cheap motel option, always check that the price isn’t fixed the way it is because of the motel’s location. My motel was obviously in a very sketchy part of Nashville. I walked past a homeless man sleeping next to the door of the front foyer. The lobby reeked of cigarettes and old liquor, and at the pancake house just down the hill from my motel, I witnessed a drug deal, a fight, and an arrest. Again, I was only there for a weekend, and I spent very little time at the motel.

I chose to only see the location of the motel through the perspective of adventure! I was going to make the best out of an unsettling environment, and I was going to believe that I was, in fact, safe.

I unpacked my bags, flopped on my bed, connected to the free WiFi, and surfed the web on my iPod to figure out how I was going to spend my time. I then fixed my hair and my makeup and set off to explore Nashville!

Naturally, my first stop was Broadway. I didn’t know much about Nashville before travelling there, so everything I experienced was a fun surprise! I was delighted as I walked up and down the eccentric strip, filled with music and laughter and bachelorette parties.

Oh, my God, the bachelorette parties! I had no idea that Nashville was the “it” place to go with your girls to celebrate before you get married, but everywhere I looked, in literally any direction, there was another cluster of girls with penis-shaped ornaments and tiny “bride to be” tiaras marching their way through the street.

I decided to spend my first full day on Broadway and experience all it had to offer. I passed shop after shopped filled with cowboy boots and hats until they convinced me that I absolutely should purchase a pair of nice cowboy boots while I was in Nashville. It started to feel like a truly necessary thing to do, and so I wandered into a shop, and up and down the rows of leather boots until I was drawn to a pair of black and red cowboy boots with a heel. They were a little bit country and a little bit rock and roll, and that spoke to me. They were ideal, and they summed up everything I could ever want in a boot and so with the help of a very kind gentleman with a twangy accent, I made my purchase! I was, and still am very proud of that pair of boots.

I spent my day weaving in and out of different shops and bars, taking in the warm atmosphere and amusing myself with the knickknacks and touristy trinkets on display in the stores. I kept a note in my head of all of the things I might want to experience the following day as I stumbled my way into the next bar with a band playing live or made my connection with my next temporary friend. Every person I came across was smiling and inviting and not once on my trip did I ever feel alone.

As the sun was setting, I watched in awe as the strip began to come alive. Dazzling lights decorated the street, and behind every open door that framed the street, familiar requests of live country music grew louder and increasingly more magical! A bachelorette party from Boston briefly adopted me into their group and lead me into a lively karaoke bar. With some confidence juice already swimming through my veins, I got on stage and did my best 22-year-old-skinny-drunk-girl karaoke performance of Eminem‘s Just Lose It, and I spent more time working the crowd than I did following along with the lyrics projected onto the wall.

After being set free by the Massachusetts Maidens, I found myself in a different, quieter bar just down the way. A young fellow and his acoustic guitar sang songs by requests from the corner of the room, and an older gentleman bought me a beer. He sat with me and we got into deep, intriguing conversations about life and purpose and after an hour of getting lost in meaningful discussion with a perfect stranger, I decided to make my way back to my dingy little motel room.

Embarrassingly, I locked myself out of my motel room countless times; once even, I had to return to the front desk to acquire a new key only ten minutes after receiving a prior new key. Once I finally settled into my room, for good, I had myself a tremendously good sleep. After all, it had been a very long and busy day.

My second day in Nashville, I dedicated to visiting two museums. The first was the Johnny Cash museum just off Broadway. I would highly, highly recommend anyone visiting that museum if granted the opportunity. I was overcome with a warm and fuzzy feeling of perceived nostalgia and a newfound level of gratitude and respect for the country music legend after making my way inside. Between the records and displays of his jackets and guitars, there were set ups with headphones where you could hear never released recordings of his songs, snippets of his interviews, and the embrace of his well-known music. It truly felt like I was touring through his perspective of his musical journey, and it was an out-of-body, mystical and emotional experience. That museum is a genuinely beautiful tribute to Cash, and even if you’re unfamiliar with his work, I can’t imagine anyone not enjoying the magic in those walls the same way I did. I visited the gift shop at the end and bought myself a leather bracelet with “CASH” written in artificial diamonds as a token of that experience and wore it every day until the leather wore and the bracelet fell off my wrist.

