The silliest little things. It was a Friday night, and we were on our way to Nashville, or thereabouts, to visit some friends who had moved up that way. At a pit stop, I picked a cassette from the rack on the counter to listen to the rest of the way. It had some old road songs on it, ones I listened to when I was a kid. George sang about coming home after six days, there was a truck drivin’ son of a gun, and Red Sovine telling the story of Phantom 309. Merle Haggard announced he had Ramblin’ Fever, and Del Reeves was looking at the world through a windshield, and then, after a brief hiss of blank tape, a silly little song about a Convoy that my boys hadn’t heard came on. As we drove on into the dark, I drove back in time. I was a kid again, in the back of Daddy’s van, but it was still dark. We were on our way home from a job, and the only light was the glow from the dial on the front of the CB radio. Chatter came across on channel 19, with Smoky reports, and route drivers passing each other as they did each night. Every once in a while, Daddy would key the mike, but mostly we just listened in on the wonderful world of life on the road. Occasionally, we’d wind up in a little convoy of our own, maybe running front door, or if we were lucky, sitting up in the rocking chair. The miles would rocket past, and we felt like we were part of Something. Trucks would fall in line, or peel off as we passed their turn, but we had a common bond in our loneliness in the night and envy of the lights in the houses that winked by. The voice on the tape sang along with the one in my mind, and helped me remember the words that I had misplaced twenty-something years ago. For some reason, there was a catch in the back of my throat, so I didn’t try to sing out loud, and the road in front of me was a little blurry. The boys were laughing in the back seat, and enjoying the song like I did those years ago. I envied them. By request, I rewound the tape, and played it again, and this time they sang along, and laughed even more. The miles were still falling behind us, but I was even more miles away, a kid myself, and laughing with my brothers on another road on another night in another time. Daddy kept his eyes on the road for the most part, but I’d occasionally see him glance around and then smile to himself as his eyes went back to the road. My oldest son confiscated the tape for a long time, and finally gave it back a few weeks ago. I plugged it in on the way to work, to prove to myself I could listen to it without that catch in my throat. That the road wouldn’t get blurry. I know I can do it. Well, maybe next time. Vernon L. Garrett
Posted on: Tue, 13 Aug 2013 03:57:34 +0000
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