We’re driving down the interstate; the car feels quiet, so I turn the music up. The next song that comes on makes me let out a little smile. Alan Jackson starts singing:
“The sun is hot, and that old clock is movin’ slow.”1
I let out a little laugh and get ready for the chorus, singing along and swaying my head while keeping my hands steady on the wheel. As I’m about to sing the iconic chorus line, I look over at him. His face is blank, and then he giggles.
Both of our guards are down. We’re like two young children, joyriding. Holding on to every moment because it could end at any minute.
He doesn’t know the song but he lets himself smile and enjoy. “What’s a hurricane?” He asks me.
“I actually have no idea, but it must get you really drunk.”
*
He reminds me of a country song even though there is nothing country about him.
Maybe it’s the comfort. That feeling of nostalgia and solace that comes with listening to Keith Urban sing2. The excitement when the intro to Man! I Feel Like A Woman3 starts. The Butterflies4 that Kasey Musgraves sang about.
And when he leaves, the pain will sink in like a classic country heartbreak. The reality that life will never be the same. So lonesome I could cry5. Blue eyes crying in the rain6.
Then one day, the sun will come back out, and I’ll remember that moment on the interstate. That brief feeling, the small moments of joy. I’ll turn on the radio and sing.
“Bittersweet memories, that’s all I am taking with me.”7