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an energy-send to my compadre Mimi --
20 may 99, ft collins colorado.
spinning: "I Feel Fine" by The Beatles
"First Drive"
Rip-san sits down in the driver's seat of his Caddy, as the rest of us belt ourselves in, prepping for the drive to Denver, and eventually the airport. We're going to get some gas first before heading out. The sky is tranquil, slightly overcast -- shades are still necessary. Rain droplets are lightly appearing on the windshield.I had remembered his offer to let me drive the Cadillac while I was here, and was looking forward to the honor. But in case he had forgotten, I didn't want to remind him of his own offer -- regardless of how close buddies are, one should stay respectful and un-demanding. I figured the offer would present itself again naturally.
The raindrops, however, cued something in me, a mild involuntary vision -- I saw the highway to Denver stretching out from our windshield, with rain sheeting down alarmingly. Something told me now is the time for a first drive, not later during the storm. I went ahead and asked. "Can I drive between here and the gas station?"
Rip remembers. "Oh yeah -- sure thang, let's do it."
Two large metal doors swing open, synchronized, and Rip and I hoof around the perimeter of the ivory-colored behemoth, trading places.
I slink into the driver's seat, a plush vinyl couch holding you at just the right angle. The large steering wheel is thin, and hard & polished like a coffee table.
I look at the stock AM radio -- my brain is used to interacting with a tape deck or CD player. There's something endearing about the simplicity. All week as we drove around, the AM radio played 50's & 60's oldies. It was disorienting, only because none of the music was any one of the ones I knew from that era. It was like being in an alternate reality -- the songs sound like classics but there is no feeling of recognition, no familiarity.
The engine was running, the occupants strapped in. I grasped the shift lever on the steering column and dropped it into Drive. The Caddy calmly rolled forward like a yacht pulling out of dock.
We pulled out onto Lemay, and I gently smoothed my foot down on the accelerator, a tender first touch. The Caddy took my request, gliding us down the road, comfortable, nonchalant. Hiding and covering up ripples and bumps in the road, turning the asphalt into satin.
This is so relaxing, I think. No constant stream of feedback from the ground, no winding RPMs continually talking to me, no heightened senses tingling from flying at 95 mph every morning down the 280. Just slow glides and pampered comfort. Cruisin' with peace and quiet.
Something shifts, readjusts, around me -- in front of me, all the leaves on the Colorado trees change to a barely different shade of green. The air minutely changes texture and thickness. Something morphs inside, in my synapses. For the first time in a year, all my molecules stop vibrating. The voices become silent. Everything hushes and calms.
how did you feel the moment you got behind the wheel?
My ears recognize something, a song beginning on the radio. I speak to Rip, and Damien & Amber in the back seat. "Whoa, check this out, I love this song. My god, they're finally playing something I recognize."
Amber's voice from the back seat: "I love this song too, it's so cool."
We both begin singing casually along with Davy Jones & the Monkees:
Then i saw her face /
Now i'm a believer
Not a trace /
Of doubt in my mind
I'm mildly tripping out. "This is like the first song I remember hearing when I was little. I would play the 45 on my little Fisher-Price turntable. This song is like my first childhood musical memory." After a week of weird, unfamiliar tunes, suddenly the radio is playing this. "Too bizarre ..."
... A few miles later, Rip is giving me a heads-up on the Phillips 66 coming up that we need to turn into. The radio is just finishing up The Beatles:
I'm in love with her and I feel fine ...
I'm so glad /
that she's my little girl
She's so glad /
she's telling all the world
I smile in spite of myself. The song holds no past memory for me, yet I'm reminded of something, a memory-feeling so distant I can barely connect with it, like the tiniest grain of diluted sweetness on the tip of your tongue. A feeling confined to the world of whimsy, of dreams and fantasies, of Hollywood romances. An artificial pleasure from a fabricated recollection.
We've pulled up to the pump, the giant Caddy cradling us, protecting us from the now drizzling rainfall. Rip gets out to pump, and Damien excuses himself to go inside and grab a snack.
The Beatles' song ends, and a third begins. "Bad Bad Leroy Brown", another one of my early childhood musical memories. I remembered singing along with this song when I was seven or eight.
I speak up again and point out the third of the trio. "This is too strange. After days of weird 50's songs, as soon as I get behind the wheel to drive the car, I get three in a row that I know. Three in a row." I look over my shoulder to the back seat. Amber is already nodding her head at me, us both thinking the same thing. "This is not just coincidence. This means something."
Outside, beyond our view,
the Cadillac's grille is smiling.