Coming of Age

They continued on through the now familiar repetition of countryside, big city, and 300 miles to next big city road sign. May put in some “Echo and the Bunnymen”. (He had forgotten to include “Ocean Rain” among his list of favorite albums). He laughed at the irritated expression on Seamus’ face as the hauntingly quirky, consummately 80s, melodies spun to life. “Dude, I can’t stand Bono,” protested Sea. “It’s not U2, man.” “Well then who is it?” “Echo and the Bunnymen.” “Echo and the who? “Bunny-men.” You’re a weird kid, Maynard.” “Don’t I know it.” May loved holding his friend captive, playing songs that he knew would get a reaction out of him, one way or the other. The music made him feel sad and excited and happy all at once. Perhaps the best part about music was not when it gave you goosebumps or reminded you of some especial connection to your own life, but when it made you think of how it would do so especially for one of your friends, wanting to give them the song of their own life, the words and music that would locate them and prepare them for their changes. He searched for that music which would bestow him and Seamus with the most emotional energy, providing new blue-green memories which they could one day look back to when life wasn’t quite as young and carefree. So many of May’s friendships, like favorite CDs, were now lost, stolen or damaged by the years, like the sometimes heart-drowning sadness of leaving special people and places behind in one’s wake. But certain ones he had managed to hold onto. And memories of the others’ music remembered today made them all the more sweet. Maynard knew that all the songs that he and Sea had listened to on this day would forever remind him of this special place in his life he once inhabited with his best friend. On the road with Willie and Woody and Ray and Johnny. But also Gram and Jackson and Otis and Bobby. From Townes to town. From Link Wray to Stevie Ray. Universal christ-artists whose musical words were resurrected each time their songs were replayed and again found their marks in the hearts of their listeners. No, rock ‘n’ roll would never die. As long as there was still a wide open, freedom highway on which to blare it. True, he and Seamus were two youths caught circling the drain of adulthood, and all the cynicism and spiritual privation which came with it. In a country no longer young. But, (for now, at least), the highway was fast and the swirl, fun.