“Me too, Tanya.”
We spend the rest of the ride discussing our country music favorites (agreeing that “Amazed” by Lonestar is one of the best songs of all-time) and admiring the views outside. I also admire Tanya whenever she points out local spots, telling me funny memories about growing up in a place like Gatlinburg. The way her features get more animated with each passing minute draws me into her orbit. It’s hard not to be attracted to someone vibrant like her.
* * *
While we wait in line to get inside the festival grounds after the shuttle bus, the second act of the evening is just starting her set. The unique sound of a Country newcomer, Monroe Dupree, rolls over the crowd, and I get chills all over my body. I close my eyes and let my other senses take control.
Music drifts from every direction, the air carrying the beats of the instruments and the harmony of her voice. They flood my mind with the familiar, homey feeling I often get when listening to country music. It reminds me that life isn’t all bad. I take a moment to remember my maternal grandparents and how much I miss them, but then, I think about how they would love to see how much their favorite genre of music means to me.
The line moves surprisingly slowly, so it isn’t until the last few songs of Monroe Dupree’s 45-minute show that we make it to the left of the stage, where there’s more space for us.
As Tanya dances with Sally to the cover of Keith Urban’s “Somebody Like You” ten feet away from me, I once again admire the warmth that radiates off her. She has the most beautiful smile I’ve ever seen, especially when she looks at me. It’s like a sudden beam of sunlight after days of rainy weather. And I can’t get enough.
My mind drifts back to the stories she shared on our way here, reflecting on how different our upbringings were—she’s a country girl and I’m a city boy through and through, just like I told her earlier. Yet somehow, we both have found ourselves here in the same spot, enjoying the same performance, sharing this experience together. I can’t shake the feeling that all this means something more; like there’s a bigger reason for us being here.
After another cover song, Tanya dances her way closer and closer to me until we are slightly touching. She slides her hand on mine, giving it a squeeze. Our physical connection is almost electric, and before I can think better of it, my arm wraps around her shoulder to keep her close. She burrows into my embrace, and we sway to the remainder of Dupree’s set in perfect harmony. A wave of emotion washes over me as I think about how I have been looking for a connection like this since I can remember. I’m sure Tanya feels something, too, as she would have let go of me by now otherwise.
When the final notes of Monroe Dupree’s “Home in Tennessee,” the final song of her encore and one of her only originals,fade into the evening, we agree to meet at the bar closest to the stage where Parmalee plays in two and half hours. The others want to check out backstage before the gig (I don’t blame them), and as I don’t have a ticket, I’ll take the opportunity to catch one more performer before the last show of the night.
The air is buzzing with enthusiasm and excitement as I weave through the masses of people, bumping into a few as I go. There are vendors selling food, drinks, band merch, handmade crafts, and everything else you can expect from a festival this size. I’m glad I don’t spot a tattoo artist, as I personally think festivals aren’t suitable for that activity.
After listening to a complete set by Brett Young, another favorite of mine I wanted to see performing this weekend, I head to the main bar area of the festival grounds. I want a drink, but definitely something other than beer since most tents only sell Bud Light.
I make my way through the area, admiring the colorful tents, the beautiful people around me, and the upbeat energy that has filled the air. There’s something special about thousands of music lovers coming together and sharing their love for their favorites. I’ve been looking forward to this weekend for months and can’t believe it’s finally here.
I find one of the only bars with mixed drinks in its selection and choose the line that moves the quickest. Looking around while waiting, I enjoy the sights and sounds of the festival. The sun is slowly setting, and the lights switch on automatically, creating a magic-like atmosphere around the event.
When it’s my turn to be served, I notice a woman and a man facing away from me, standing next to a barrel bar table forty feet away. The man takes hold of her arm, and something about her body language draws my attention. I start walking toward them, not caring about the drink anymore.
“Get your hands off me; I don’t even know you,” I hear the local—based on her accent—brown-haired woman say, fear evident in her voice. He only tightens his hold, and I quicken my steps, seeing red.
“But honey, we’re just gettin’ started.” His voice slurs like he’s been drinking for a while, which he probably has. ”I bet you’ve never had a real man like me.”
“Please, get your hands off me,” she pleads, averting her eyes while turning away from him.
That’s the moment I realize it’s Tanya. The look of terror on her face makes me act. Not thinking twice, I get behind them, ready to tell the guy to fuck off.
4
TANYA
Can someone tell me why I decided to stay here with our drinks while my friends went to look for the restrooms? We should have just drunk the shots and gone together. And why can’t this man take a no for an answer?
His presence makes me shiver, and not in a desirable way. No matter what I do, he only moves closer to me. As I raise my foot to step on his, I hear a low voice behind us, almost like a growl.
“When a woman says no, you listen to her, asshat.”
The guy looks at who’s talking to him. His eyes move up and down like he’s weighing his opponent. “This ain’t your business, city slicker. Go back to wherever you crawled from.”
“You let go of her first. Then we’ll leave you alone.”
Still holding my arm, his grip tightens, hurting me more. I let out a hiss of pain. That doesn’t sit well with the stranger who’s quickly becoming my hero. “Didn’t you hear me, dude? Let her go right fucking now, or you won’t like the consequences.”
I recognize the voice at that moment. That accent is unmistakable.Edmund. The man that caught my attention earlier. Thank God he’s here to save me from this man.
“I don’t give a shit, you fat pig.” Those ugly words come from right next to me, making me want to punch the asshole myself. Nobody is allowed to talk like that to another person!
“I’d rather be fat than attack innocent women,” my hero says calmly, and I almost want to clap at his witty comeback. But I don’t have time to do so before all hell breaks loose.
