I grabbed my keys, walked to my car under the late night sky, plugged in my phone, turned on the ignition, found my playlist “Roadtrip”and hit shuffle. I shifted into reverse. Then, first. Then second, third, and fourth. The orange flash of the low tire pressure symbol reminded me about the spare and flat from earlier in the day. A nail had found a home in my back tire. Within an hour, it was flat. Two hours later, the flat was in the back of my car and the spare was doing its part. I drove aimlessly. In circles. Wanting to be out. Hanging with friends. Sipping on a glass of wine. Or maybe tequila, a reposado, on ice with a splash of orange. Listening to tunes. Maybe dancing. Or maybe just quietly moving to the rhythm while talking about something other than the virus. And every-once-in-awhile when-the-perfect-song comes on, singing along. So I turned up the music. LOUD. To drown out the sound of my own not-so-good voice. And sang. At the top of my lungs. Shifting between first, second, third, and fourth. Until I eventually made my way back home. And listened to my tunes sitting on the back stoop under a cold, cloud-filled sky. Singing. Moving to the rhythm. Thinking. And reminiscing. About all of the people I love. All of the memories I have made. And all of the memories still to come.
For my Pfister friends. I miss sitting in my favorite spot at the end of the Lobby Lounge Bar, writing stories, and watching you work. Mixing and pouring drinks. Making the guests feel at home. And in between sharing bits and pieces of yourself and a laugh or two with me.