It was a muddy night. Rather than navy blue or black, the skies were a milky brown and laced with gray, irritable clouds. There was no rain or promise of rain, but the air was moist and heavy. Dale, his twin brother Danny, and I were driving home from Bangor. It had been a long, tedious day.
We had driven to Bar Harbor hoping to take part in a whale watch, but the weather conditions were disagreeable. Instead, we placated ourselves with a drive to Bangor, lunch at the Olive Garden, and some quick and absent-minded shopping at the mall. I got behind the wheel in Houlton and as the miles flew by, the three of us slipped into sleepy/crazy/reckless mode. With little or no provocation, Danny started singing the “Flintstones” theme song and with no hesitation, Dale and I joined in. We laughed between lyrics; our minds slipping back to smoother days of childhood. Without missing a beat, we slid into “We’re Off To See The Wizard,” hands and feet keeping nearly perfect time with the melody. I could see Danny’s face in my rearview mirror and when I caught his eye, we stepped it up a bit; our voices getting louder with each note.
As exhausted as we were, we wanted the ride and the night to last forever. With great reluctance, we pulled into our dooryard, where Danny’s own car was parked. He drove off into the brown night, his crimson taillights bidding us adieu.
I think often of Danny, that speedy trip to Bar Harbor, the return home, and the songs we sang along the way. A few years later, Danny bid us adieu once again; this time in the early dawn just before he drove away; not to the Land of Oz, but to the state of Michigan. I would often remind him of that wild, cloudy night and our little trio, singing songs from unscathed days of our childhood. We would laugh then, hearty belly laughs that had no direction or restriction or curfew. I will always, always love Danny.
What is the cost of maturity? We surrender our simple songs and open hearts for the responsibility of adulthood. We succumb to society’s expectations, lost in a vast yet empty world. We fear closing our eyes for too long; unable to trust each other or even ourselves. Some of us cannot remember how to laugh. We are unsure how to love. We no longer get down on scuffed and busy knees, our hands folded upon the side of our beds to pray. We are so consumed with life as we understand it to be, that we somehow forget how to live. We mourn the loss of reckless youth, with no restraints and no taboos. And then one night we find ourselves under a chocolate coated moon, singing songs from a cleaner time and remembering all of the words.
Belinda Wilcox Ouellette lives Connor TWP with her husband Dale and their Goldendoodle Barney. They are currently working on building a home in Caribou. You may contact Belinda online at: dbwouellette@maine.rr.com.
