Drive: The Guilt That Keeps On Giving

Dear Gen Xer,

The following is based on a former student. I showed him the piece and asked if I could share it. He read it and liked it and gave me his blessing.

We’ve all got a song that means something to us. This one’s his.

Names have been changed for obvious reasons.

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“Guilt saved my life, you know.”

It was a strange remark for a man with few morals.

“Since when do you feel guilty?” I asked.

Pavel smiled. It was the smile of a feline in the jungle, swishing its tail under a tree. “Maybe I grew up,” he said.

Pavel didn’t look grown up. Boyish face. Boxer’s body. Wardrobe courtesy of Jack Reacher.

“What are you talking about?” I asked.

Pavel pointed up. “Listen,” he said.

We were halfway through our lunch at Noi. The place was packed with the noonday rush. Above the voices and clangs of cutlery, I heard the strains of Drive.

“You feel guilty because you like The Cars?” I asked.

The jungle cat smiled again. “I’m getting married,” Pavel said. “To a wonderful girl named Lenka.”

Noi during a quiet moment

This was surprise number two.

First was the idea that Pavel felt guilt. He made his fortune in property development. His hands are dirtier than Travolta’s closet. I’ve seen him accept and distribute envelopes padded full of cash.

Now the announcement that he’s getting married. This from a guy who never dated. Who preferred to hire. A blond for dinner. A brunette for drinks. Maybe both for a weekend in the country.

“Congratulations,” I said.

Pavel didn’t hear me. He was listening to Drive, which continued to spill from the restaurant’s speakers.

Who’s gonna pick you up
when you fall?
Who’s gonna hang it up
when you call?

“She wanted to throw a party,” he said. “To celebrate a deal I closed. Fifty people at some bar in Karlin.”

“Sounds like fun,” I said.

“It was,” Pavel said. “Until I fucked up.”

Pavel stared at his unfinished meal. He pushed away his plate. Took a sip of water.

“Lenka went home early,” he said. “She’d been feeling ill the last few days. I told her I’d go with her but she insisted I stay.”

Pavel dropped his head.

You can’t go on
thinking nothing’s wrong
Who’s gonna drive you home
tonight?

“There was this woman at the bar,” Pavel said. “Looked like Uma Thurman. We chat for a few minutes and finish our drinks and all of a sudden she says she’s tired. Would I mind escorting her back to her place?”

I had an idea where this was going. Pavel confirmed it seconds later.

“I wound up fucking her,” he said.

A waiter came by to check on our table. I assured him we were fine. The waiter nodded and floated away.

“What pisses me off is that I didn’t even want to. She goes to the bathroom and comes out naked. What was I supposed to do?”

The question was rhetorical. I let it slide.

“I tried to get it over with quick, you know? But I’m drunk and it’s taking me forever to finish. All the while I’m thinking about Lenka. How she’s back at our place. Sick in bed. She worked so hard to arrange my party and this is how I thanked her. Banging some chick whose name I didn’t know.”

Who’s gonna hold you down
when you shake?
Who’s gonna come around
when you break?

Pavel’s guilt was natural. And yet it was hard to believe. We’d gotten into arguments over his views on women. To Pavel’s mind, they were playthings. Much like a bike or an Xbox. But I could tell he felt sorry for what he’d done. The regret in his eyes was real.

“I didn’t go back to the party,” he said. “I hailed a cab. Off the street. I didn’t care if I got ripped off. I just wanted to get back home. I pull out my phone to text Lenka I’m coming and see that she sent me a message. I’m so proud of you. That’s what she wrote. I’m looking at the message, feeling like an asshole. Then this song comes on.”

“Drive.”

“Yeah. I’ve heard it a million times. But I never really listened, you know? Except now I’m listening. And I get the weirdest feeling suddenly like the song is talking to me. Who’s gonna pick you up? Who’s gonna pay attention? Hey you fucking dipshit, are you listening to me or what? And it’s then when I realize how stupid my life is. Who’s gonna drive me home? A stranger. Who did I just fuck? A stranger. Meanwhile, Lenka’s the only one who cares. She loves me. She’s proud of me. She threw a fucking party to celebrate my ass. And I stabbed her in the back like a dick.”

Drive was fading from the restaurant’s speakers.

“Lenka’s in bed when I get home. I take a shower and slide in beside her. She smells so good. Like a feather in my arms. I start to feel better but I can’t fucking sleep. The song’s still playing in my head. Who’s gonna drive you home? Who’s gonna drive you home? It’s like I’m home already, asshole. Shut the fuck up.”

A different waiter appeared and began to clear our table. Pavel ordered coffee. I followed suit.

“The song drove me crazy for days,” Pavel said. “In meetings. In traffic. In bed with Lenka. I’m not a religious man or anything, but I was convinced the song was a sign. Like I was going to fuck up in a really big way if I didn’t change my life. So I bought a ring and proposed.”

“Was Lenka still ill when she accepted?”

“That’s funny,” Pavel said. “Guess who’s not invited to the wedding?”

We laughed as the waiter returned with our coffees.

“Guilt,” Pavel said. “It’s the gift that keeps on giving.”

“You sound like a commercial.”

“It’s true,” Pavel said. “I treat Lenka like a princess now. And I’ve never been happier. Maybe I’m getting old, but that song saved my ass. I feel like shit whenever I hear it. But I don’t care. It keeps me honest.”