Time To Tell

I think it’s time I tell my story.

Take yourself back to April 24, 2008.

Bon Jovi is touring – Lost Highway – and I wanna go.

But times are tough – know the feeling?

So, I go to a radio contest in my area. Fill out slip, win tickets in drawing.

It’s April 24, 2008, two days before the “bomb” concert. Remember that?

Someone actually called in a bomb threat to a Bon Jovi concert? How rude.

I’m jonesing for a ticket and I’m relatively poor – I say relatively ‘cause I have no idea what’s coming.

I’m at the _____ Bar, and I put my name on the ticket and drop it in the box and then I turn to go down the steps and… KABLAM! I Fell. Hard. Brutally.

I can’t get up. I can’t stop the pain. I can’t breathe.

I remember being carried…the car…the hospital…singing “Wanted Dead Or Alive” for the x-ray tech when I can’t stand putting my feet up for the x-ray.

Did I mention that I sing really badly?

He said… “Sing something…to relax…”

I looked at him as if he was Satan himself.

“Sing?” I croaked, pain and tears as heavy as a typhoon.

“Yeah, sing…trust me…”

‘Fuck you’ is what I thought, “Wanted Dead Or Alive” was what I sang.

I got through…somehow.

Then I get a hint of how badly I’m hurt.

And I thought broken bones were the worst.