RED CONVERTIBLE

Tonight I was driving down the highway from my mom's house, it was almost dusk, not dark, not dusk, but just pre dusk. There was still lots of light, but less than there had been 15 minutes earlier. And there was just enough lack of light to make all the cars, even the dirty ones, look shiny. I think it has something to do with the sun being at a longer angle or something, but thats the way it seems at that time of day to me. Even though we haven't had a lot of really hot summer days this year, these are in fact the dog days of summer. And the dog days of summer are usually what make things look all shiny at dusk. People are always washing their cars on Saturdays, so couple that with the idea that things look a little shiny, a little more vibrant at pre dusk, it all makes sense. Perhaps the shiny cars make the dull ones look a little better on the road and in the parking lots.

I can remember when I was going through my muscle car phase, shining up the Malibu, with it's IROC blue paint job practically glowing by night time. I remember shining those corvette ralley wheels till they looked like christmas ornaments, and waxing the hood and the back deck until I could see my reflection in them. And we'd make mix tapes with all our favorite songs on them, and we'd hit the road around pre dusk and blare our stereos, cruise through the restaurants, by the movie theaters, past where we'd heard there might be a party, or where someone' parents were gone for the weekend and they "might" have people over, while the smell of Armor All and Turtle Wax was still in the air. The night belonged to the kids with the cool cars, or so we thought. And invariably my Malibu would remind me that it was all paint job and shiny stuff, covering up what a piece of crap it actually was. Form over substance, a cautionary tale at best. But it was a beautiful car, all blue and shiny, with it's heavy black leather interior. And I was reminded of it tonight, as I drove the highway home from my mom's house, when a beautiful 66 Impala convertible, red no less, pulled up beside me in the Honda. This 66 was imaculate. It was cherry as the day is long, right down to it's original red pinstriped tires. The man driving it was an older man, not a "dude" not a "guy", an old man. He was easily 70, with his ball cap holding down what was left of his whispy white hair. He was one-handing the wheel, while the left arm was hitched over the side of the door. He was digging me checking out his ride. I hope he didn't think I was checking out his woman, who was every bit of 70 too. And I'm too much of a gentleman to go into what I thought about her white thinning hair and sun wrinlked face, but enough of that. There they were...Grandpa and Gramma muscle-car. I could tell that they were enjoying their cruise on the highway, i wouldn't be surprised if they lit out for that same cruise every summer night after supper.

When the old man realized I was staring at his car, he decided it was time to punch it, and let me know how it sounded, how it ran, and what his tail lights looked like. And that 66 Impala made some serious noise, beautiful in tone and strong in the grrrr department. Never did the old man look over at me, he kept his eyes straight ahead, and the old lady never looked either. But I think I saw her give a little smile when she felt the old man punch it. And as I watched the red convertible pass me and head off into the pre dusk night, I smiled big. And I thought of my malibu and cruisin' on saturday nights as a kid. And it got me thinking...

Doesn't everyone want one of those red convertible moments? Don't we all need those? Isn't that what we strive for? And it's not about the car so much as it is about the cruise itself, in a car that we poured over for hours, days weeks, months, to keep it running, to keep it healthy, to keep it beautiful. We want to drive that thing, to show it off, to be seen and to hold hands with the person in the other seat. To enjoy the dusk and the night air, with someone else, is infinitely better than doing it alone. And if you're 70, cruising with your convertible with top down, enjoying some tunes with your significant other, what do you think you poured more love, work and soul into? The car or the girl? Before you answer with a smartass tone, think about it this way. Couldn't you replace the car? Now answer. Live Big Grandpa and Gramma Muscle Car! LIVE BIG.