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Late-Night Classic Rock Drives

The first chapter of a heartbreaking story about purple clouds and familial love.

By Jose SotoPublished about a year ago 5 min read
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Every night at midnight, the purple clouds came out to dance with the blushing sky. The chilled breeze that routinely accompanies them makes different melodic sounds as it cuts through the frosted glistening mountain tops, similar to the sound a saxophone makes as air flows through the wooden reed and through its body. The sounds don't necessarily lend to comprise an entire musical movement, but they are pleasant enough to make the purple clouds sway and twirl in the air.

I've been told, by my mother and other adults, that these purple clouds were typical only apparent during dusk, particularly after it had rained, when moisture hovered in the sky. Now, however, they appear only with the pristine backdrop of a star-lit night sky, a glimmer reflecting off of the clouds' cushioned, pastel-edged tips. I find them be not only aesthetically pleasing, but also calming. I've become accustomed to tightly placing my headphones into my ear canals at around 11:52 and begin playing a playlist comprised of only classic rock tunes, songs I was shown and began appreciating very early on life. Starting at midnight, I begin to be mesmerized by the visceral seconds where sonic beauty is juxtaposed with that of sight. I stare at them in awe.

When I was merely a child, at around five-years-old, my parents seemed to be more like foes instead of lovers. They bickered and argued consistently, taking breaks only to relieve their restroom needs and to sleep. At least that's how I remember it being. Just as often as they would fight, my father would take me on late-night car rides across town, presumably to avoid my mother. During these late-night crusades, my father would play his favorite music; rock songs from the 1960s and 70s. Because these songs were drastically different from what played on the radio then, or songs that my older brother would play at home, they immediately caught my attention. I vividly recall falling into a trance while I fixated mostly on the guitar solos and riffs, beautiful, melodic landscapes that allowed my brain to wonder and explore my thoughts and ideas while my father drove around without speaking.

It was during one of those late night drives that I first saw the purple clouds hovering above us in the midnight sky. Their fluorescent and effervescent presence in the otherwise static sky beamed with vibrancy and I, just a child, was instantly transcended into a world of wondrous imaginative exploration facilitated by their presence. They became the highlight of these drives, the classic rock music not falling far behind. I came to love these late-night drives with my father merely to listen to the beautifully composed music while admiring the purple clouds swirl and twirl in the vast open sky. I learned to drift off into a world of pure imagination, fantasizing that I was a glorious and stoic conquerer mounted on top of the biggest purple cloud of them all. Adorned in the most prestigious of medals and chainmail, I led the crusade in search of fertile and arable land. As we crossed over mountains and slopes covered in hardened snow and ice, my fellow conquerors and I kept a vigilant eye out for a sign of vegetation, hoping to settle the land with luscious fruits, bountiful grains and vivacious children to continue the bloodline. These purple clouds warned anyone who pondered challenging our quest with the majestic sounds they made as they cut through the thickened air.

Many times, my fantasizing was interrupted by the lethargic progression of sleepiness, eventually landing me in a very distinct dream. Other times, my father would stop by a corner store to buy himself a tallboy of cheap beer to continue on with his drive. The more frequent this became, the more infrequent were my imaginational explorations. Instead, they were replaced by concerns that no child my age, at the time, should be preoccupied processing. I worried that my father was beginning to alienate himself from my mother and I and instead, familiarizing himself with a more ephemeral sort of companionship and love. At school, a guest speaker once gave a presentation to an auditorium full of grade school children about the negative impact drugs and alcohol could have in our lives if we were to begin consuming them. They handed our t-shirts with mediocre slogans. Far too young to truly comprehend these negative impacts, we merely focused on the catchy campaign jingle instead. And while I didn't understand why they had talked to us about drugs and alcohol at such a young age, I understood that they were a malignant force, a force now riding in the passenger seat of my father's car.

Eventually, tragically, these midnight drives came to a halting end. In my mother's apartment, which we moved into once the house we previously owned was taken away by men in tailored suits, I began to go to sleep rather early, now having to get up earlier than I was used to in order to walk to school and make it on time before the first period bell rang. Because of this, I wasn't able to watch as the purple clouds appeared in the star-lit midnight sky everyday. My dreams became rarities. My childhood became distant. My fantasies dwindled. And I grew up.

It is in my teenage years that I've begun to stay awake past my bedtime in order to watch the purple clouds dance with the blushing sky every day, always tightly placing my headphones in my ear canal as classic rock tunes blast from each of them.

Often, I fantasize of myself riding on top of the biggest one of those purple clouds out to conquer some lush land.

And tonight, as I was off fantasizing as such, I began to squint my eyes as they fixated on a peculiar shape mounted on one of the purple clouds. It shimmered from away, dazzling in the distance.

"What could that be," I thought to myself.

As it came closer, it started to resemble a very familiar face.

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About the Creator

Jose Soto

I am a writer and journalist born and raised in the El Paso, Texas and the Ciudad Juárez, Chihuahua, México, region. I write stories, blogs, essays, and prose that help myself and readers discover what it means to be human.

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