A Night That Changed How I See Things

What was supposed to be a normal night out for music quickly turned into something unforgettable. My mom and I had planned our evening around catching one of our favorite local bands, Texas Flood. The venue was a bit of a drive, but for good music, it was worth it. If you know my mom, you know she has a huge, bubbly personality. She’s the kind of person who can turn a stranger into a friend in ten minutes flat. We’ll be out somewhere and she’ll start chatting with someone sitting alone, and I’m standing there thinking, Mom, please—you don’t even know this person! But that’s just who she is. Whenever we go out for music, our routine is simple: find our friends, scope out a comfy spot to sit, and enjoy the show. The night started like any other—good tunes, a lively crowd, and my mom smiling ear to ear with her drink in hand. She went up to the bar at one point for another round, and when she didn’t come back right away, I didn’t think much of it. I was caught up in the rhythm, just watching the band play. When she finally returned, though, something felt off. She was dancing more than usual, which wasn’t like her—her arthritis usually keeps her seated. She was hugging people, laughing louder than normal, and just... not herself. It wasn’t the fun, friendly version of my mom I was used to. That’s when our friend Billy noticed too. He came over, sat down with us, and kept a close eye on her. He cracked jokes to lighten the mood but didn’t let on too much that he was concerned. Then, when it became clear that she wasn’t okay, he offered something I’ll never forget: “Why don’t y’all stay at my place tonight? It’s safer than driving home.” I couldn’t drive at the time, and looking back, I’m so thankful I can now. Billy’s house was only a short drive away, and my mom somehow managed to get us there safely. Once we arrived, Billy was nothing but kind—he showed us around, made hot dogs at 1 a.m. because my mom insisted she was hungry, and made sure we were both comfortable and safe. The next morning, my mom didn’t remember anything. Not the drive, not Billy’s house, not the music—nothing. That’s when it hit us: she’d been drugged. Even now, years later, I still think about that night. How easily it could’ve gone another way. How lucky we were that Billy was there. And how something so innocent—a fun night of music—could turn dangerous in seconds. It changed how I go out. Now that I can drive, I’m always extra careful at shows and bars. I watch my drink. I stay aware of my surroundings. I don’t take safety for granted anymore. That night taught me something no one should have to learn the hard way. It showed me how fragile safety can be—and how much it matters to have good people around when things go wrong. So while it was a scary experience, I’m thankful. Thankful my mom’s okay. Thankful I’m okay. And thankful for Billy, who didn’t hesitate to step in when we needed someone most. Sometimes, life reminds you that even the nights meant for fun can carry lessons you’ll never forget.