My next endeavor, undoubtedly, was to visit the Country Music Hall of Fame. It was sensational for me to see with my own eyes the guitars of many famous and esteemed artists from all periods of time. I got to look closely at Dolly Parton’s Coat of Many Colors, and I was within arm’s reach of the Pontiac Firebird from Smokey and The Bandit. There were interactive things to do, like using a generator to prompt you to write lyrics based on a theme, and stick the slip of paper with your lyrics on a wall for anyone to come across, or like walking into a large display of an acoustic guitar and sitting in the sound hole. It was a fun, heartwarming experience and I’m so glad that I decided to go.

In the evening, I made my way back to Broadway and tickled my fancy with the nightlife once again. That night, I kept more to myself and decided to instead spend my time absorbing the atmosphere around me. I listened intently to each musician in each new bar and I took time to appreciate all my surroundings. Eventually, I was overcome with exhaustion and the time had come once again for me to make my way back to my motel.

I locked myself out of my room that night too. This time, however, was much worse because when I went to ask again for a new key card, I was surprised and concerned to find that the lobby was locked, and the front desk was empty.

Again, my iPod was my only means of communication on this trip, so stranded outside, I got as close to my hotel door as I could to pick up the WiFi service and contacted my mom. Luckily, she was awake to receive my pleading, frantic messages, and from her home in Canada, she had to repeatedly call my motel in Nashville until an employee finally picked up to learn that I was trapped outside. What a mess!

I had more difficulty falling asleep that night because of course, my big day was now only one sleep away. I don’t remember exactly when I eventually fell asleep, but I do remember my eyes opening with a bang the next morning.

This is it.

It’s today.

This is real.

Butterflies filled my stomach and I was electric with energy and gratitude! The time had come to get ready for the show. I painted my fingernails black, except one, that was to be hot pink. I colored my eyelids with bright pink and black shadow and lined my lid with a crisp cat eye. I stretched my skinny jeans over my legs and reached for the shirt I specifically packed for this event. It was my pink and black striped tank top, alike the pink and black striped long sleeve Matt Friction was wearing on the cover of the album, Teenage Graffiti.

I called myself a taxi and instructed the driver to take me over to the Mercy Lounge. I found my place at the end of the line that went out the door and through the parking lot and waited eagerly to get inside.

My experience that night went above and beyond my expectations. That night felt like a movie, and I was the main character. I walked into what was a cozy, intimate lounge with an open, wooden floor that only fit a few hundred people. It felt as embracing and as raw as any local show I could see at home. It wasn’t flashy or bold, it felt comfortable, safe, and warm. Though it was my first time ever visiting that place, the room felt familiar, and it welcomed me in like a guest in a home, and inside, I felt at peace.

The first thing I did was make my way to the merch table. I bought myself my first ever The Pink Spiders t-shirt, and the only album they made that I didn’t yet already own. I then got myself a bottle of Budweiser and wandered over to the balcony for some fresh air to try and calm myself down – at least a little bit. There were two warm-up bands first, and usually I’m excited to experience new music, but I was so full of adrenaline, I couldn’t tether my emotions enough to focus on their sounds. Instead, I tried to distract myself with interactions and conversations with the various strangers I met within the room. I told my story a small handful of times and kept prying with questions to learn about theirs.

Then, before I knew it, it was time for The Pink Spiders to take the stage. I distracted myself so successfully that I was disheartened to see that a swarm of people had already made their way to the front of the stage, and I was filled with worry and grief that I would have to experience the show from the back of the room, dodging between bodies to try and catch small glimpses of the show. To my utter shock, something miraculous happened. Somehow, word had gotten around that I was “the girl that travelled all the way from Alberta to see the show,” and one by one, stranger after stranger stepped to the side, encouraging and allowing me to get closer and closer to the stage until I was front and center with absolutely not a single person in front of me. An exchanging of smiles and forward-gesturing hand motions carried me through the crowd to my spot and I was left baffled and filled with immense appreciation as I traced the edge of the stage with my small fingertip.

