Our First Date
Bruce is a storyteller, which is likely the reason I became such a huge fan; the characters and struggles and dreams and disappointments he writes into each of his songs are tangible to me. As a coming-of-age kid, dealing with all the natural and hormonal confusion of that transition, and then to have life sucker-punch the breath out of you, I found myself in Bruce’s lyrics, like Growin’ Up.
I took long month vacations in the stratosphere you know it's hard to hold your breath
I swear I lost everything I ever loved or feared, I was the comic kid in full costume dress,
Well, my feet they finally took root in the earth, I got me a nice little place in the stars
And I swear I found the key to the universe in the engine of an old parts car
I hid in the mother breast of the crowd but when they said, "Pull down," I pulled up
Ooh... growin' up.
Bruce sang, “I found the key to the universe in the engine of an old parts car.” That old parts car, for me, was the ’65 Mustang Dad and I built. When he died, it was the biggest piece of him I had left to hold on to. My buddy Todd and I spent every waking hour—when we weren’t stalking Shari—tinkering on our cars. (Todd’s car by the way, was a ’69 Chevy with a .396 just like the one mentioned in Bruce’s song, Racing in the Street.)
The opportunity I’d been waiting for finally dawned. News broke of the Born in the USA Tour coming to the Orange Bowl on a Monday. Tickets would go on sale at 9AM Thursday morning. Local radio stations reported there were already hundreds of people in line. In Miami. We were smarter than that.
What’s driving four-hours and spending two-and-a-half days camped outside a Ticket Master box office in downtown Orlando to a young fool in love?
We were first in line in Orlando, with lawn chairs, Little Debbies, Doritos, a pizza, and a cooler full of Cokes. Thursday, 9AM sharp, BAM! Stadium floor. Center. 20 rows off the stage!
Then it was time to make the call.
I’d thought through every possible course the conversation could take … except the path it took. Shari said, “I’d love to go, but my mom wants me to ask if you can get a ticket for my boyfriend too.” Never saw that one coming.
Todd read the panic on my face. He’s nodding and mouthing, “Yes! Absolutely!” What a friend! He was ready to give up his second ticket for my date’s boyfriend.
I knew her boyfriend was finished an hour later when Shari called me back (a momentous moment, by the way, the love of my life called me!!!) to say he didn’t want to go. “He’s not a Springsteen fan.” Too bad. If he was, he’d have known where this story was going.
I met her on the strip three years ago
In a Camaro with this dude from L.A.;
I blew that Camaro off my back,
And drove that little girl away!
Shari wasn’t a Springsteen fan yet. Like every other kid in America, she heard the singles off the new Born in the USA album playing around-the-clock on the radio and MTV. But beyond that, she had no clue what she was in for. The long car ride to the stadium that night gave me a chance to tell Shari about my affection for (or addiction to) Jersey Shore rock-n-roll, the relatability of Bruce’s storytelling, and the phenomena known as “The Big Man,” Clarence Clemons. I knew the E Street Band’s epic live show reputation would deliver an unforgettable experience. There was one song in particular I wanted her to hear.
We were about three hours into the show when Bruce led off the first of his three encores with Born to Run. I looked into Shari’s eyes during Clarence’s sax solo and I knew—She gets it! She gets me! She sees us!
Born to Run is the story of a guy and a girl who dream of escaping the confines of their circumstances and the pressures of coming of age; two dreamers on the run, searching for freedom beyond the horizon; their place in the sun, their happily-ever-after.
In the day we sweat it out on the streets of a runaway American dream,
At night we ride through the mansions of glory in suicide machines;
Sprung from cages on Highway 9,
Chrome-wheeled, fuel-injected, and steppin’ out over the line;
Oh Baby, this town rips the bones from your back,
It’s a death trap, it’s a suicide rap, we gotta get out while we’re young;
‘Cause tramps like us, Baby we were born to run.
Wendy, let me in, I wanna be your friend,
I wanna guard your dreams and visions;
Just wrap your legs 'round these velvet rims
And strap your hands 'cross my engines;
Together we could break this trap,
We'll run 'til we drop, baby, we'll never go back;
Oh, will you walk with me out on the wire?
'Cause, baby, I'm just a scared and lonely rider,
But I gotta know how it feels;
I want to know if love is wild,
Baby, I want to know if love is real.
Oh, can you show me?
Beyond the Palace, hemi-powered drones
Scream down the boulevard;
Girls comb their hair in rearview mirrors,
And the boys try to look so hard;
The amusement park rises bold and stark,
Kids are huddled on the beach in the mist;
I wanna die with you, Wendy, on the street tonight,
In an everlasting kiss.
The highway's jammed with broken heroes
On a last chance power drive;
Everybody's out on the run tonight,
But there's no place left to hide
Together, Wendy, we can live with the sadness,
I'll love you with all the madness in my soul;
Oh, someday, girl, I don't know when,
We're gonna get to that place
Where we really wanna go and we'll walk in the sun;
But 'til then, tramps like us,
Baby, we were born to run.
This was our story. We both knew it.
That Monday night after the show, she slid into that car next to me … and never left my side.
To be continued …
DARIN MICHAEL SHAW 