The morning was bright and pleasantly warm. It wasn’t really summer anymore, but autumn hadn’t taken hold yet either. It was what many astrologers call a cusp—the transitional time between two periods.
Lowell went to the garage on Ninety-second Street. He’d called in advance and his car was waiting for him when he arrived. He gave the attendant a five dollar tip and got behind the wheel of the Volvo. He used to drive everywhere, often taking a day just to meander through Westchester or Long Island. But he had become complacent over the past eight years. Having Andy chauffeur him everywhere was often a blessing, but perhaps it had become a bit stifling. Every once in a while he needed to get out on his own.
He moved the seat back to a comfortable spot. Karen had pushed it too far forward when she had used it. Next he adjusted the rear view mirror, moved both side mirrors to accommodate him, and turned off the GPS. He knew where he was going.
Then he took a handful of CDs and loaded several into the player. He put the rest on the passenger’s seat within easy reach. Although he had Sirius Radio in all of his vehicles, he sometimes wanted to hear his favorite recording artists and not leave it up to the DJs. Today he was in the mood for the blues.
He popped in a few CDs, including Muddy Waters, Eric Clapton, The Blues Project, and his favorite blues piano player, Otis Spann. He hit the random button and the music started. “Otis in the Dark” was the first track. The steady rhythm of Spann’s left hand made his body move in time with the beat.
He left the garage and went cross town to the Henry Hudson Parkway. Traffic was light and he was soon lost in that semi-conscious state, driving on instinct. The trees were just starting to change, here and there a bright red next to a pale yellow. Autumn was always an emotional time for Lowell. Many significant events seem to happen in his life while the seasons were in flux, as if to remind us of how unstable are our best plans and how unsure is the future.
Time is a funny thing, he thought, as he drove unhurriedly. Twenty years can go by in a flash. You jump from thirty-two to fifty-two with barely a realization, just the added aches and pains, and more frequent pit stops as the plumbing starts to rust. And just as suddenly those years will disappear and you feel like you’re a kid again.
He’d lived a long time already, more than half a century, and had seen such joy and sadness, the memories were humbling. There’s no way a person can be aware of it all the time. We keep blessedly busy so we don’t always have to entertain our ghosts. But Lowell knew his ghosts would be with him today, and he was ready to embrace them all.
The Blues Project was playing “Wake Me Shake Me.” Al Kooper’s somewhat wobbly vocals teetering atop his organ fills, Danny Kalb’s incredibly fluid guitar licks, and Roy Blumenfeld’s imaginative, rock-steady drums. Lowell smiled. He’d picked the right soundtrack for this journey.
The rhythm of the music and the soft, hypnotic rumbling of the road finally shook his mind free to meander uninhibited.
When he reached his destination, he got out of the car and stretched his legs. At first he zipped up his bombardier’s jacket and turned the faux fur collar up around his neck. But it wasn’t that cold yet; just a crisp bite to the air here in the foothills of the Catskills announcing that the new season had begun.
He unzipped the jacket and stood for a moment breathing in the fresh mountain air, gazing up at the trees, already much barer than downstate, but still a brilliant red or orange here and there. A multicolored carpet of leaves spread out before him on the dead-end road at the wood’s edge, as it had so many times before. The memories threatened a flood of sensory input that he knew he could easily get lost within, and he had to push the past away so he could enjoy the unknown future. He took a step toward the house.
The front door opened and Catherine came out. She was wearing a very short blue dress and canary yellow shoes, just like she had the first time they’d made love at Freddie Finger’s concert so many years before. She looked about nineteen.
When Lowell saw her, he stopped and gazed up into her bright, emerald, fearless eyes, looking for confirmation. He held his breath as she stood on the porch and looked at him for a few moments, trying to decide.
Then she winked.