5. Hera and Apollo: A Duet

The soft soap soaked sponge slightly slipped over smooth curves.  The bubbles subsequently swept away  by a supple shower of sweet spring water.  The weariness earned during the ins and outs of winter’s storms was also whirlpool washed away down the drain to some winding unseen stream. She sighs in relief. A towel slowly wiping her gently protects her from the damage that the remaining hard iron based well water could cause to her skin. Refreshed, glowing, and made up she is ready to have him slip inside her. They close their eyes and they were gone.

 

Radio cranks up and blasts almost blowing out the speakers hiding her whiny scream. His intuition was right on how hard to drive her and how loud to play the music. Riding without music was like not riding at all. 

 

She was blacker than black…. a ‘57 Chrysler with a 383 cubic hemi patiently parked in Pizza Pete’s lot waiting for her partner to get her going. She would sit calm and ready till he lit her on fire and they’d drive the night away. Cruising from back streets to open highways is freedom. A chariot on fire was a gift carrying her racer searching out hippodromes and straight aways. The diverse colors and contours of these velocitous virile vehicles became topics for drivers and marketing professionals …and naturally a few greedy psychotherapists.

 

Jake lived in the state of just needing to get from here to there. He named his ride “Black Beauty.” She was always fast and responded by getting to 90mph faster than newer rubber burners on US Rte 22. Whenever the “”Black” hit local streets everyone knew “the Reb” was in town. Isabella knew that Jake’s ride could ruin a reputation as well as take a life. Though both the Black and Betty, Jake’s new guitar, would scream when he held them tight Isabella found the “Black” more threatening. Jake was oblivious of Isabella’s feelings as he rationalized that this was the only vehicle he could afford and Betty the only guitar he was destined to play. He was careful in how he held both and they responded to his caressing touches.

 

Jake drafted in that weathered torn school-like marble notebook about the black motor queen

 

The Black Queen and Betty

 

Mated souls in conception

mystical keys

flicking of the wrist

 flames born of  a spark

in one a fire is born

the other echoes Aeolus’ harp

no destination needed

 

They lift me where

We need to be.

Pegasus’ Mustangs

And vestal virgins

Bow as we pass by

Heaven’s gates open

Gift of Helios

We are of the sun

 

As the wear of winter began to show it’s effect on the Black’s once smooth edifice the plans of a slow cool cruise down Ocean Avenue under Long Beach Island’s red evening sky over the mainland seemed a far off dream. In her day she was stealth and had been too fast for the local “po-po’s”. It was a non-issue to blow the “hot rodders” off the line on midnight runs to nowhere. No bread or title drags were necessary, just riding for the pleasure was enough. It was a time when speed and size would matter.

 

However, it was the living in the fast lane and adding up the miles of black tops and dirt tracks that began to age this “Black Beauty.” Her speed days began to wane as she slowly became transformed into a casual cruiser. She was this lonely warrior’s vessel carrying him from one adventure to another on his passage to somewhere.

 

Good companions fill voids of all kinds. Different needs, different voids, different companions. Jake felt like he had too many needs and one too many voids. He knew how some relationships could be temporary and how voids can sometimes be filled temporarily. No thing stays the same, not even relationships.  It’s just the same way all across the universe.

 

“Impermanence. “

 

His meditation mantra.

 

He had nightmares about how long he and the Black Beauty and Betty would be together. Similar nocturnal fears consumed him about Isabella and Sundance.  Any thing or person could never fill the void left by Al.

 

Betty would take Jake places journeying deep within. Holding her, caressing her neck and while strumming her time did not exist, nor did the realities of existence . The sounds separated by silence created a soothing sonata of melodious lamentations. Sometimes verses about voyages would be vocalized in a whispering psalm-like refrain. Troubadours travel from town to town, their anthems a momentary diversion from the world for the locals as well as themselves. Betty was always at the ready to be held, ready to mutually mystically drift away at Jake’s whim.

 

Black Beauty was a transport of a different kind. She existed for Jake’s body to escape to physical places he only dreamed about and places he never imagined. Inside her he was in a different world, he was a spirit in a vessel being carried down rivers and to the unknown sea.  When he held onto Black Beauty’s steering wheel he could feel how she would hold him in return. He never controlled her direction, as she knew exactly where to take him. They could not let go of each other. They were one when on the road with Betty resting in the back seat waiting for her opportunity to enhance their joint escape, the ménage’ trios. Finally responding to Sundance’s persistent invitation to venture to Connecticut all three headed east as fast as they could sail away from the setting sun.