Sympathetic Magic

My friend, Bob Capri, believed that the things touched and used by the people we love retain a power. He called that power 'sympathetic magic'. That's why, he believed, we hang on to articles of clothing and tools and books used and loved by people we've lost. He had lost a good many and many good people in his life and then I lost him.
Today I found myself, literally, driving a mini van along California's '210 corridor'. I last sat in the driver's seat of this particular vehicle because my friend was too sick to drive it herself. I last sat in the driver's seat of this particular vehicle a little more than fifteen months ago. I'm driving this particular vehicle right now because on Saturday I ran out of all vehicles in my charge.
I wasn't looking forward to driving this particular mini van because sitting in the driver's seat, I knew, would bring back too many memories. This, though, is Southern California and not even a trip to the corner grocery store can be accomplished without some sort of vehicle. So there I was in the mini van.
Earlier I had released the hood instead of the parking brake but about half way to my day's destination I had formed a truce with my emotions.
I'm getting over a cold. I couldn't reach my handkerchief. I knew, though, that all I had to do was extend my right arm a little and I would find a box of tissue. Had I been borrowing her coat instead of her car I would know to just put my hand in the right pocket and I would find a small packet of tissue. Some things you just know.
It was that box of tissue in just the right place that allowed that mini van to work Bob's sympathetic magic. All of a sudden I felt good and content. I laughed because I knew she would be laughing at yet another episode of what she called 'Mary's Amazing Auto Ballet'.
I tuned the radio to a country station and turned the volume up to a heart pounding level. The music wasn't anything resembling the ballet but for this trip she could be in the driver's seat just one more time.
Thanks, Bob. Now I know why sometimes I just sit and hold that book you gave me.