and Words
I’ve been driving all night, my hands wet on the wheel
There’s a voice in my head that drives my heel
It’s my baby calling, says “I need you here”
And it’s a half past four and I’m shifting gear
When she is lonely and the longing gets too much
She sends a cable coming in from above
Don’t need no phone at all
Lyric excerpts from Musixmatch.
Tom shows up in my team one day, decades ago. He is funny, and we get along fabulously. He moved from the Chicago area. Tom and his family are apart on that first Thanksgiving while they wrap up the year, and I invite him to my home for dinner. This started an enduring friendship.
Once I met his family, I observed his dedication to his wife and sons. He adored and admired his wife. He respected and advocated for his kids. Tom once asked if I would mentor his son. I would have happily mentored him but ultimately found him a better mentor. He was the prototypical family man.
Tom played the drums, which made him very popular for musicians trying to put together a band. I watched him play a number of times, and he always impressed. Similarly, he held a deep fascination for Gibson Les Paul Sunburst guitars. Several of these lined his studio, though I couldn’t really understand why.
Having spent so much time in Illinois, he was accustomed to the cold. Hence, he wore shorts year around, even during the freezing weather. This habit became a running joke, while people insisted that Tom doesn’t wear pants. This sparked the still ongoing debate about whether shorts qualify as pants; I assert that they do. These are precisely the types of goofy discussions we’d fall into and naturally pull in other unsuspecting victims. Tom added me to a Spork enthusiast group; I’m not making this up.
Tom and I shared a fascination with cars. Specifically, we both had small two-seater convertibles. He drove a Mazda Miata and we would occasionally zip around during lunch. I drove a Honda Del Sol, which is not technically a convertible, but more of a targa top. However, we didn’t spend much time tinkering with our cars; we instead simply drove our cars and spent time on other hobbies.
I started driving at the age of fifteen. I carried a restricted driver’s license and drove with my mom or sister by my side. Turning sixteen didn’t compel me to get my license on my literal birthday like it did with many friends. Simply put, getting my driver’s license wasn’t a rite of passage. Additionally, being poor meant we couldn’t really afford the car insurance for me.
Shortly after, I developed a fascination with cars. It really started with my first real car, a 1966 Ford Mustang. It was more than simply transportation. Your car symbolized independence, even style. I had love/hate relationship with that car, but Lisa was really the first in a long line of vehicles. Most of them were a similar shade of metallic blue.
I didn’t learn from having a classic car the first time, and proceeded to get a 1969 Camaro SS. That car also spent more time in disrepair than I’d care to admit. I eventually got that Honda Del Sol but sentimentally kept the Camaro for a while; though it collected more dust than it did miles. The Del Sol was the epitome of reliability but was surprisingly fun to drive, and I did… for many years.
All of these cars were a similar shade of metallic blue. I’m nothing if not consistent about that.
My fascination with cars eventually leads me to a true driver’s car in September of 2005. It’s a Laser Blue Lotus Elise, yet another blue car. This car barely stood as tall as my waist and had basically no cargo space. Every time I got into the car, I needed to tilt my head just enough such that I wouldn’t bump it. It was noisy; I could barely hear the music. Furthermore, I could feel practically every bump.
And I loved driving it. At times, I drove over either one of the floating bridges over Lake Washington. On a warm summer night with the top off the car, you could watch the moonlight shimmer off the water as you drove over the lake. It felt like its own type of symbiosis. This little car reacted almost telepathically to my direction.
Naturally, I shared the exciting news with Tom. Along with the messages, I shared a few pics of the car. We compared notes and discussed in detail what it is like to drive the car. It’s September so the weather had turned chilly and wet enough so that we wouldn’t go on a joy drive right away. We reasoned that we would eventually go on that joy ride, where he would get to drive the car.
“We had plenty of time.”, we both said.
It was months later in November when I got the news; I think it came over e-mail. Tom passed away from an abrupt heart attack over the weekend.
Tom was more than merely a friend; he was family. Though as I attended his funeral, I had little idea just how many people he had touched. We listened to story after story of how his funny though generous demeanor enriched so many lives. It was clear that many felt as I did.
It’s easy to say that you’ll go on that ride, lunch, or coffee. Even as those words escape your lips you could absolutely mean it. Do yourself a favor and schedule it now.
As I get on the road with no purpose other than to enjoy the drive, I turn the music to a familiar playlist and crank up the volume. Golden Earring’s ‘Radar Love’ comes on, and I solemnly turn and look at the vacant passenger seat. Sentimentally, I can almost see Tom contently smile as he quietly watches the landmarks speed by.
I miss you, my friend. I still owe you that ride.