by Nescher Pyscher

Created on: December 09, 2010

I was driving through the dark, listening to my CD player and thinking about the past. 

The fog, the night, the music-it all matched my mood perfectly. I was in a contemplative frame of mind. I get that way a lot, but today was special, a life mark. My father's fiftieth birthday had me pensive, withdrawn, and thoughtful, all at once. Our far-flung family was all coming together and while I intended to enjoy myself, I couldn't help but think about the things that had brought us to this point.

 The idea was we'd have the party at my sister's new house this year. She and her husband live in the sticks, atop a high ridge overlooking the Ohio River. It's the kind of place that causes ominous banjo music to play in the back of your head.

 About a quarter of a mile down the road from their house is a graveyard, a final resting place for many of Kentucky's Civil War dead. The cemetery always scares me when I drive by, regardless of the time of day. The dead there are restless and angry, and things move behind the stones, just out of sight.

The nearest lived-in house to my sister's place was seven miles away. There wasn't much between my sister and civilization save that graveyard and a lot of empty, yet eerily watchful, homesteads.

The party was scheduled to start at eight thirty. I'm not sure why my sister decided to start so late, but it was her house so we played by her rules. I had been asked to take care of the cake, and I was running late, but only fashionably so.

A serious river fog had rolled in, bringing with it a miserly rain that cut visibility down to about fifteen feet. My headlights were cutting a swath through the gauzy swirl, and I felt that I could be anywhere, any place, any time. I wouldn't have been at all surprised to turn a bend in the road and see a party of elves drinking and singing the night away, a minotaur fixing a flat tire, or even Phylegyas poling by in a swirl of dank and corruption. I was halfway hoping for it, to be honest. It was that kind of night.

I had a Clapton CD in and was enjoying the overall atmosphere of dark, amorphous blue. The music was turned up just loud enough to be audible, making the drive a sad, almost dirge-y experience. I was loving every minute of it.

 There's something about certain music that is almost holy. It has something to say and it resonates within the human soul. Popular radio stations know they have no business playing important, relevant music and instead offer pre-packaged filler,

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