Right in front of me, Bob Ferrari sat down at his pink, cheetah-print drum set with “Bob Ferrari: World’s Greatest Drummer” written on the bass drum. Jon Decious stood with a shiny smile by an amp with a pink spider decorated on the front of it, and Matt Friction walked out with hot pink sunglasses propped up on his head, and half way through the show, he replaced his white t-shirt with his iconic, pink-and-black striped long sleeve. Bias aside, the show they put on was the single greatest concert I’ve ever seen in my life.

They played more than thirty songs, and their set was a little more than two hours long. Bob had a cigarette hanging from his lips for nearly the full duration of the show. It brought a smile to my face and added to the comfortable, intimate atmosphere. Matt had a gimmick where occasionally, he would remove his sunglasses from his head and throw them into the crowd, but then someone from backstage would come running out with urgency to replace the old sunglasses with a new pair. Every person in the room sang every lyric to every single song, and often, you couldn’t make out Friction’s voice from everyone else’s. Jon was consistently hilarious with his quick quips on the mic and his presence was warm and inviting. Their energy remained consistently high and bright throughout their entire set.

At one point, Matt lost his place in his lyrics, and so I started shouting them out. He found his way back shortly after, and I’m not positive that I am what helped, but I sure like to believe that that’s the case!

A guitar pick landed within arm’s reach on the stage, and the guy standing beside me grabbed it, turned to me, and gave it to me. Minutes later, someone tapped me on the shoulder and asked me if I got a guitar pick. I told him yes, and he told me that he got one too, and he said if I hadn’t gotten one yet, he was going to give his to me. I swear to God that room was filled with the kindest, most caring and most generous people on the planet. It was unreal.

Sadly, of course, the show did have to come to an end. I thought that meant my magical night had come to a close, but I was about to find out it was barely beginning! A beautiful blonde woman beside me grabbed my attention and asked how far I travelled for the show. I told her I came from Alberta, and she shocked me by telling me that she was Matt Friction’s wife. She told me that she wanted to introduce me to the band. (What?!?!)

Before she brought me backstage, she led me back to the merch table and gifted me one of everything I hadn’t yet already purchased. Suddenly, I had a small collection of The Pink Spiders t-shirts!

Then, for whatever cosmic reason, it was time for me to meet the people who created so much joy for me over the last decade. I was first introduced to Matt, who was quick to comment on my tank top, recognizing that I wore it because of his own shirt.

Next was Jon, who made me laugh just as much one-on-one as he did with his small commentary over the mic.

Finally, Bob. Our introduction went like this:

“What’s your name?”

“I’m Danika.”

“I’m Bob.” – As if I didn’t know.

All three of them were kind and genuine and lively. The idea of meeting people you idolize can be nerve-wracking because our imagination tends to set up a high expectation of the people we adore, but they all lived up to the love and admiration I had for them through all the years. They made me feel like a friend, instead a fan. I loved having the opportunity to ask them all my questions, and to learn about their individual experiences through their The Pink Spiders journey.

I watched as they interacted with other various fans and saw that every other fan was made to feel like they belonged just as strongly as the band had made me feel. It was inspiring and humbling to witness who they were as people outside of their music and it was unbelievable how naturally they made me feel like I had just made three new friends. Bob had me do shots of Jägermeister with him, Matt told me the stories behind the making of some of his songs, and Jon told me about his newest musical endeavor with his other band called Towne and how it all came to be.

I didn’t get back to my hotel room until nearly five in the morning, only a few short hours before I was supposed to board my flight home. I spent nearly the entire night with my favorite band in the world. I am certain that nothing will ever compare to how I felt, and what I experienced that day.

My opportunity to spend a weekend in Nashville happened while I was in the middle of a toxic relationship back at home, and this came as a blessing and a curse.

