Jacob Joseph – The Dude Who Writes About Cars

Jake writes about cars and things that happen in cars.  Even though the car in this story doesn’t turn into a giant robot or anything, we like this submission so here it is:

It’s You

By Jacob Joseph

I won’t tell you her name. This is done partly as a courtesy, but it has also been many years and hundreds of thousands of miles since that night, and I confess I have forgotten what it was, although I do remember that she was beautiful. I was at a friend’s house, two friends actually, who shared the upstairs of a duplex in an old house with a wide balcony. We were young, and that summer we filled up the hours sitting on the balcony; drinking beer, listening to music and having the kinds of pointless conversations which people who spend too much time together have. On this particular night, she was already there when I arrived with my contribution to the night’s beer stocks. There was nothing unusual about her presence, there were always a half-dozen or so people in attendance that didn’t live there, and I only sometimes knew all of them. She was charming, as well as a very animated talker. It wasn’t obvious to me how she knew anybody else there, but she seemed to be at least an acquaintance of everybody but me. When it came time for me to leave, one of the hosts asked me if I would drive the girl home. She was somehow there without a car and although it wasn’t exactly on my way home, it wasn’t too far out of my way either. We got to my car, and as we pulled out onto the street, the song It’s You by Toots and the Maytals came up next on my stereo. Her face lit up and she reached over and turned up the volume. She began to dance along, at least as much as is possible while seated without look ridiculous, and ridiculous was the last thing she looked like. Her eyes were closed and her hands were on her head, tousling her hair as she danced, her graceful figure moving in time to the music. I had rolled down all the windows and opened the sunroof, allowing the music to mix with the rush of air and the hot, high-pitched whine of the supercharger, while the muggy night air mixed with just the right amount of her perfume. The song ended just as we pulled up to a red light and I looked over at her. Some of her now thoroughly disarrayed hair hung in front of her face. Her eyes glowed, and a smile was spread broadly across her pretty but partly obscured face. “I don’t know how anyone couldn’t like this music.” she said, before continuing “I don’t like to think this, but I think anyone who doesn’t must be a bad person.” She gave a little laugh and resumed her dancing as the next song started. We didn’t talk much for the rest of the ride, after all, what was there to say? She just enjoyed the music while I enjoyed driving on the suburban streets, empty of traffic at 2am. She told me when we arrived at what turned out to be her parents’ house, and I pulled into the driveway. She hopped out, still wearing that bewitching smile and saying that she hoped to see me again soon. I never did see her again though, and a few years later I remember hearing someone say that she (whatever her name was) had gotten married, although it was still unclear how this person knew her. I’ve had plenty of great drives since then, and I’ve been around plenty of beautiful women, but every so often, something in my brain will send me back to that night. The right ride in a car, the right summer night or the right Toots and the Maytals song and I’ll be back in that car, with its intoxicating mix of stimuli. I couldn’t tell you what it was exactly, but I think all of the best times have an element to them that you will never be able to explain.