Sarah was always the driver.Her car.Her rules.Her gut clenching gear changes.
And that was the where you saw her, smiling as she unlocked the door for you to get in, a smell of deodorant as you got in the passenger seat. A hug and peck ‘hello’, before she focused back on the road.
From home to the AUB and to the end of the Bliss street was measured by how much time as it took for her hands to change the tracks on her player. Up to the Dora highway was measured by how long her belt took to click into its socket. The passengers would be clutching the handles and she’d smile a second ‘how are you’ then hit the volume switch to amplify the beats ,simply saying is that Sarah is The Queen of the streets of Beirut.
Could you fault someone where life was all about the music tone?
And music was the whole thing.It wasn’t just the side note, it was the way you talked to her,laughed with her,told her your secrets
And it didn’t matter your tastes, everyone had a play list. From Feiruz to Najwa karam to Andrea bocelli ,to Céline dion and my own alternative discs, Sarah had the play list already organized to switch to just for them. Selections of music that shook the car at the stoplights, thrummed through the oranges and belted at the green.
Her lips would make a soundless Woooooo as she took the last corner of Jeanne d´Arc street sharply driving us home. Music trickled out of the speaker and tracks carved through the night time silence.But for the last track, the night would be finished, and we’d each make selections until we were too tired to go any further, and curl up in the chairs until Sarah would kick us out at home.
We’d always turn around and offer to take her next time but she’d smile her knowing smile and decline.She is always the driver
And that was the where you saw her, smiling as she unlocked the door for you to get in, a smell of deodorant as you got in the passenger seat. A hug and peck ‘hello’, before she focused back on the road.
From home to the AUB and to the end of the Bliss street was measured by how much time as it took for her hands to change the tracks on her player. Up to the Dora highway was measured by how long her belt took to click into its socket. The passengers would be clutching the handles and she’d smile a second ‘how are you’ then hit the volume switch to amplify the beats ,simply saying is that Sarah is The Queen of the streets of Beirut.
Could you fault someone where life was all about the music tone?
And music was the whole thing.It wasn’t just the side note, it was the way you talked to her,laughed with her,told her your secrets
And it didn’t matter your tastes, everyone had a play list. From Feiruz to Najwa karam to Andrea bocelli ,to Céline dion and my own alternative discs, Sarah had the play list already organized to switch to just for them. Selections of music that shook the car at the stoplights, thrummed through the oranges and belted at the green.
Her lips would make a soundless Woooooo as she took the last corner of Jeanne d´Arc street sharply driving us home. Music trickled out of the speaker and tracks carved through the night time silence.But for the last track, the night would be finished, and we’d each make selections until we were too tired to go any further, and curl up in the chairs until Sarah would kick us out at home.
We’d always turn around and offer to take her next time but she’d smile her knowing smile and decline.She is always the driver
Written by Alain Safa
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