Static
by
BJ Neblett
Static… nothing but static…
Not that it mattered.
Even if the reception was better
what was being broadcast certainly wasn’t. Elton John, Barry Manilow and the
Eagles were poor replacements for Little Richard, Sam Cooke and the Drifters.
Yeah… the Drifters, the Five Satins, the Penguins, the Del Vikings, the Skyliners…all
the great groups… And nobody had recorded a decent ballad since Otis Redding
died.
Life… that’s what he had read
somewhere. It was something about art and music imitating life. But that was of
little consolation. What the hell had happened to life? No one cared anymore;
it wasn’t like in the old days.
A steady light rain peppered the
windshield causing the wipers to squeak with a metronome monotony, broken only
occasionally by the gentle swaying of the plush set of dice hanging from the
rear view mirror. No, it wasn’t at all like the old days. Hanging out in front
of the bowling alley or at Tony’s Pizza shop used to mean something. Being
there was being someone. And there was always the circuit to cruise, the Friday
night drive-in, or the local hop to check out. Hell, you might even get lucky.
Did 1975 even have such things as hops?
“Screw it,” Johnny said to no one.
Today was his birthday and he slipped one of his presents, a Buddy Holly tape,
into the waiting mouth of the Lear Jet eight track player. In an hour or so
he’d be out of these hills and be able to pick up some of the stronger Philly
stations. This was Sunday night. Maybe he could even catch the tail end of
Harvey Holiday’s oldies program on WDAS-FM. Then he’d switch to WEEZ and the
Hall Of Fame show. After that his records, his tapes and his memories would
have to see him through the week, as always.
Oh Boy blasted from the rear deck
speakers as Johnny settled back into the deep pleated black leather upholstery.
He unrolled a pack of Marlboros from his T shirt sleeve, pulled one between his
lips, flipped the pack onto the dash and reached for the Zippo in his jeans.
“Now that’s rock n roll,” he said with a grin. Lighting the cigarette, he took
a deep drag. He was right… At 50 miles per hour you could keep perfect time to
the music with the flashing white lines in the road. The Cadillac engine’s
three carburetors sang sweetly under the shaved hood of the ’49 Merc coupe. His
smile grew. At least some things don’t change.
The eerie white mist which hugged
the road along old route 30 thickened, causing Johnny to cut his speed. He’d
driven this lonely stretch between Philadelphia and Lancaster often, forsaking
the turnpike in favor of the less traveled but warmly familiar two-lane blacktop.
Johnny had been raised in the area on a small farm by foster parents who looked
upon him as more a hired hand than a son. He hated the work and isolation. On
his fifteenth birthday, Johnny packed his few belongings into the old beat up
Mercury left him by his mother and headed east for Philadelphia. He regretted having
to leave Janie, his young foster sister. Over the long hard years the two had
grown close, comforting and depending on one another. But Janie understood his
feelings and they promised to stay in touch. After two months in the city, when
no one came looking for the runaway teen, Johnny knew he had made the right
decision. This evening he was headed home after a weekend visit with Janie and
her husband and kids. With the fog getting worse, Johnny set himself in the
seat, puffed on the cigarette and strained to see the road.
“Damn!” Johnny jammed on the brake
pedal. The car swerved left and then right, skidding sideways to a stop in the
middle of the rain slicked pavement. He peered back down the road at the figure
he’d almost run over. It was a young woman standing alone on the shoulder.
Johnny could see she must have been out in the rain for some time. Before he
could turn the coupe around, she hurried towards the car, holding a beige
sweater over her head from the rain. The passenger door opened, and a beautiful
woman in her early twenties climbed inside.
“I’m sorry… I… I didn’t see you… the
fog…”
“It’s ok… I’m just glad you stopped,”
she replied, smoothing the white chiffon party dress and pulling the door
closed. “Any longer and I think I might have drowned.” Her voice was soft, her
manner easy and friendly. “I was at a dance and the guy I was with turned out
to be a real jerk. Guess it was stupid of me to walk home, but I had to get
away from there.” She opened the glove box of the vintage hot rod and pushed a
button. A small concealed makeup mirror flipped up before her, and she removed a
pale blue scarf from her hair. “Anyway, I really do love the rain, especially
when it’s over and the clouds begin to open and there’s a beautiful moon, and
everything smells so fresh…”
“How… how did you know about that?”
Ignoring his question, she began to
brush back her long blonde hair. “But then again, I did get rescued by a
handsome knight in a shiny black chariot. I live just a little way down the
road. I hope you don’t mind.”
Johnny turned the ignition key and
the powerful Cadillac motor jumped to life. “No… no problem… just show me
where.” The Mercury slipped easily into gear and rumbled down the road as
Johnny slipped in a new tape.
“That’s a beautiful locket.” The
mysterious stranger leaned over to admire the delicate gold heart shaped locked
dangling at the end of Johnny’s key chain. It popped open, revealing a single
fuzzy picture of a young boy and girl.
“That’s my dad, and my mom,” Johnny
said. “He was thirteen there, and she was about ten or eleven I think.”
She turned in her seat, sizing
Johnny up. “You look like him. You’re every bit as handsome.” The radio was
switched off, but as she spoke she reached over and pulled on one of the buttons,
resetting a station. “Oh, I love this song!” In The Still Of The Night filtered
softly from the rear speakers as she adjusted the eight track’s volume.
They rode in relaxed silence,
enjoying the old doo wop tune. “Tell me about them… your parents…” she asked,
as the music faded and the player switched tracks.
