The Gaslight Anthem "The '59 Sound"

The West Virginian rain comes fast and heavy on the cloth top of my Lincoln as I spark a cigarette and push the motor into a roaring crescendo. Getting away isn’t as easy at seems when you dream constantly of what you left behind, but the taste of the open road does its best to soothe my regret. The crackle of the FM radio and Bruce Springsteen provide a bittersweet accompaniment to these thoughts, resonating in the gap left by girls, sleepless nights and too many cigarettes. Every young man thinks they’re a god and inevitably end up hurt when fate tugs their ever-present humanity and reminds them that they do indeed have a heart.

Death isn’t a relevant consideration when faced with the opportunities of youth but every kid does eventually grow-up enough to wonder what song they’ll be buried to and how many of their childhood friends will be there to hear it. Old men should die, not kids who haven’t had the chance to pass their twilight years in a rocking chair listening to the classics and reminiscing of Saturday nights passed.

The rain subsides and I switch off the radio, left with only the hum of the Lincoln and its tales of love lost and backseat memories. It’s always easy to fall in love but much harder to fall back out, even furnished with the promises of freedom projected through celluloid fantasies. John Wayne never stings from leaving the safety of commitment and certainly never regrets his choice. Hopefully redemption will come before the grave when age convincingly argues that the indiscretions of youth can only be attributed to a fairly long learning curve.

The suitcase in my trunk rattles as I pass over an uneven patch of gravel, shuffling about my carefully arranged clothing and personal effects. Despite my increasing age and subsequent maturity I still find myself drawn to living the lifestyle of jeans, leather jackets and hair pomade, resolutely and defiantly unable to accept changing fashions.

The headlights reveal the state marker, ushering me into the potential of new lives forged far from what I should accept as home. Whilst this potential is promising I still doubt that even if I settled here, and became deserving of what I had, that I would ever find myself returning and defeating the self-proclaimed inadequacies in my hastily scribbled farewell.