Echo Beach

          Last Sunday I found myself alone in my car. Twilight had just passed and the three quarter moon reflected pale through my windshield and into the empty passenger seat. A few stars managed to pierce the moonlight, one in particular, right next to the moon.
          I had the radio on playing 80's 90's and today. On this particular channel the four hours before midnight are set aside for dedications, and there is no lack of people with dedications. Their reasons why they dedicate their selections are a constant stream of human emotion. From tears to laughter, it's a fascinating snapshot of humanity.

          "I just met a girl and I'd like to dedicate this to her. I think she's special and..."
          "I'd like to dedicate this to my husband, who's out of town. He's been gone for three days and I miss him."
          "I'd like to dedicate this to my daughters. I don't tell them often enough how impressed I am with how they're putting their lives together. They make their father proud."
          "I'd just like to tell her I'm sorry, and this song is the best way I can think of right now."
          "I want to say I know you're out there, and I want you to know someone cares."
          "I just want to hear the song. It reminds me of a vacation I took four years ago."
          "Because we're going to play it at our wedding next Saturday."

           And so it went, each dedication giving the music a slightly different meaning. On a cool July night, with few cars on the freeway and a pale moon, lighting the landscape, I found I was not alone. I was in touch with everyone who was tuned in to the same channel, with everyone who traveled the same freeway I traveled. It felt as if the voices I heard, came from the cars I could see on the road before me and behind me. It gave the night personality. The night came alive through the late night radio.

          It's a pleasure to be able to listen to the radio in the car again. It's something I didn't realize that I had been missing for the past six years. It's a joy to rediscover it, almost a reawakening to a part of me that I had closed off. When I drive I have a tendency to shut off my rational mind and focus only on the space and time around me. Through the late night dedication line, through the tears and the laughter that people pour out to each other, I get in touch with the humanity, with living. Sometimes I forget, however briefly, that while I am the center of the universe, and the world revolves around me, it also revolves around all of the other individuals, all of the universal centers.
          So I'd like to make a dedication. On a delightfully cool July night, with the moon wrapping us all in its cool pale glow, I imagine myself driving down the road and listening to music. And I hear my voice.

          "I'd like to hear Art Garfunkle's "I Only Have Eyes For You", and I'd like to dedicate it to my wife, Juli. She's driving in her car in front of me. I just want her to know I'm watching out for her.