“Anything that we think is beautiful and wonderful,
we ascribe to something that we don’t know what it is.”
-Chris Martin, lead singer of Coldplay

How many can call a blistering frost a paradise? A blizzard isn’t exactly a blessing, either. Then again, when one is determined to reach a destination, win the prize, or finish a task at hand, they will stop at nothing. The same goes for me – well – more honestly my family.

“The directions say to take a right, Leonardo.” Having driven in a cheap rental car for an hour and a half to make it in time to a Coldplay concert in the heart of Paris, all three of us (my father, my mother, and I) were on edge. There was nothing good on the radio, which strengthened my thirst for the unique sound of the band we were paying lots of money to see. My mother, the navigator, had been dealing with discourteous and ill-tempered Frenchmen for the duration of the afternoon, and the results were beginning to show across her forehead. Frown-lines were new, since she was usually a happy person.

“You don’t think I know these roads? I had an apartment with Will here, when we were fresh out of grad school—”

“Your adventures would be lovely to hear at another time,” my mother retorted, cutting my stepfather off. “But right now, we should just focus on getting to La Cigale on time. It would break my heart as much as [AUTHOR]’s if we were to miss the concert.” La Cigale, a prestigious theater that has hosted artists from Edith Piaf to Jay-Z, was known for kicking people out – quite literally – if one did not make it in time.

My stepfather sighed. He probably hadn’t had enough time in the day so much as to have a thought to himself. I felt terribly responsible; I couldn’t stand to see him so fatigued. Both my mother and stepfather, at that. As if reading my mind, he looked into the rearview mirror of the car and said, “Don’t worry about us. We just want to make you happy, even if it’s at our expense.” The rest of the drive was quiet.

Not a few minutes later, a fine powder of snow began to fall. The sprinkle turned into a steady flow, and the steady flow soon turned into a slight blizzard. I worried that we would not arrive in time, and became anxious. My hands began to shake a bit, and to make things worse, voices rose within the car regarding directions. After 3 left turns and a roundabout, we made it to the entrance of the parking lot. My mother, with her rusty French, asked the man in charge of ticketing about where she should park. The Frenchman huffed, and pointed my mother in the direction of the garage. The man at the garage began to curse, and called the man that had referred my mother. They bickered for a solid 20 minutes. If it was not for my mom’s persistence, the car would have filled with snow.

The sound of an acoustic guitar bounced off the walls of the hall in leaps and bounds, adding to the homey feeling that was given by the brown, wool carpeting and the hardwood walls. The floors must have been also made of hardwood under the shag, because the floor creaked with every step. My family and I followed the sound, and were greeted by fans that were playing acoustic versions of the band’s newest album. After about an hour, the same security guard from earlier did a headcount, and looked gravely disappointed. He entered the backstage quickly, not closing the heavy curtains entirely. For a quick second, I was able to catch a glimpse of the band tuning their instruments. I was absolutely ecstatic!

Chris (the lead singer of the band) seemed genuinely distressed when – I had assumed – he had been told of the lack of fans in the audience. His brow furrowed, then widened as his eyes scanned the room. His hand went to his face, covering his astonishment. Down went his shoulders, and he walked slowly, sulking back behind the curtain. A few minutes later, the band made its way out from the backstage, and began to greet the audience from the far left of the theater. The group of fans from earlier scrambled towards them in a frenzy, crying out for autographs, pictures, or just a hug. I was honestly too shy to walk over.

Waiting seemed to do the trick. Due to my family and I having rather distant seats, I had not anticipated Chris making his way all the way towards the back to greet us. Out of shock, I became catatonic. My parents obviously saw no importance in this, and they thanked him for his humility, shaking his hand and everything. It took me a while to react, and finally shake Chris’s hand, as well as Will Champion’s – the drummer. The others just waved from afar.

The concert was beautiful; the shower of multi-colored illumination shone across the smooth, black marble Corinthian pillars that towered above even the highest seats in the auditorium. the sound of Chris’s high baritone vocals echoed across the theater, filling the minds of each and every fan with profound lyrics, thus sending them into a state of euphoria. There were encores, of course, and the show ended with a well-known song: Viva La Vida.

Everyone filed out of the theater doors, only to find that we were trapped in the lobby. The snowstorm raged on, and my parents began to exchange glances, most likely wondering how we will get to the hotel, let alone the garage. Hours passed, and soon enough, the band came to the lobby; their mode of transportation had also been ruled out. Without a word, Chris pulled out his guitar and played the first chords to Us Against The World, a fitting song for the occasion.