a break in the road

We listened to the rain rush down the roof of Whole Foods in Kansas City.

It’s not that bad, I said. But it is tornado season.

Then we saw some rocky mountains, and I found a good doctor 17 hours from home.

Take B vitamins, he said, and sent me on my way to Utah.

Together, we climbed the sunny path and posed under the Delicate Arch.

I made friends with a lizard there.

He insisted we go to Phoenix, so we did.

It’s the best pizza in the world, he told me.

I happened to agree.

We didn’t have air conditioning, and he didn’t drive fast.

So we slowed and stopped to look at a dust storm in the desert.

We clinked salty margarita glasses in Flagstaff.

I liked a big canyon in Arizona, but he wasn’t too impressed.

He needed time to think in Sedona, but I felt uneasy there.

Ooh, Vegas, I said.

Eww, Vegas, he said.

We ate fish tacos off Highway 1.

We looked at the sun shining through the redwoods, and it made us smile.

What did you just say??

I don’t think this is working out, he repeated.

Eight hours in the car the next day.

It seemed to be working out.

We drove through a bridge in San Fran, buying time.

I wanted to buy Ducks gear in Eugene, just for a smile.

We got a muffler instead.

We made it to Portland.

Let’s look at apartments, like we planned, I thought.

We need to get on the road, he said.

It started to rain. Of course it did.

Then we drove to Washington.

He was sick, and I brought him water.

The next day I took a ferry.

And he stayed on the dock.

winnings

I couldn’t help noticing a woman as she draped her arm around her neck and stared at the floor.

Someone walked close to her, then abruptly stepped toward another open window.

This woman must have been surrounded by 1500 people cheering at blackjack tables and slot machines.

But the glass security panes kept her separate, and so few stopped to greet her.

pizzeria bianco

They gave us five pieces of hollowed-out French bread, edges baked to black above a ferocious fire.

The waiter set down a tiny bowl of pale blonde olive oil.

I cautiously dipped my bread into it.

I normally toss eggs and vegetables in olive oil. I find it in a dark green bottle that’s been around the house for some time now.

My eggs taste a little bit stale, but I shovel them into my mouth anyway.

I’m busy.

But in Phoenix I sat still.

And I raised the bread to my lips. The oil ran down the crust.

The air in Missouri is thick with moisture, even as autumn arrives. Sometimes it’s hard to breathe.

As we drove through Colorado I stuck my hand through the moon roof above my head. The air slipped through my fingers, gently lifting my hands in the wind.

That’s what this olive oil tasted like.

growing up

I’d never been to Caesar’s Palace before.

I noticed a man, about 5 and a half feet tall, whose silver whiskers poked through his bronzed, wrinkled skin. He trailed behind four friends, and he took extra steps to catch up.

One friend slowed for a second and turned back toward him. The first man grinned, then reached toward a stone woman stuck on a wall. And he grabbed her.

“Whoa, nice one!” his buddy sneered with approval.

And the old child’s grin widened as he skipped to catch up with his friends.

Vegas babies

I heard the sound of paper against body, as 20 Hispanic workers smacked business cards in their palms.

A man walked slowly, smiling as the people filled his hands with cards.

Another man fixed his eyes toward the next crosswalk, and gripped his girlfriend’s hand.

And I just walked by quickly, with my hands in my pockets.

We all trampled these women during the night, leaving the little cards with action shots under our feet. 

It wouldn’t be easy to find a card in mint condition.

lights in the desert

Once in Washington, I shuffled my feet in the snow as I walked home. I looked at the glittering lights in the sky above. But they were nothing special. So I watched my feet instead

And then I heard a voice:

“Look up.”

So I did.

And every star twinkled. Orion’s Belt sparkled, one star at a time, up and down the row.

“Let those who have eyes, see,” I heard.

I didn’t bother to look for a couple of years.

I just went to Utah to see some arches. We drove through the park, trying to beat the sunset before the sky darkened around the Delicate Arch.

I ran up to a lookout point.

It was too late.

I stumbled back to the car, dehydrated from the drive and shaking from low blood sugar.

The sun fell quickly, leaving a sky that blackened as we drove through the canyon.

I craned my neck to look through the passenger side window. Tiny beacons shone in the distance.

And then they began to wink at me.