Page 57 of Thick

“Holy shit. What did he do for a living?”

She grinned. “Restored muscle cars. He retired a few years ago.”

“That’s a shame he retired. There’s not very many men around that do work like this.” I wiped my hand along the dash. “It’s a lost art. Everyone wants a BMW or a Benz these days. No one wants to spend sixty grand on a Chevelle.”

As she merged into the freeway’s traffic, she pressed a cassette in the cassette player. After a few seconds of silence, the Chi Lites Oh Girl began to play.

The song took me back to my childhood. Although it wasn’t of my era, my father listened to it when I was a kid. He believed all of the good music was recorded prior to the 1980’s. His record collection and turntable came into my possession upon my parent’s passing, and I listened to his records while I wrote.

“I love this song,” I said.

“It was one of my mom’s favorites.” She laughed and motioned behind her. “My dad made this mix tape for me. It’s a bunch of her favorite songs.”

I glanced over my shoulder. A large case of what I assumed was cassettes sat in the center of the rear seat.

“No CD player, no iPod, and no automatic transmission.” I closed my eyes and became immersed in the music. “This is fucking awesome.”

“Are you like Becker Wallace? Do you hate technology?”

I opened my eyes and looked at her. “I don’t hate it. I just haven’t embraced it yet.”

“Will you?”

“Why don’t you have a CD player or some Bluetooth bullshit?” I asked.

“It wouldn’t be era correct,” she said. “My father would crucify me if I did.”

“I’m going to fight it as long as I can. For now, I like my life just the way it is. If I want to do a status update, I roll into the shop and announce it.”

She chuckled. “That’s funny.”

The song ended, and Bob Dylan’s Knockin’ on Heaven’s Door began. “You know what? Things were simple back then. A man just lived his life, had whatever he surrounded himself with at his disposal, and didn’t have to worry about being inundated with everything that happened on earth. If some kid got shot by a cop in Mississippi, people in that town knew about it, but the world didn’t. Now, anything that happens is plastered all over the internet. Instantly, people are depressed about something they’d otherwise know nothing about. I can’t see that there’s any good that comes from it.”

She shrugged one shoulder. “Awareness?”

“Awareness of what?” I laughed. “That mankind has the capacity to be evil? Cane proved that long ago. Now we’ve got Blue Whale Challenges that encourage people to commit suicide, Facebook live feeds of people drowning or being shot by cops, and kids with smart phones recording car wrecks and watching people die instead of administering aid. I want it to be 1960 again.”

I looked at her. Her eyes shifted back and forth between the road and me. I waved my hand toward the cassette player. “Right now? It’s about as close as it can get. That’s why I ride a bike, don’t have a smart phone, and don’t use social media. For me, it’ll always be 1960. Close as I can get, anyway.”

She smiled. “Can I ask you a question?”

“Sure.”

“Are you Becker Wallace?”

I snickered. “Pretty much.”

She nodded lightly. “I thought so.”

The songs of the 1970’s continued to play, each of which were on my list of favorites. I found it awkwardly reassuring that we shared the same taste in music and that she was driving my dream car.

One day, when I hit it big, I’d own a 1970’s Chevelle. For the time being, I’d decided to simply sit back and enjoy Mr. Madden’s handiwork.

As we rolled down highway 5, just outside of San Clemente, I recalled the day I went for a ride while I was writing the book. It was the day I realized who Becker Wallace was. For me, it was the turning point. The day the book made sense to me. Every book I’d written had one, but, no differently than the readers, I was in the dark until that moment came.

I gazed out the window, fixed my eyes on the ocean, and mouthed the words to The Weight, by The Band.

My mind drifted to thoughts of how things had changed for my closest friends, for the club, and for our future. Most of the men had Ol’ Ladies, kids, or kids on the way. The club’s biggest rival, Satan’s Savages, was now defunct.