Post by wplap on Jun 29, 2011 13:22:20 GMT -5
He always drove with the windows down, you can do that in California where the weather is not deciduous, but is perennially monocultured, an annual Indian Summer that is as obtuse and uninteresting as hospital walls. He loved, not only the wind whipping through his hair, but the hum of the road -that to him- with his amplified hearing aid he had worn since his youth- sounded like the slow roar of a crowd building as the packed stadium finally recognized that the ascending intro of the next song, was building up to be their collective favorite song. At 60mph, the crowd roared by, a Buick, probably the Rolling Stones.
Glancing over to the passenger seat, he indulged a surreptitious grin that the lady took as the usual flirtation. She was beautiful enough for such a mirthful allusion, and he loved her dearly, but this grin was for the Buick, who paced itself well over his speed and brought about the standing ovation that was reflected in the hoisted corners of his lips.
"You certainly love to drive, don't you?" she posed.
This grin was for her, but no verbal retort. It was a knowing grin, that yes, he did love to drive. That o'er every hill and hidden in corners of every bend, was the next something else that was never exactly like something that had just been passed. In his rearview, he saw a red convertible coming up fast, he stayed below the speed limit on purpose. This was not that same roar he had heard before, but different. It sounded like the audio clips from any Beatles news footage, from just about anytime they would step outside and the mob would roar and shriek and then give chase to their pop idols. In a second, the mob shrieked by, and in his mind, John Lennon lay bloodied on the ground, newspapers print huge headlines, and all that innocence paints everything wet red.
They were on their way to nowhere. It was a homage to the Nuclear Family unit of the 1950s who would take their Sunday jaunt, and do so purposelessly. It was holy like the dinner table. He and his father and his mother and his sisters would jump into the family Bel Air and coast around the budding suburbia; waving at other oncoming family passengers and captained drivers like boaters might do at the lake on Memorial Day Weekend. This arrowless trip was not in suburbia though, he had had his fill with that life. A monoculture within a monoculture was an analgic and joyless existence....it was nothing. It was the black cat in the dark, lightless room in the land of forever night. This trip was a quick and nimble bounding down the coastal parkway on the outskirts of the city.
"So how long are we gonna be out here?"
It was easy to ignore someone when you are born almost completely deaf. People don't really have many expectations of you; they treat you with kids gloves; they overpronunciate and stare into your eyes with a slightly dipped chin and raised eyebrows as if you are reading their lips....sometimes that is true. This time he just blatantly ignores the query; it feels too damn good today; the music is ripe in him and this kind of elation only comes along so often.
Around the next turn, a tight curl, a motorcycle is riderless, a Toyota Camry is caved in and painted John Lennon red. An old pickup truck in the opposite, oncoming lane is flipped and a woman is screaming into the windows. He was coming out of that ugly turn too fast and the eyes of those people flashed big and white, he could feel his heart sink and could see that same feeling in them. In the corner of his eye he could see the beautiful woman brace her arms on the dashboard with her right knee lifted almost up to her breastbone. Everything was so slow in this moment. Every moment was a lifetime and for the first time in his life, without faking, he could hear nothing in that moment, he could only feel the adrenaline preparing his body for a harsh contact. In that last moment... he suddenly heard Jazz: Dizzy Gillespie shrieked through his horn as he stamped on the brakes and Buddy Rich smashed heavily on his cymbals as Billie Holiday wailed sadly through her soulful vocal chords.
Everything was John Lennon now... everything and everyone but the hearing aid man who was frantic and his body was contorted in too many wrong directions to save. He was stuck and panting heavily, the pain was being held at bay by the adrenaline, that was when he heard the roar of the crowd coming up from behind him. Maybe The Doors being baited for an encore. This Is The End.
Glancing over to the passenger seat, he indulged a surreptitious grin that the lady took as the usual flirtation. She was beautiful enough for such a mirthful allusion, and he loved her dearly, but this grin was for the Buick, who paced itself well over his speed and brought about the standing ovation that was reflected in the hoisted corners of his lips.
"You certainly love to drive, don't you?" she posed.
This grin was for her, but no verbal retort. It was a knowing grin, that yes, he did love to drive. That o'er every hill and hidden in corners of every bend, was the next something else that was never exactly like something that had just been passed. In his rearview, he saw a red convertible coming up fast, he stayed below the speed limit on purpose. This was not that same roar he had heard before, but different. It sounded like the audio clips from any Beatles news footage, from just about anytime they would step outside and the mob would roar and shriek and then give chase to their pop idols. In a second, the mob shrieked by, and in his mind, John Lennon lay bloodied on the ground, newspapers print huge headlines, and all that innocence paints everything wet red.
They were on their way to nowhere. It was a homage to the Nuclear Family unit of the 1950s who would take their Sunday jaunt, and do so purposelessly. It was holy like the dinner table. He and his father and his mother and his sisters would jump into the family Bel Air and coast around the budding suburbia; waving at other oncoming family passengers and captained drivers like boaters might do at the lake on Memorial Day Weekend. This arrowless trip was not in suburbia though, he had had his fill with that life. A monoculture within a monoculture was an analgic and joyless existence....it was nothing. It was the black cat in the dark, lightless room in the land of forever night. This trip was a quick and nimble bounding down the coastal parkway on the outskirts of the city.
"So how long are we gonna be out here?"
It was easy to ignore someone when you are born almost completely deaf. People don't really have many expectations of you; they treat you with kids gloves; they overpronunciate and stare into your eyes with a slightly dipped chin and raised eyebrows as if you are reading their lips....sometimes that is true. This time he just blatantly ignores the query; it feels too damn good today; the music is ripe in him and this kind of elation only comes along so often.
Around the next turn, a tight curl, a motorcycle is riderless, a Toyota Camry is caved in and painted John Lennon red. An old pickup truck in the opposite, oncoming lane is flipped and a woman is screaming into the windows. He was coming out of that ugly turn too fast and the eyes of those people flashed big and white, he could feel his heart sink and could see that same feeling in them. In the corner of his eye he could see the beautiful woman brace her arms on the dashboard with her right knee lifted almost up to her breastbone. Everything was so slow in this moment. Every moment was a lifetime and for the first time in his life, without faking, he could hear nothing in that moment, he could only feel the adrenaline preparing his body for a harsh contact. In that last moment... he suddenly heard Jazz: Dizzy Gillespie shrieked through his horn as he stamped on the brakes and Buddy Rich smashed heavily on his cymbals as Billie Holiday wailed sadly through her soulful vocal chords.
Everything was John Lennon now... everything and everyone but the hearing aid man who was frantic and his body was contorted in too many wrong directions to save. He was stuck and panting heavily, the pain was being held at bay by the adrenaline, that was when he heard the roar of the crowd coming up from behind him. Maybe The Doors being baited for an encore. This Is The End.
