It was a great drive to work this morning. It is Friday (which improves everything) and Billy Preston and I were asking the musical question "will it go round in circles, will it fly high like a bird up in the sky?" still unanswered, but with a wonderfully upbeat sound who cares. The roads were still wet from the overnight thunderstorms, (storms that had washed the the work week almost completely away) but the sky was brightening and the horizon was smiling and gave commuters a little wink, even the heavens were feeling good. It was going to be a nice day.
Merging from one freeway to the next and wanting to get over into the left most lane, (the fast lane) a quick, cursory glance in the drivers side mirror revealed a car fast approaching. It is Friday, and nobody wants to be rude on such a wonderful day, so I waited to let it pass. But, it was two cars, a black Honda and a Silver Hyundai. And they were in a hurry, and were waiting on no one.
Pulling in behind them, and listening to Billy Preston sing about having a song that
"ain't got no melody," he is "gonna sing it to his friends."" I couldn't help but wonder what they were listening to, maybe "click click boom," by Saliva. Something aggressive and filled with rage.
The Black Honda made a tragic error, letting the Silver Hyundai slip to the right and go around him. Maybe the driver was looking for "Guerrilla Radio" by Rage Against the Machine on his MP3 player. Or they were an older person who needed something like "Danger Zone," by Kenny Loggins. Perhaps it was just a moment of lucid, reasonable thought. Probably not.
That was not going to happen to the driver of the black Honda, don't be foolish. The car swerved quickly to the right, to pass the offensive Silver Hyundai. Meanwhile, Billy Preston was telling me about his dance,
"ain't got no steps, no, gonna let the music move me 'round." Sadly, there was a car too close to the front of the Hyundai and the only choice the Black Honda had was to pull back in behind, stuck in 2nd place, you know it was murderously painful, too. I imagined the grip tightening on the wheel as the driver cursed the fates, and the lousy music on local radio.
They both flew past the blocking car, and found themselves stuck in their respective positions, the traffic was getting too heavy. Desperately trying to out maneuver each other, weaving in and out of traffic, horns honking, tires squealing. It was going to be something to see, who would get downtown first, I wish I had put money on the Hyundai.
Unfortunately, a large, seriously large, pickup (with a "Love to Scrapbook" bumper sticker and an artificial flowered wreath attached to the tailgate pulled between me and the battling commuters, and I would never know who won the race downtown. But there was something so peaceful in the way the wreath rocked back and forth as the pickup swayed, almost tipping over, too large, and unstable for that kind of high speed, abrupt lane change.
When I pulled up to the stoplight at the bottom of the exit, (just as Billy Preston sang about his story with no moral, and the bad guy winning every once in a while) the Hyundai and the Honda were sitting side by side at the red light. Engines revving, staring intently at the light, waiting for the green, hoping to get a jump, both hands clutching the steering wheel as though they hated it, studiously not making eye contact. Women can be so stubborn.
Anyway, thank you, racing, raging commuters , large pick up drivers, the smiling, winking heavens and especially you, Billy Preston, you all helped make my ride to work special.
Happy Friday, all.