lost in the pit

60s 70s Vintage Mens Jacket London Fog Butter Yellow Windbreaker ...

it was october 26th 1991. we had been dating for about 7 months. we had tickets to see nirvana at the warfield. it was the nevermind tour. we hated the jocks that loved the record [how did they not know they were the target of all the jokes and the wrath in the lyrics?], but still loved the record. it was the year, so they say, that punk broke

we went to many shows then. he always wanted to be up front. close. where you might get a spray of sweat from someone on stage. i never cared where we stood. i always loved feeling the music penetrate what seemed like every pore of my body. my ears were never happy the day after [until i wised up to earplugs. so uncool, but so much better]. 

he had a beautiful, vintage, fake but even better than the real deal london fog-esque windbreaker. it was the most unusual mustard color, it bordered on ochre... but that's not quite right; it was not your standard mustard yellow bottle, but high end, although not quite dijon, mustard yellow squirted out; it worn, but not too worn. he had worn it to the show.

it was HOT inside the show. before things got crazy he bought me a t-shirt. i still have it. i didn't wear it then because they got so popular i couldn't wear it out [i could not be seen in something that popular]. but i kept it. now treasure it [still don't wear it really]. once the nirvana started and cobain started wailing everyone erupted. 

the pit was MASSIVE. it was one of the largest pits i've ever seen. i never felt in danger. he always protected me and kept me safe, but he had his work cut out for him that night. he got so hot he asked me to hold the jacket. i wrapped the shirt and the jacket together and tied them around my waist. with a big huge knot. a tight knot. one i thought would work. 

the pit kept trying to engulf us. he battled them back. i stood gazing up at the band in awe. they seemed as raw, cheeky, engrossed as i could have imagined. 

and then at some point we got a little separated - maybe i went to the bathroom and had to work my way back, maybe he went to get a drink? that part is fuzzy. i got sucked into a small side pit. i got pushed to the ground. i got up, he pulled me out. i was fine. but the jacket and the t shirt were no longer on me. i went back to find them. he was confused. what are you doing? he couldn't hear me. i found the shirt. but the jacket. it was gone. 

after the show we waited for the crowd to disperse. i scoured the ground my eyes darting looking under everyone's feet. there were a lot of doc martins.  i looked toward the sides, the stage, that feeling of dread rose as the jacket wasn't there. 

he was angry, or more accurately, sad. but he never held it against me. although occasionally he'd smirk and say i wish i had that mustard windbreaker.... uh.... yeah. me too. for years i tried to find one similar. i found blue ones, and red ones, a bright yellow one, avocado green, but never ever again have i seen that mustard. [the above photo isn't right - too buttery, but it will give you an idea].  

and this was the show. no cel phones to secretly video. i don't even know who recorded this. but that was the night i lost the perfect mustard windbreaker. 


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