autobiographical recap through cars

i hate traffic, but
i love listening to it when i don't have to suffer through it.

sitting in reid hall and disecting the sounds.
listening to everything together - as a symphony.
after everyone else has already left.

the vacillant bursts of rain that peters out into a drizzle -
... an unremarkable exit, at best.
the contralto hum of the professor's lecture next door -
... peering inside the somberly lit room only to see a man in battle with his eyelids.
withered autumn leaves scraping the courtyard floor -
... that fail to crunch quite as crisply as the maple leaves in new england.
the wind brushing by rudely with not so much as a "hello"
... yes, even the wind is Parisian here

and then listening intently.

like the electric bass that is often times overwhelmed,
or the clacking of heels in a crowded hallway,
and the sound of a bubble popping,

there are distinct sounds, that you can separate one by one.
you just need to listen closely for it.

the sounds of a car beeping, doors squeaking shut, a yell, and the purr of a motorcycle; more distant and removed from my immediate surroundings. i'm looking for a rhythm in the anarchy of it all.

fun fact, i get incredibly pissed if i have to sit in traffic
probably because my worst car trips have been
in traffic jams that were at a standstill
at the end of the new jersey turnpike, waiting to pay a toll.
on the george washington bridge, where there's only one lane for cash...

in a black saab convertible, two-door sedan
with the august heat in my passenger seat
cursing, melting, and thrumming the steering wheels with my fingers -
without AC or even the radio.
because i was too lazy to get it fixed beforehand,
due to procrastination.

the end of summer usually creeps up like that.
that was freshman year of college.

i remember -

my first car.
a death trap on wheels.
a 1990 something plymouth voyager.
automatic. minivan.
it was high school. no one had cool cars, except that one kid with the thunderbird.
looked a little bit like a Lego car with some upgrades. a block, stoic car.
burgundy, with brakes that screeched to a stop -- at 20 miles an hour.

i used to hate that car, but now i'm a bit nostalgic.

the radio didn't work in that car either -- and i used to get incredibly bored driving. too poor to buy an iPod at the time (actually, i still have never owned one) i found other ways to entertain myself.

driving with one hand at the base of the steering wheel, my left knee tucked up onto the chair. driving with my knees. or if i was really daring? i let go of the steering wheel, for seconds, before grabbing it again. i remember i took the seats out of the back, to save on mileage and to lug couches around town. sometimes, we'd just pop open the back door - sitting with a pint of kimball's ice cream in the back of the car. once we crammed up to eight people in the back - who had to crouch low whenever there was a police car.

one day, she just died. god bless her.

then there was my red Ford pick-up truck.
she was a gem, with terrible mileage. a compact little truck.
i fancied she was like "the little engine that could" - completely overshadowed by the other trucks on the road. her suspension so off, that i felt like i was sitting on a teetering barstool every time i drove. i think at one point i had to physically pull the steering wheel to the right, to keep the car driving straight. but in that car? i was invincible.

i remember drives up to the haystack observatory - i'd turn on the parking lights to drive up, not wanting to piss off the avid part-time astronomers. i'd park, climb into the bed of my truck, spread a blanket, lie down gingerly, and watch my breath disappear in front of me.

a hop and a skip forward?

sophomore year of college.
that was a nice upgrade.
camille. her name was camille.
i remember the first time i laid eyes on her,
new hampshire police auction.
not the most romantic encounter.
but love at first sight, nonetheless.
mercedes c230 coupe -- custom paint color? copper gold.
she was a wonder.
beautiful suspension.
silent, graceful pauses.
smooth steering, amazing handling.
she glided. elegance.
and a cheap date -
mileage, i mean.

hitting 120 was a thrill.
icy cold rush of air and speed.
through dark winding roads in connecticut -
where if i'm caught by the cops there, i'm screwed.

god, i miss driving.