The curse was that I wasn’t a complete version of myself. I was crumbling and becoming increasingly emptier. My mind was filled with fog and my heart, with sadness, so I wasn’t able to enjoy that experience as fully and completely as I would be able to if instead, that opportunity came today. I couldn’t be the electric, charismatic and happy person that I know best, and it affected my interactions and altered how I perceived my experience, and that is a shame. I wish that Nashville got to experience the same amount of life and love from me that I had received from it.

The blessing was that I got to put my life on pause. I got to temporarily remove myself from the chaotic anger and devastation at home, and I got a weekend for myself that I could truly live as me through. I got a break to regroup and recharge, and it came in the form of one of the greatest days of my life. The time I spent in the Mercy Lounge, while being enchanting and wonderful, also served as a step to self-fulfillment, and a gift of self-purpose. It gave me courage and light when I was trapped in anxiety and darkness. That night I spent in the Mercy Lounge was far more than just an ordinary concert for me.

There was one other thing I did while I was in Nashville.

While laying in bed in my motel room, I googled tattoo shops nearby. I found one called Black 13 and did light research to find out if it was a reputable place. Once I decided that it was, I looked up walking directions on Google Maps. It was to be about a one-hour walk. I took screenshots of the directions, got dressed, and headed towards the parlor.

Ten minutes into my walk, an old beater sedan pulled up beside me. A young gentleman, around my age, asked where I was going and offered me a ride. I tested him with this binding question: “are you a rapist or a murderer?” He said no, and I decided that was good enough.

This is not a choice I would recommend anyone make, nor is it one that I would make twice, but it is, in fact, the choice I decided to make that day. With a ride, after all, I would have more time after to experience more of Nashville, and the weather was much hotter than I had originally anticipated.

He turned out to be a very kind man. I was wearing a floral patterned skirt and a crop top, and he told me that the reason he offered me a ride was because I was in a sketchy part of town, and being dressed the way I was, he was concerned for my safety. He meant no offence by it, and I really wasn’t dressed in a way that would normally be considered scandalous, but I could understand his perspective given the things I had already witnessed from that part of town. (This was, of course, within rock-throwing distance of my motel room.) So again, don’t make the same choice I did, it’s not a good one, however… just that once, it might have been the better option.

I arrived at the tattoo shop, and when asked how I wanted to be helped, I asked for a tattoo of a quarter-sized, tiny pink spider. I asked for the placement to be under my bra line intentionally, so that most of the time, the tattoo could be just for me. I was brought back to an artist’s chair, and ink was pushed underneath my skin.

People say that the rib cage is a painful place to get tattooed, but I had no idea. I’ve been tattooed once prior and twice since, and nothing has ever been as excruciating as that. Again, the size of the tattoo was tiny, but even still, there were many points where I felt ready to tap out. I cannot believe how much that tattoo hurt!

That tattoo doesn’t only symbolize my favorite band.

It symbolizes a young, lonely girl, befriended by a boy who introduced her to a whole new world of music.

It symbolizes the music playing through every hardship and every achievement made by that girl over the next decade, and forevermore to come.

It symbolizes a girl who was given a break from heartache, to experience one of the most prominent events of her life.

It symbolizes a solo adventure, new experiences, and everlasting memories.

My life will continue, and as it does, I will change and shift and learn and grow, but that tattoo will remain on my body just the same. It serves to ground me, and to take me back to a moment in time where I experienced bliss and thankfulness beyond my wildest imagination. It serves to remind me of three men who bound together to form a band that would create countless songs that would be the foundation of the soundtrack of my life.

After that night at the Mercy Lounge, Matt Friction went on to carry forward The Pink Spiders with new bandmates: JoCo, Joey B-Slide, and Young Jamie, and they put out a brand-new album Mutations in 2018. My favorite band would continue to make music that would be parts of different soundtracks to many people’s lives.

After that night at the Mercy Lounge, I went home and told my loved ones about my amazing adventure. I got out of that unhealthy relationship less than a year later, and I fought my way back to be the version of myself that I am the proudest of and that I love the most. I went on to find genuine love, and I built a relationship with someone who motivates me every day and fills my every experience with joy.

If you still don’t believe that music can move you, then perhaps it’s time you change the song.