11: or A Long Drive For Someone With Nothing To Think About

ONE MORNING IN MAY on a rained-soaked day I took a drive with my Dad. It was rather early and he was never really one for talking so I let the silence take hold. We stopped at the local diner for a $2 breakfast and the latest snippet of news. Personally I’ve always favored print but the rustling of papers would have caused an unwanted headache. So naturally I settled for the far away noise of the television. With a clippity clop on Cuban heals sounded the arrival of our waitress. Solemn with sleep still in his eyes Dad says, “Two egg sandwiches, two coffees” and that was that.

The television hummed and buzzed in the background informing us of the latest victim of drunk-driving, the rising death toll in some far away land, the weather. I turn as commercials flood the screen, politicians promising the world, toaster ovens, color coded tampons, creativity in menstruation. Our breakfast arrives steaming, promising good health and lasting nutrition. A hearty meal.

We finish up and make our way back to the car as we’re met by a light drizzle. Cabs and loading trucks zip passed us carrying passengers and dirt, this and that. Everyone hurrying, to and fro, people to see, places to go. Although the sun rose this morning the day is rather dark. I settle myself in the passengers seat and let myself get lost in the drive.

We ride on in silence as the trees pass by, rain gathering in puddles on the road outside. We ride in silence for a minute or two until a click of the radio and a station to choose. As I searched the air-waves for something remotely tolerable I peruse across The Drifters‘s “On Broadway” and my mind wonders back to my childhood. When I was a kid the Short Circuit films were one of my favorite pastimes, besides staring out of my front door mailbox, hoping to discover a new and exciting adventure. Most of the time I just seen my street, but every now and then I’d spot a stray cat or dog. My life as I knew it then was absolutely amazing.

The song reminded me of the of the 2nd Short Circuit film when our friend Ben and his trusty sidekick were locked in the meat freezer, forced inside by some rough necked goons. Those dang New Yorkers. Freezing and near death, with a sudden stroke of genius and a flip of the wrist Ben, the guy whom was terrified six hours prior to talk to our beautiful blonde Sandy whips out his trusty pocket calculator and saves the day. Oh Ben how I envy thee.

For a week there after I destroyed everything remotely resembling a calculator that came within range. Humming that song, listening intently for persons trapped behind walls, crying, singing, calling out to Broadway. I wanted so badly to spring my friends from their inevitable doom, to be the hero, all the while whistling that stupid tune; stupid radio, stupid silence.

I nestled into my seat and enjoy the ride. Politely I make small talk, weakly grasping hold to conversation for no more than a minute or so. The rain always strikes a certain mood, philosophical pleasantries followed by a collection of half assed ideas that flow freely from my mouth. I talk mainly of the radio, the weather, the news. I talk of my tried and tired soul, of a social upheaval, youth taking control. Anarchy, fascism, the world. I’m inspired this morning, my Kerouac life crying out, but the pleas ring low.

I’m met occasionally by a solemn grunt, never more than a few words. My ears are flooded with yes’ or no’s, sometimes a maybe. I amuse myself desperately laughing at my own jokes. Always in the back of my mind that warning sign of Dad’s steadily rising blood pressure. Conservative conversation, calming confessions, capsizing compliments. Just send me off to bed forever more, spare me the shame of losing control, avoid the plague and surely soles, just a sure way to rest my soul. We ease into traffic met with early morning congestion. I came along mainly to keep Dad company, so he doesn’t get tired, so he doesn’t get bored. We’re riding down the 90-94. Cars before us are small than large than small again as we make our way towards Dads appointment.

I spy massive antennas, buildings, construction. We are just mere sheep lost in this massive concrete forest. Buildings rise from the earth, blotting out the sun, the light, the warmth. Trees are rotted to make way for Wal-Mart’s, and Starbucks. Once beautiful fields of flowers now leveled to make room for parking garages. Awnings and balconies become foliage, skyscrapers are stems, at the very top we stop to view plumes of smoke instead of blooms of hope. We are lost. We are busy bees to make happy for the queen, our words lost in the bitter wind, we must build, construct, erect, control. Leave behind our name, we must be remembered. Never based on what we’ve achieved, rather than what we’ve never surrendered.

We as a people see the steady problems growing, but we continue to multiply, we’re tapping the wells dry to drive the latest fashions. Bound to our oil machines, death to the civilized, black gold drives our war machines, driven by teens, children killing children while the old grow weak. Losing wisdom, binding their feet. They’re rather be pushed or pulled than to walk on their own. They’d hand over their souls for remote controls. 60 inches of plasma screened securities while their backsides grow fat. No longer coupons and savings bonds now replaced with lottery tickets and prescription bottles.