The Eighties

Sunday afternoon, a drive down a busy street. Fussing with the car tuner and chancing upon John Parr's "St. Elmo's Fire", with David Foster's "Just For A Moment" and Joey Scarbury's "Believe It or Not" in tow.

So eighties.

So long ago.

It was a senti moment right there for M-- and I. M--, by the way, is an 80s' baby, like me, so we were able to go down childhood lane together. The songs touched chords in our psyches and there were moments of quiet (both of us, I guess, remembering lazy afternoons, drowsy hometowns and orange twilights), peppered with small, low conversations on how the songs reminded us of our childhoods, to the loss of innocence where one became forced to say hello to gray twilights and life's dead ends.

"Wasn't there a time in our young lives when we believed in something?"

"Ya."

"When we believed in forever and the goodness in people and in hopes of bright tomorrows?"

"From that point to where we are now--it's like having gone a hundred-eighty-degree turn."

How right he was. How right. Such a cynical generation it was we belonged to.
Sad.