Roaring Back into the Past

I really don't know much about cars. I admit it. I know what I like in a car. I know what I don't like in a car. But I don't know much about the cars, themselves.

And yet, when the garage door opened and I saw the burgandy 1967 Camaro SS with the massive scoop on the hood, I knew there was something going on in that car. Which doesn't say that there was anything wrong with the convertible red 1967 Firebird sitting in the driveway, it's just that... well... the Firebird looked like the kind of car you cruise around in with the top down. 

The Camaro looked... well... For lack of a better way to describe it, the Camaro--with its "ghost flames" and black hood--is a Hunk. Macho. Full of raw power. Not handsome or pretty, but oozing sex appeal--like Daniel Craig's James Bond. And the engine had the rumble to match.

Wait. I don't want you to think I'm being unfaithful to my 2000 Subaru Impreza Outback--or my partner for that matter. Let me explain.

I'm currently in South Dakota for a college friend's 40th birthday. His wife invited me as a surprise, and I fully admit that I was nervous. I mean, he and I were great friends during college, but that was in the late 80s. We've always kept in touch, and I was a groomsman in his wedding--but that was something like 10 years ago (or was it more?). Actually, he was one of the first non-family people I came out to, which I did during the same phonecall when he asked me to be in his wedding. (His response to my telling him I was gay was "Okay. So are you going to be in my wedding, or not?" A response for which I will always be thankful.) I gotta say that walking into their house and seeing the look of shock and surprise was great. We pulled off that part of the weekend perfectly, but in my mind I was still wondering what the coming 36 hours would be like.

After dinner, though, we walked out to the garage and his wife suggested we take a drive in that 1967 Camaro while she put the kids to bed. So the two of us slipped into the car and went for a drive. As he revved the engine and we tore down a few back roads outside of town, the conversation flowed and the time slipped away. We were back in college in his black Z28 with gold markings and the "after-market" glass T-tops. That old Z28 (long since gone, sadly, although it did make a reappearance at their wedding) had the same feel as the Camaro--it was another hunky car. 

Those two cars, with their rumbling engines, where any conversations involve yelling more than talking, somehow--for us--created the perfect cocoon for talking. In college we talked about music, classes and the future. Tonight we talked about jobs, mortgages and our families. That cocoon that somehow always helped us talk about hopes and dreams while talking about gearshifts and miles per gallon worked its magic again tonight.

So amid the rumbling tonight we once again found ourselves talking about our lives and our hopes for the future. Oh, yeah. And cars.