Driving I-95 S. I Wear My Sunglasses At Night.

~ Live & Learn

5:33 am.

Tuesday.

I dial up 80’s on 8 on Sirius, and accelerate down the exit ramp, spilling into light traffic onto I-95 South. Another day. Rick Moody’s “relentless sameness to it.”

Second song on the playlist: Sunglasses at Night. Corey Hart. (1983). I clip the front end…and then the chorus, and the lyrics spin and spin and spin.

I wear my sunglasses at night / So I can so I can / Watch you weave then breathe your story lines. / I wear my sunglasses at night / I wear my sunglasses at night./ So I can so I can / Keep track of the visions in my eyes / I wear my sunglasses at night / I wear my sunglasses at night / So I can so I can
See the light that’s right before my eyes

18-wheeler, no branding, slides into the center lane, and then again into the left lane. I’m doing 70 mph and he’s widening the gap. He’s passed 4 other semis, UPS, US Postal Service, Sysco and New England Seafood Distribution, before returning to the center lane. Clear skies as far as you can see.

Lanes tighten up ahead, and he slows in the construction zone. I approach and he’s to my right.  He bobbles left into my lane, and I slide left into the towering cement highway divider. If your window was open, you could brush that divider with our hand. Steady DK, Steady.

I tighten my grip on the steering wheel. Five hours sleep, and a miscalculation of the dosage of ZzzQuil, new sleep medication. Steady DK.

He slides back into his lane, I shift lanes and exit onto I-287. He heads to Manhattan.  Exhale.

I wear my sunglasses at night. I wear my sunglasses at night. 

7 minutes from the office.

Meetings. Calls. Interviews. Staff briefing. Emails. Prep for Senior Presentation. Do over. Faster. More.

Shouldn’t have said that yesterday. “I feel guilt. I felt guilt. Though I’ve done nothing wrong, I feel Guilt. Guilt. Guilt.” Marianne Faithful’s tune crowds out Sunglasses for a moment, and then repeats. “I feel Guilt. Guilt. Guilt. I feel so bad.”

Dry mouth. Thirsty. Forgot my eyedrops. Blink. Shift in my seat pulling through the security gate. Anxiety climbing and I’ve yet to enter the building.

I pull into the parking garage. It’s dark.  I find my spot. I let the car run while I find “Sunglasses” on my playlist. I turn the volume up. And then up again.  A/C blows cool. Head back against headrest, eyes closed, drumbeat shakes the cabin, and my torso.

I wear my sunglasses at night/ So I can so I can / Keep track of the visions in my eyes

He’s sleeping. My Brother.  He’s turned slightly left towards the window.  A hospital in Phoenix. Tubes running from his nose, down his body to the Machines, which pump and pump and pump, helping him breathe. Tests, a battery of more tests.  Eligibility. Donor transplant. Breathe Bro, Breathe.

I wear my sunglasses at night

I wear my sunglasses at night

So I can so I can

See the light that’s right before my eyes

 

Photo: the.inspo.journal

56 thoughts on “Driving I-95 S. I Wear My Sunglasses At Night.”

  3. So sorry to hear this David. Holding him in our thoughts and prayers to find a donor, soon. 🙏

    So you don’t need your sunglasses night, or day, unless you’re at a beach somewhere!

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      1. I just remembered something reading your comment below, that you have two brothers and need both.
        In the years I was a medical interpreter I was always in surgical recovery with patients. I have a journal of what the first things patients talked about when they were still in and out of anesthesia.
        But what my father said when I was with him beats them all. Dad has 10 brothers.
        He came out saying, “I need my brothers. I want my brothers, take me there.”

        Back home. All his brothers are back home.
        Every i was there for came out talking of wife or kids, or some other random thing.
        I asked dad why his brothers? If there was something we’re missing or not taking care of.
        He was wide awake by then. No sunglasses to mask his pouring tears.

        He said, “I love my brothers. Need my brothers. Take me to my brothers.”
        He’s the only one that immigrated.

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        2. Sawsan, that’s amazing and deeply touching. I told my mum yesterday on the phone: We still need you (the four of us), so don’t talk about leaving us…. We always need our sisters, brothers, parents, beloved ones.

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  4. We had our big ISO audit yesterday. When they got to me they wanted to see my receive process. I grabbed a box that came from out LAX maintenance center. Probably a radio that needs repair.
    “I can show you better than I can tell you” I said.
    I opened the box. No packing slip, no repair tag, both ISO requirements. My ears go red.
    “Well, lets take a look in the database. There will be a ship task done for shipping it here.”
    Well, guess what? No ship task. It’s a mystery basket, that’s what I got.
    My boss, he says “Its not your fault.All you did was open the box”
    Still, its no way to start an ISO audit. Frigging LAX, I should have known better.
    There is a song from the 80’s I think of it a lot, but I can only remember 3 words from the song. The singer is singing about people, and the words are “always in danger”.
    “Always in danger”
    I guess some more than others. But we all get our turn.
    Praying for your brother. I love the way you laid it on us. I’m sure many will want to help you carry.

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  11. As I was reading, I could feel my whole body tense in synch with yours. Bloody 18-wheelers ~ drivers thinking they are in NASCAR…
    Found myself bopping to Sunglasses at Night, realising I had never really paid attention to the lyrics…
    Sending good vibes to your brother (yes, we need our brothers and sisters) and to you and maybe Lori is right…time to ease up a bit on that pedal…

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  14. Oh wow….. that’s so heavy. Pls be (more) careful. Love, thoughts and prayers for your brother.
    Picked up my new (boring…. regretfully) glasses and sunglasses. 😎 I can see more clearly now! Sending love to you and yours. 💖

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  23. I’m addicted to your blog. I look for the daily posts in my inbox every morning as I sip that first coffee. The part about your brother today gave me a jolt as I scrolled through the comments to check. I’m not the praying kind but I do believe in hope and working in the health field for so long, I have seen my share of miracles. ❤️

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    1. Awwww, what a wonderful note to get to start my day. Thank you for taking the time to share your thoughts with me. Means a lot. Here’s to hope being realized… 🙂 Thanks again.

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  24. That’s a painful journey David. Wishing for the very best medical care, prognosis, and healing for your brother. And be careful out there. I have a brother that commutes between Ct and NJ/NY daily and it is hell on wheels.
    Hope you are reading something comforting right now. I’ve been reading Buechner essays thanks to you and really find him a soothing influence these days. Thanks for the inspiration you provide your readers. Be blessed.

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    1. Thank you Ilona. Buechner is soothing, especially these days for a host of reasons we both know about. This passage has stuck:

      Faith is a way of looking at what there is to be seen in the world and in ourselves and hoping, trusting, believing against all evidence to the contrary that beneath the surface we see there is vastly more that we cannot see.”

      ~ Frederick Buechner, Secrets in the Dark: A Life in Sermons (HarperCollins; March 13, 2007)

      Have a great week.

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      1. Thanks for that David. He certainly could cut to the heart of the matter. I have a little paper with page and paragraph references of quotes to copy before I send the books back to the library.
        Best wishes David.

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  25. David, I’m not often timely with comments (I read your blogs, just not immediately or even on the same day). You and your family (especially your brother) are in my thoughts. I have one sister and one brother and even though we’ve fought like cats and dogs at times, I need them both so much. Love to you.

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