I remember it as a beautiful day. The hot Florida sun beat down on the smooth open stretch of I-75 out of Ocala towards Gainesville. We had the radio on. Chris was driving his fiery red Mustang, Greg was riding shotgun, and I was scrunched in the back.
The trees flew by, and we and Tom were singing. . .
Well, we were singing "Runnin' Down a Dream". I was only vaguely familiar with "Little Runaway" by Del Shannon, but I could sing Tom's song full-throated from memory. We all could. We might have thrown a few other cassettes in the tape player, maybe some Beatles or Guns N' Roses but we always came back to Full Moon Fever. The way I remember it, we listened to it all the way up J's house (north of Micanopy and just west of Brooker) in High Springs. And then we played it all the way home at the end of the weekend. We knew every song--not just the big hits that had Tom Petty all over the radio in those days--"Free Fallin'" and "I Won't Back Down" but the deep cuts, the reflective "A Face in the Crowd" and the lullaby "Alright for Now." I haven't heard those tunes in years, and yet I hear them all the time. They were the songs that bound four high school boys--two black, two white--together in friendship. They were the soundtrack to the open roads, the long drives and long talks. Something about Tom Petty enabled this group of guys ordinarily prone to rough trash talk and constant ribbing to feel safe enough to sing with our hearts into the great wide open, free-falling.
Tom Petty's songs were a reference in so many points in my life. He had a way with words and a way of putting those words to music that made his songs just right for the moment. I often found his songs were the perfect coda to blog entry: whether it was walking way from two plus years trying to "build our dream" or saying goodbye to a former student "learning to fly," Petty's songs fit the moment perfectly. The first sermon I ever preached, believe it or not, was inspired by a Tom Petty song--"The Waiting." "You take it on faith, you take it the heart, but the waiting is the hardest part." Just recently I've been listening to his song "Walls" from the She's the One soundtrack to inform my character in a play I'll be appearing in next month. Maybe his nasal twang and southern rock vibe aren't you're thing, but listen to the songs and I think you'll find the man could write.
There are songs that tell stories and there are songs that evoke emotion. Tom Petty's songs managed to do both and the result were rich, nuanced moments in music that felt instantly recognizable. Check out "Listen to Her Heart"--the lyrics are seemingly confident, but you listen to the song and there's an undercurrent of uncertainty, as if the singer knows he's destined to lose his girl despite his apparent bravado. Tom Petty could sum up the human experience of love and loss and living at a particular moment in time like few others. That was his gift.
When I first heard the news that Tom Petty was clinging to life after suffering a massive heart attack Sunday evening, I had the immediate sense of denial, the sinking feeling of a lost opportunity slipping through my fingers forever. Tom was easily one of my top five recording artists, and the only one I'd never seen in concert. For awhile now I'd been thinking I really needed to make it a priority to buy some tickets, make it a road trip and see Tom Petty live. Maybe on the next tour. And then suddenly, there would be no more next tour. No more music. Just like that all I had was the memories and the records. It was not unlike the feeling I had realizing that the thank you letter to my Aunt Patsy would never be delivered, that the fill-in-the-blanks memory book I'd just purchased to share with my father-in-law would be blank forever. Just like that, the moment had passed.
When will I learn? We have to take these moments when we can. Send the thank you note. Ask Dad about those stories from when he was young. Buy those tickets so you can sing along with your favorite artist in real life, instead of just behind the wheel of your car. Because the hard truth, one that struck home on Sunday night for 59 families in Las Vegas and one family in Malibu (and countless more around this heartbroken world), is that at any second, the moment can pass, never to be retrieved again.
It's hard to put into words how this particular moment feels, when you realize your chance is gone forever. There's one man who I know could have expressed it perfectly. But he's gone now.
You belong among the wildflowers
You belong in a boat out at sea
Sail away, kill off the hours
You belong somewhere you feel free
You belong in a boat out at sea
Sail away, kill off the hours
You belong somewhere you feel free
Run away, find you a lover
Go away somewhere all bright and new
I have seen no other
Who compares with you
Go away somewhere all bright and new
I have seen no other
Who compares with you
You belong among the wildflowers
You belong in a boat out at sea
You belong with your love on your arm
You belong somewhere you feel free
You belong in a boat out at sea
You belong with your love on your arm
You belong somewhere you feel free
Run away, go find a lover
Run away, let your heart be your guide
You deserve the deepest of cover
You belong in that home by and by
Run away, let your heart be your guide
You deserve the deepest of cover
You belong in that home by and by
