Can Anybody Find Me?

Driving down the road in the Ford Taurus - wondering, as I sometimes do, who is this woman in the suit driving a sedan full of kids around? Can anybody find me? moans the car stereo. I think of Descartes' Meditations - that we may be dreaming - how do you know you are awake? Have you ever dreamt that you are asleep? And I think of the reality of making toast and getting dressed and commuting with kids and think how real and unreal it all is - I sometimes feel as if I am dreaming as I drive kids here and there.

"Is this Queen?" Frank suddenly asked, interrupting my existential query.

"Well, it's the band, Queen," I said.

"Who is the singer though?"

"It's George Michael."

"But who is usually the singer for Queen?"

"Freddie Mercury was the singer for Queen, but he died. George Michael sang with the band after their singer died."

"What did he die of?"

"AIDS."

"What's AIDS?"

Some days car rides are not long enough to discuss the things that need to be discussed.
I mean, my son wants to talk about a terminal disease and I want to talk about how in the world he recognized the song as a Queen song but knew that the singer was different.

I want to hear every single person and see every pair of hands.
Find me somebody to love.
Can anybody find me? Somebody to love?

That last line is really one line and one question, but sung with the Freddie Mercury phrasing, it becomes two questions.