it was a mazda rx 8
so i'm out for coffee last night with joel, and we're telling some stories. somehow the topic goes into all about road trips, being pulled over by the cops, and speeding. now, i'm no stranger to doing some wreck-less things behind the wheel, but over the past few years i've calmed down. i have my reasons.
joel starts going into this escapde of going 120 mph through utah. i flash back to several years ago, driving on the 202 bybass and tom wanting to show me what his mom's car could really do and i how i pleaded with him to slow down as he climbed up to 120. he did, but it scared the crap out of me. joel keeps going on and on and on about this road trip he went on, and i keep thinking about how that would be such a nightmare if i was in that car. more memories of going down I-95 to philly, gripping to the handle bar, 100 mph- while weaving through traffic, BEGGING tom to slow down and put on his seatbelt. then joel continues, "it wasn't my car. it was my friend's sister's car. great car. it was a mazda rx8." i freeze. it takes a few seconds to process, and then i just blink a few times heavily. the car he died in. that damn sports car the pulled into my driveway the summer before he died that gave me a bad feeling. "tom, is that one of your parents car?" his response, "nope, it's my new one. isn't it great?" i wasn't so sure.
joel continues his story. as he ends it, he says, "i can see you're not amused." truthfully, i completely zoned out his last paragraph. i look up at him and say, "oh, sorry. just made me think of something. my mind wandered." not willing to elaborate. i hate it when people innocently provoke sad memories. i want to re-sign being someone who has lost people. there's this whole sequel to grieving that people don't tell you about: the aftermath of grieving. once you're finished the process and you've accepted that everything is the way it is, it comes back to haunt you. sometimes you feel guilty that you've moved on. sometimes certain details get hazy and that scares you- like you've accepted the fate so much that their memory is slipping through your hands and will be gone forever. sometimes people un-expectedly ambush you with emotion after they tell a story. then those are those damn days of the year you can't forget. today is one of them. tom's birthday. last night this story was told. i didn't want to remember. i'm sick of remembering. is that wrong? i'm not sure. i'm not unbalanced today. i didn't freak out last night. i'm not crying- nor will i. just weirded out and slightly confused.
joel starts going into this escapde of going 120 mph through utah. i flash back to several years ago, driving on the 202 bybass and tom wanting to show me what his mom's car could really do and i how i pleaded with him to slow down as he climbed up to 120. he did, but it scared the crap out of me. joel keeps going on and on and on about this road trip he went on, and i keep thinking about how that would be such a nightmare if i was in that car. more memories of going down I-95 to philly, gripping to the handle bar, 100 mph- while weaving through traffic, BEGGING tom to slow down and put on his seatbelt. then joel continues, "it wasn't my car. it was my friend's sister's car. great car. it was a mazda rx8." i freeze. it takes a few seconds to process, and then i just blink a few times heavily. the car he died in. that damn sports car the pulled into my driveway the summer before he died that gave me a bad feeling. "tom, is that one of your parents car?" his response, "nope, it's my new one. isn't it great?" i wasn't so sure.
joel continues his story. as he ends it, he says, "i can see you're not amused." truthfully, i completely zoned out his last paragraph. i look up at him and say, "oh, sorry. just made me think of something. my mind wandered." not willing to elaborate. i hate it when people innocently provoke sad memories. i want to re-sign being someone who has lost people. there's this whole sequel to grieving that people don't tell you about: the aftermath of grieving. once you're finished the process and you've accepted that everything is the way it is, it comes back to haunt you. sometimes you feel guilty that you've moved on. sometimes certain details get hazy and that scares you- like you've accepted the fate so much that their memory is slipping through your hands and will be gone forever. sometimes people un-expectedly ambush you with emotion after they tell a story. then those are those damn days of the year you can't forget. today is one of them. tom's birthday. last night this story was told. i didn't want to remember. i'm sick of remembering. is that wrong? i'm not sure. i'm not unbalanced today. i didn't freak out last night. i'm not crying- nor will i. just weirded out and slightly confused.