Johnny eased back, lighting another
cigarette. As he drove, he studied his passenger out of the corner of his eye.
She had brushed her hair into a cute pony tail and repaired the light makeup
she wore. He like the way she looked. This was the seventies, but Johnny hated
the painted makeup and miniskirts many women wore and men seemed to enjoy. He
found her to be warm and easy to talk with, but her eyes, soft and deep blue,
glinted sad and distant.
“Mom and dad were childhood
sweethearts,” Johnny began, the memories returning in a rush. “My dad joined
the army right after graduation. While on leave they ran off to Maryland and
were married. This old Mercury was the only thing they owned. It was his pride
and joy. Three days later he was sent overseas. He was killed in Korea.”
“That was terrible,” she replied softly.
She stared straight ahead, but not at the road. Her eyes were fixed on the
images in her mind. Johnny thought he noticed a tear in the corner of her eye.
“Yeah… Mom was barely sixteen when I
was born. I barely remember her. She died of pneumonia in ’58. That’s the only
picture I have of either of them.”
“It must have been very hard for
you.”
Johnny sighed and snuffed out the
cigarette in the ashtray. “I guess. It’s funny, my only clear memories of her
is how she would sing me to sleep every night… some old favorite rock or blues
song. She loved music; always had the radio playing. Guess that’s why I like
old rock n roll and rhythm and blues so much. Most people say I’m stuck in the
fifties.”
It was true. After coming to
Philadelphia, Johnny found work training as a mechanic. In his spare time he
fixed up the Mercury, dropping in the new motor and customizing it in fifties low ride style. Johnny loved the music and
life style of the fifties, constantly dressing in jeans, T shirt and leather
jacket. He’d become pretty much a loner, finding it difficult to talk to the
few girls he met. His life revolved around his car, his music and his memories.
“I know what you mean. Things sure
aren’t like they were back then. Oh… turn right here… my house is just up this
drive.”
Johnny wheeled the car into a long dirt
and gravel drive almost hidden by trees. He knew this section of route 30 well
and was sure he had never seen any turn offs anywhere this far out. “But…”
“This is fine.” She touched Johnny’s
arm, cutting him off. “With all this rain the road will be muddy. You might get
stuck. I can walk from here.”
The coupe came to a stop. Johnny
looked at his beautiful, baffling passenger. He wanted to say something,
anything. He didn’t want her to leave. He wanted to know her, who she was;
where she came from; why she intrigued him so. Most of all Johnny wanted to
know why he felt so comfortable with her.
He found himself silently staring into
her distant eyes.
Turning in her seat, she returned
Johnny’s gaze. She seemed to be studying him, memorizing his face; his
features. Finally she spoke. “You know, there’s nothing wrong with having
memories. I love this music myself; I always have. The fifties were good times.
But there are a lot of good things out there today, too. All you have to do is
take time to notice. Remembering the past is one thing; living in it is
another. If you don’t enjoy today, you won’t have any memories of it tomorrow.”
She leaned across the seat and kissed Johnny’s cheek. Tying her scarf around
the rear view mirror, smiled and opened the car door. “Take care of yourself,
Johnny, and happy birthday.”
In an instant she had disappeared
into the fog. Johnny was lost for words. Before realizing, he had backed out
onto the road and driven a few miles. The old coupe skidded to a halt. “This is
crazy,” he said to the night, spinning the car around. “Who is she? How did she
know my name?”
Gravel shot from the rear tires as
Johnny pulled the car onto the shoulder. He jumped out, searching, looking up
and down the dark highway. Cursing, he ran another quarter mile down the road.
He was sure this was where he had turned off. There was nothing but trees, thick
brush and the night. Desperately, Johnny looked up and down the road again.
Nothing…
He considered driving back another
mile or two but there was no point. Reluctantly, Johnny started the car and
pulled out onto the deserted road. He drove the next forty five minutes in
silence, lost in his thoughts. Finally, with the distant lights of Paoli and
the Main Line in view, Johnny relaxed, switching on the radio.
Static… nothing but static…
But he was close enough in now. He
should be able to pick up most all of the Philly stations. Johnny pushed one
button after another. Finally he hit the last one. The speakers crackled and
the final chorus of the Drifter’s Some Kind Of Wonderful faded. The DJ
announced the station’s call letters. It was WEEZ and Billy James’ late night
Sunday Hall Of Fame show. Johnny listened to the oldies program faithfully each
week but never set one of the car’s radio buttons to the predominately rock
station. As the announcer gave the time, Johnny realized the station was set to
the button the girl had programmed.
“And I have a very special request
and dedication for a guy out there on his birthday, this Sunday evening.” The
DJ’s words caught Johnny’s attention. “The lady sends her love and says,
‘Thanks for the ride.’ Johnny, this one’s for you.”
Johnny pulled to the curb, raising the
radio’s volume. BJ Thomas’ Rock n Roll Lullaby filled the car. He listened to
the words, recalling the evening. What was it she had said? There are a lot of good things out there
today… all you have to do is take time to notice.
The light rain finally stopped as
the touching ballad ended. The fog began to lift, and the parting clouds
revealed a big bright full moon directly overhead. It shone on the blue scarf hanging
from the car’s rear view mirror. Johnny reached for the ignition key, flipping open
the gold locket. Next to the worn photograph of his parents was a photo of the mysterious
passenger. She wore the same white chiffon party dress and stood next to the old
Mercury.
Johnny smiled.
“Got your message…” he said aloud, “thanks,
mom.”
Seattle, WA
January, 1993
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