A ride home

[jack_babalon]

Bill floors his '68 Oldsmobile Cutlass Supreme up the ramp of 85 South. We climb a few storys up in the space of seconds. The motor purrs over the sound of the rushing wind flooding the front seat. He's got the top down and I have a good look out the side at 285 spread out a few storys below us. One wrong turn of the wheel and we go over. A three story drop into oncoming traffic. The double whammy, though i'm sure the fall would be sufficent to kill us alone. Bill squints into the sunset like a gunfighter. He shifts his weight into the gas and we speed up smoothly. He loves the way these old cars were built for men back then. Not families, not focus groups, not dealerships or corporations. Men. When you could flip up the hood and take care of engine troubles yourself. When cars looked like land yachts rather than UFO bubbles. At the peak of the ramp, through the dusty front window patterened with footprints of squirrels & cats, I can see the skyline buildings clustered together off in the approaching horizon. They look like the last stand of a losing chess army. I can never quite explain to people why I would find that beautiful, but I just do. I lean back into the wide green seat and watch the sky drift by me like an upside down river- currents of silver & orange flowing by. Bill says nothing. Neither do I. When you've been friends for close to twenty years you realize theres no need for small talk anymore. One look at the hang of a face and you know everything that could be said. Quietly I hope we never arrive.