Just a Flash
Original photo by RJF
By R.J.F.
A flicker from the backseat.
I remember that night clearly. We were all at our favorite dive bar, doing what we normally did in those days. Lots of quarters for the jukebox, lots of cigarettes to smoke at the table, lots of pitchers of cheap beer, and lots of laughter.
We would pull up like some kind of hillbilly royalty in our shitty cars, chatting as we walked to the entrance. The bartenders and bouncers knew us, so they never really checked our I.D.’s. Occasionally, we would be able to sneak in someone’s younger sibling and get away with letting the minors throw some beers back.
There were a handful of times when we would not only sneak in people that shouldn’t be there, but sneak in our own beers. Times were tough for all of us, and going out drinking most nights of the week was draining our bank accounts quickly. Either the bartenders, two old men named Mark and Charlie, didn’t notice, or they just didn’t care because we were always spending money in that shit hole.
The bouncer, Danny, was a trip! He was an MMA trainer and fighter who liked to greet us with a “meow” and form his hand into the shape of a cat claw. His maniacal laugh would always bring smiles to our faces. He was an odd one, but we liked him anyway. One time, out of the blue, he sat down and started telling us about his penchant for sleeping with mother and daughter duos; he even had the pictures to prove it. That was just how he was, I guess.
On that night, it was more of the same. Someone put the Rolling Stones on the jukebox, followed by some kind of current alternative jam, followed by some Al Green. Our music tastes were all over the place, but that was us, a mix-matched group of 20 somethings stumbling through life.
I was the DD for this particular outing. I didn’t mind because we all took turns, and this was my night to make sure that I got everyone home safe. This didn’t mean that I wasn’t going to have a drink or two, it just meant that I couldn’t get hammered. It’s interesting to view life through semi-sober eyes when everyone around you is ordering pitcher after pitcher.
After we had smoked almost all of our cigarettes, and had reached our financial limit for the night, it was time to head home. It always felt so good bursting out of the door into the cooler night air, the red neon sign lighting our way back to the parking lot.
On our way home, I decided to take a windy road through a wealthy section of the city to avoid any cops. I had my sunroof open, and everyone had their windows down. Was this for ventilation from the cigarettes everyone was smoking, or was it just to feel the power of the air as it rushed in and out of the car?
“Pour Some Sugar on Me” started blasting out of the speakers. Instead of changing the station, I cranked the volume up. I pressed down slightly on the accelerator, making sure to keep my grip on the wheel, and we all started singing and laughing along.
I can’t remember who started it, but soon, all of my passengers were taking turns standing up and sticking the upper halves of their bodies out of my sunroof, arms raised as I zoomed on. I could hear them gleefully screaming into the night air as the wind whipped past them. I vaguely remember one of them lifting up their shirt and flashing the fancy houses as we sped by.
Then, it was her turn. She was riding shotgun that night, which wasn’t rare; I think she liked having control of the music. As she stood up on the passenger seat to get out of the sunroof, her shoulder length bob blew behind her. She was so happy in that moment, so thrilled, so alive. When she came back down into the car, she accidentally burned a hole in the seat with her cigarette, but I didn’t care.
Years later, after her death, I was driving down that road late at night. No music, no speeding, no laughter. The cigarette burn was still there, a remnant of my past life. With my windows down and my sunroof open, all I could think about at that moment was that wild night driving everyone home. This time, though, with the wind rushing past my face, pushing my tears across my cheeks, it was completely different.
Suddenly, a flicker from the backseat; it was her. I swear there was a cigarette in her mouth, too. I wasn’t seeing things, I knew she was there. It was just a flash, just a moment, just a memory.