On the ride to work this morning, I ended up behind this Camaro Z28 and it made me think of my Mom. I smiled, remembering how much she loved her Z28.
Then I rolled down my window, despite the cold, just so I could hear the engine roar to life as the driver stuck his foot in it. Which, of course, he did because that’s what you do when you drive a Z28.
Then I followed him for miles, changing lanes when he did, all the way from Los Gatos to Cupertino, sticking to him like glue, listening to every sound that engine made, every start, every stop, every slowdown that made the engine whine.
Why? Because that engine sounded like Mom to me.
I never thought a car engine could make me cry, but it did today. That car, that sound, made me miss my mom more than anything today.
I never looked at the driver because I wanted to imagine my Mom driving that car, sliding past me, pulling ahead of me. I know it wasn’t her. But for just a few minutes, it felt like she was there, enjoying the ride.