Wish You Were Here

Posted on Nov 20, 2012

there are some songs that take you back more powerfully than do others.

I can still hear this one shaking the cinder blocks of Unit H in Williamsburg at 4am, bouncing off the pine trees that stood a dark watch over those college years.

loud and clear that night behind the 7-11 as we stood in awe, watching the train throttle by, a blissfully mindless roar. how we imagined the curve of the earth, the deep-sea dragons and undiscovered shores. come what may, we sang.

walking the D.C. summer sidewalk past the Supreme Court building, shoes and socks in hand, pulling off the jacket of a new suit and slipping from the borrowed tie, laughing out loud.

I can hear it too, echoing towards yet another sundown on the boombox at a second-rate car wash off I-4 east of Orlando, suds up to my elbows. come what may.

or running the Arkansas River in Tulsa, the Columbia River in Portland, or crossing the street in downtown Denver, or riding the Ventura Freeway well past midnight, the top down, sliding from the Hollywood Hills and into the lights of LA for the first time.

and I hear it blaring in the summer sun from my old ’78 Camaro on the Ocracoke Ferry, a satisfied smile aimed at the next adventure. the rippling purple ocean falling into the sky like my childhood tumbles into all I am now.

come what may.