‘Sorrow.’ –Life Without Buildings.
“This is kinduv sad. Is she talking, or singing?”
“Both. That’s her particular way…that’s her voice.”
(I don’t know what that means)
Findlay has vomited pink ice cream in the back-seat, and there are otherwise explosions of almost-pink pencil cacti in the side-view. We talk about the songs.
(My best friends have been Irish, but I’ve got a Scot for an uncle).
‘Blue Blood’—The Walkmen.
“This has to be about octopi, cuz they have blue blood and three hearts.”
“In Dory, the octopus had one bad heart.”
“I don’t know that movie. I’ve got three good ones, or maybe just one.”
“OH—DADDY! I found this one thing.”
I hand him the phone; I’m driving.
He punches in some letters on Spotify, and it’s Tokyo Police Club.
“Tokeyo, or Tok-yo?”
“Doesn’t matter, Kid. How’d you know that was one of my favorites?”
I’d kiss him on the head, but I’m driving. He selected one of my favorite songs.
“You get along a lot better with Grampa and Grandma, don’t you,” he asks, and Findlay smells like puke in the rear. His eyes are rolling in a Nod-some way.
“What makes you say that?” while I curse the BMW driver next to me for dodging into my lane, no blinker.
“Well you see them a lot on Wednesdays with Finn, and you talked to Grandma for hours the other day.”
I test him.
(He’s probably too young to be in the front seat).
“Well, I talked to Chris last night for a long time, too; also Derek. Then I hung out with Barbara and Noah. I like talking to people.”
The National—‘Driver, Surprise Me.’
“But, like, FIVE hours.”
“Your brand new bones…”
“Yeah—I like talking to people, Cayde.”
We hit the summit and Cayde keeps punching the radio, looking for songs.
Whatever works for you
I’m brand new, reinvented
Without a scratch
Daisy-fresh and arrow-straight.
“I like that song, Cayde. Hands off, goddammit.”
And, just like that we’re over the hill.