"The car is alive, with the sound of music…." Oh, wait, that's a Stephen King book. This was just me cranking up an old Social Distortion song. The radio is loud. I'm late. That's usual, but music is a salve for the caffeine riddled Rob.
It's a work night and I'm leaving the house. It's a mistake. I'm risking being late. I should be on time. I left the house, the clock said I had a half hour to get across town. That's more than enough around here. I'm not living in LA where you pack a meal, or taco truck change to go 6 blocks.
Still my town has something LA doesn't have. My town is the per capita train capitol of the world. 15 minutes and I'm still waiting for this one to pass me. Actually that's an exaggeration. I'm sorry, the one that started 15 minutes ago is gone. This is the second one crossing the opposite direction. He was crossing. He's now stopped. He's either stocking up at a taco truck before he gets to LA, or he's just the little engine that couldn't. I'm betting on the latter.
"Take away, take away, take away this ball and chain…"
I'm singing at the top of my lungs. It's a beautiful night, my windows are down. The woman in the car next to me is rolling hers up. She's apparently has some ball and chain wishes for herself.
No reason to stress. I should be sitting in a high school auditorium, listening to little kids sing songs of joy. Instead I'm crying with Mike Ness. I promised the girl in my writers' group I'd watch her choir sing. She attends my group, I attend her choir. Fair trade. I try to support all my writers. They're my fledglings. Right now I'm the momma bird who can't fly over a train. It would be so ironic if I were driving a Roadrunner. I'm not. I'm driving a Sonata. It's just me singing alone in my car.
"I'm born to lose and destined to fail…"
The woman in the car next to me is staring straight forward. I smile, she doesn't even look. She's not a fan of the arts. I'm not a fan of this train. We have something in common.
It passes. I speed. I park. I'm inside a pitch black auditorium listening to some song called "Seize the Day." I'd settle for grabbing a seat. I can't see them. The girl from the group isn't on stage. That's a good thing. She'll think I was there on time. She'll never know me long enough to tell the difference anyway.
Feeling my way to the front, I find a seat. It's about the third or fourth row, on the aisle. I grab the far arm of the chair, lean in and smile to the woman sitting in the next chair. Her eyes have 
adjusted to the dark, I'm sure she sees me. Her voice confirms that, no, she's not reserving the end chair for anybody, but she would appreciate it if I let go of her arm.
C, Not just for cookie anymore...
"Sorry." I sit down, she slides towards the small child on her other side. Yeah, I think she likes me.
I watch different choirs come and go: concert choir, treble choir, pre-puberty boy's choir. Then there the soloists rush the stage. There are a lot of soloists. It kind of reminds me of being in high school. I was never a soloist. When I was in theater I was a West Side Story Jet. I wasn't a lead. It's okay, it didn't stop me from trying. And when you're a Jet…well, yeah you're a Jet all the way. It's been a long time since high school and now I'm sitting in an auditorium listening to kids sing about big dreams and big romances. If it's a lyric written by Kenny Nolan or Diane Warren, somebody's on stage singing it. I hope they're happy. I'm a trapped animal. The woman beside me is melding to her far seat arm.
For intermission I run back to my car for a rock break. I've got an AC/DC CD in my glove box for just such an emergency. Hearing Angus, Bon and the boys "Walk all over You" helps. I think I air guitared this one in junior high with some friends. We sucked. Here in my car, alone, I rock.
Between Angus's guitar "walking" in my car, and the little prom-queen with the pink guitar on stage who wanted me to "Stay Beautiful," things were kinda melancholy in the middle. How far had I really come since high school? When I graduated, I shot out on my own. Now here I am in another high school parking lot not much further along than I was before. It's my trip from home to here. I've rushed to this point, and been stalled by every train along the way. Now that I've arrived, what do I have to show, and who do I have to share the trip with?
I know this'll pass. It's come and gone before. Here's the thing. On the one hand yeah, I am just feeling sorry for myself, because for every train I've waited on, there are more trains that I've slipped right past, and arrived at just the right moment. I may whine about high school, but if I'd hit college any sooner, I'd have missed a lot of things, and yeah, one of them is MyUnwife. It's hard to whine whole heartedly when, other than the feelings of loneliness, I like me. The kid passing my car doesn't look like he likes me, but he's got a thing for Hanna Montana. What does he know? I roll down my window.
"Come back when you've experienced heartache punk!"
Why is he running away?
I've come quite a ways since school. I've detoured, and I've waited, but I'm here. I've graduated to the parking lot. Stiill I have to go back. There's something I need to do. The writers' group girl hasn't sang, and I've promised I'd listen. I may be going back, but I'm still moving forward. There are a lot of mistakes yet to make.
Before the lights go out, I'm mulling in my seat. Looking for ways to be positive. I see women returning to their seats, and divorce statistics start spiraling in my head. The divorce rate is around 50 percent. Wait. If that's true, then that means that half the women here are—
CLACK! CLACK! The lights go out.
What about the woman next to me? I don't remember a guy next to her. It was a kid right? Who's on the other side? Did she have a ring?
"Excuse me, sir?" It's the woman. She's whispering to me.
"Yes?" I whisper back.
"Could you let go of my hand?"
"Oh, sure..."
Ok, so that's one mistake down. I've got several more to make. I wonder, can Iwander from seat to seat, "Excuse me, are you married?" The girl on the stage is singing that she hopes I dance. I could do that if it would help. I do it in the shower all the time. See? This is it. This is my learning experience! The other day I said I was "in the middle" and somebody suggested I work with that. I think she's right. It's time to stop worrying about the mistakes I've made and make some new ones. The way everybody's looking at me now, the dancing in the aisle is probably a big one. That's ok.
I see the girl sing, I drive home without another train. I need to do this more often. Maybe with more adults next time.
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