EVENING ORCHID BLUES

Summer is funny. We long for it as the chills of February wrestle toward the Spring which March promises, only to be doused in the rains of April/May. June breaks through with clearing skies and the Sun rises and sets later each day, stinging our skin with that desired heat and the Earth awakens and thrives. July continues on with the heat of Summer as the skies darken bit by bit earlier each evening as the heat of August in the throes of angst fights for all of Summer’s worth, fights against the return of Autumn.

It was in August of 1970 that I first remember how amazing the heat and colours of the season were, especially reflected across the hood of a 1965 Pontiac GTO. It was the family car, if you can imagine that. 4 speed, hopped up 389 beneath the hood and she had left the factory in that amazing colour offered by GM for one year only,

Evening Orchid.

Not really silver, far from purple. Think of a sunset in August, after the sun has had its way and baked the Earth for all she is worth before returning to rest in the West. The sky is alight for a short period of time before night and dusk. Add a shimmer of pearl and one will see what the design staff at GM did in the launch of the 1965 line up of cars.

Evening Orchid.

Scientist report that solid memories for an infant/child start at about 4 years old or later. I can see this car still in my dreams. I am there in the driveway helping (?) my Dad as he is washing down the bucket seats. Just above us on the patio on top of the garage is my beautiful Mom holding my sister who is just almost 2. The sky is alive with colours. That bright white interior, chrome reversed wheels, with simulated knock off center caps, red line tires, and that colour.

Evening Orchid.

That ’65 GTO was in my life for 7 years, but the memories she created are endless. My Aunt recalls how on a trip to New Mexico, she told me stories and put me to sleep as the miles rolled past. I remember my cousins telling me stories about Uncle Barry and the rides they were given. Tales of shrieking tires, hard shifts and how the howl of that stout 389 made them want to have a car like that GTO.

Evening Orchid.

I hold a handful of photographs. Mom, my sister. Dad, me, my baby brother near that 1965 GTO. Years have rolled by and that car is now something which is out of my grasp. I remember the last ride in her on County Line road. The sounds of that 389 thrashing against the night, the headlights chasing that dual lane road and laughter as my Dad drove the ’65 hard enough to make us kids feel alive.

Evening Orchid.

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