An Old Memory

Once, as a younger man, in a land far to the east, I was driving with two sleeping co-workers, early in the morning.

The event we had been working had kept us out all night, a rare one, that, and I was trying to find my way back to the base in my 1992 sky-blue Oldsmobile Cutlass Ciera. New to me at the time. I was 19.

So the other dudes were sleeping as I'm meandering about, trying to find the way back to the freeway. I pull into this church parking lot, for some reason, I think to turn around. Somewhere in the turning around I had to stop.

Now the guy in the passenger seat is a big, tall, burly, hairy brick wall of a man, a little younger or the same age as me, but just a powerhouse. Great for staging work. Feather was his name. And he's sleeping upright, head tilted back, mouth open, the big Italian.

When I stopped in the church parking lot, it was from a slow speed, perhaps 10 mph. What I mean to say is, it was slow. It turned out to be the perfect speed to gently bring Feather, not wearing his seat belt, gradually forward. And he didn't stop until his forehead hit the dashboard with a gentle 'thump.'

And then, just as slowly, he raised himself back up and resumed his sleeping position. He never woke up once.

Whenever I think about that, I always laugh out loud. That may have been one of the funniest things I have ever seen.