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I stepped off the curb and 1990 swept by me.
The time roared into my senses screaming and quickly dissipated like some sort of memory Doppler Effect.
For a few seconds, I was 14 or 15 again, riding shotgun with my brother as he cruised the K-Mart parking lot, just like the two teen-aged boys who had just driven by me at Wal-Mart.
They were driving an old Camaro Iroc-Z, just like my brother did. Only theirs was mostly primer, where my brother’s, although used, too, was always slick and polished.
Like my brother. Slick and polished. And sexy.
Now before you all start jumping to any conclusions about Tennessee, I did not have any kind of attraction or sexual connection to my brother. 1 But, I am able to appreciate when someone has a sexy quality about them.
I don’t know if it was inherited or something he picked up, but it was a quality he got from our father.
I only knew Daddy as a breaking down alcoholic. Not the dangerously seductive wolf that I have heard others say that he was. But, apparently, in his prime, our father was very desirable, and everyone2 thought my mama had won the lottery when he got her pregnant.
You can’t help but idolize someone who has that kind of charm and magnetism. Especially when you are young. And especially especially when it is a quality that has eluded you.
So, I was my older brother’s constant sidekick through my early teens. I wanted to be wherever he was and doing whatever he did. Maybe in the hopes that some of it would rub off. And virtually everything in our lives then revolved around or happened in that car.
I first smoked weed3 in that car. I sat on the hood reading books while my brother fucked girls in the back of that car. We drag raced in that car. We received tandem blow jobs in that car. We slept in that car.4 I learned to drive5 in that car. I got news of Mama’s death in that car.
I lost my brother in that car.
Figuratively.
My brother had become involved with some illegal activities6 and one day I discovered that I was unknowingly being used as a soldier in his service.
Betrayal.
That was the beginning of the end of my idolatry and our relationship with each other.
I never looked at him the same again.
By the end of that summer I was no longer his wing man. I had moved to the mountains with my grandparents and he had gotten rid of the car.7
Even though the events are coincidental and even though my brother and I attempted8 to maintain a relationship a few years later, to me, saying goodbye to that car represents saying goodbye to my brother.
I miss that car.
{ fin }
- He’s my brother, not my cousin.
[↩] - except my grandparents [↩]
- illegally [↩]
- When Daddy would lock us out of the house for coming home too late. [↩]
- illegally [↩]
- which years later would become his undoing. [↩]
- Access to a certain kind of money gave him newer and finer cars. [↩]
- Unsuccessfully. [↩]
Umm….the twisted paths of our lives. The good and memorable deeply imbedded with the icky bad stuff. I have such powerful memories as yours of growing up, coming of age, and such. But not with my brother. I also understand that sexy, attractive, quality….of the most unassuming of individuals. And the cars! The cars! The power and prestige behind them. I lost my brother somewhere along the line as well.
Those muscle cars bring back such memories. And their resurgence makes for newer memories, I’m sure for those that drive them. Cars. Family. It’s all a love hate relationship sometimes.
Beautiful piece of writing.
I hope one day you get to address your brother with his ears wide open and eager. That happens more often than not.
Wow! the gift you have with words! a poignant memory that delves so into one’s psyche.
i have two estranged siblings, a half-brother and a homophobic sister. the circumstances surrounding the alienation from each of them are very different from yours. yet they are the same such that some random encounter will takes me to a place where they come to mind. i wonder what ever happened, not to them, but things i associated with the encounters – my mother’s couch and my dad’s car.
Magnetism and charm eluded who? You may not see it but I’m sure people around you are aware of the magnetism and please just ask the Attorney about your charm.
Once again Tony, a beautiful piece of writing.
Happy Birthday, Sweetie.