Bliss and fear at a Jason Isbell concert

Sep. 23—It was the perfect night, in the perfect setting, with the perfect music. Which is why the random thought that barreled into my moment of bliss was so terrifying.

My girlfriend, her son and I drove up to Memphis last weekend to see Jason Isbell in concert. It was an outdoor event held at the Memphis Botanic Garden. A large open area backed by old, towering oaks gently slopes toward the stage of the Radians Amphitheater. You bring your own seating — a lawn chair or a quilt — and set up wherever you like.

The sun was slowly dipping below the horizon, and the temperature fell into the 60s. No chance of rain. It was an idyllic atmosphere, and it gave me a sense of peace — something I rarely feel. It was an unforgettable night and one of my favorite mini-adventures with Missie and Garrett (we've had many).

There's an area right in front of the stage where no chairs are allowed, and you can get within a few feet of the performer. I sang along — loudly — to "Super 8" because I knew nobody could hear me. It's not the sort of thing I get to do often, and the emotional release it gave me was all that mattered in that moment.

I forget how deep into the set Isbell was when he sang "Save the World," and I forget if the intrusive thought came before or after — likely after.

The song's theme is a familiar one to Americans: mass shootings. The opening verse references the tragedy in Uvalde, Texas, when a gunman killed 19 children and two teachers.

"And when you said the cops just let them die / I heard the shaking in your voice / For a moment you began to cry / Then I heard you make a choice"

Whenever I would hear about one of these shootings over the years, I'd be equal parts sad and angry. Another emotion has recently wedged itself into the mix: fear. Not just fear for other people, but fear for myself and those close to me. That fear flashed white-hot across my heart in the middle of that concert. I stopped and looked around, realizing how vulnerable we all were. Out in the open, with few places to hide if some self-tortured monster came strolling across that huge lawn spraying bullets.

As I often do, I played the scenario out in my head. What would I do? There would be only two options: grab Missie and Garrett and run behind the nearest tree, or hit the ground and play dead. The first option would probably be the best, because it's harder to hit a moving target, and lying on the ground might get you trampled.

I scowled inwardly at the fact that this was something I had to worry about. What I initially viewed as the perfect night suddenly started to feel like a trap. Because if a shooter was prepared and determined enough, he could have made it past the police and security guards and done some real damage. The only advantage we would have had is that the amphitheater is a good 200 yards from the main entrance, so we might have a head start on escaping.

This kind of paranoia should not accompany us everywhere we go, be it school or work or a concert or a routine trip to Kroger. And don't kid yourself, a mass shooting could happen anywhere — even here. There isn't a single place that can provide real safety for either our bodies or our hearts.

"Balloon popping at the grocery store/ My heart pumping in my chest / I look around to find the exit door / Which way out of here's the best?"

Brad Locke is senior sports writer for the Daily Journal. Contact him on Twitter @bradlocke or via email at brad.locke@journalinc.com