Disconnected

by J. Cafesin

  ---

  "—you're not even up yet. It's 9:00 already. I told you to be ready. I wanted to be on the road to my parents by now." Chris woke me from a sound sleep and nearly gave me a heart attack when she came into the bedroom Christmas Eve morning.

  I bolted upright. "Sorry. Give me one minute." I got out of bed, slid on my jeans and a warm wool sweater over Marc's flannel shirt, then picked up my backpack off the cedar chest. "Let's go," I shot Chris a quick grin, called Face to come, and snatched my camera case off the kitchen counter as I followed her out the glass doors.

  We sandwiched the dog as we piled into her white Chevy pick-up and headed over the Rocky Mountains to the tiny town of Delta, Colorado, where Chris was born and raised and her parents still lived. We were expected tonight for their annual Christmas Eve dinner.

  I grew up watching the Christmas specials with John Denver sledding through the snow covered Rockies on the way to a family feast. I always wanted to be with him in that sled. L.A. in December is usually seventy-five degrees and sunny. My family celebrated Hanukkah, but it never had the cachet of Christmas. The sparkle of colored lights, the tree with all the presents underneath, I liked the glitter and glamor of it all. So I came to Colorado year after year to be a part of that scene. And though I never saw John Denver up here, it was one of those rare occasions I wasn't on the outside looking in.

  A light snow started to fall and flakes flurried around us as Chris speed along I-70. I was glad for the chance to be with her alone. Rick was on-call all week for the rush of incoming skiers.

  "Hey, Ray," Chris said. "I wanted to tell ya I'm sorry about Canada last spring, the entire road trip after your friend's wedding actually. I never should have agreed to it when I was so depressed after closing my firm."

  "I'm sorry, too. I think we fed into each other's depression. You're okay now though, back on your feet with this Beaver Run gig, right?”

  “The job certainly helps me feel better about myself. Well, that and Prozac.”

  I smiled, again heard Lee's rejoinder the last night we were together. “Well, you seem really happy. Rick seems really nice. I'm glad you found someone to be with. I should be so lucky."

  "Well, what about that guy you met from your ad? Lee, isn't it?"

  "We're just friends. I like him a lot. He's a blast to hang out with." I smiled, picturing Lee's adorable baby face. "He says he wants more, but he's dangerous, Chris, an obsessive, like me. We could never be more than a fix for each other." I paused, took a deep breath and sighed to shed the truth of my words. "He professes to be an ex-gambler, but is in debt for close to half a million. He just got divorced from a two year marriage, and on top of all that he's a addict in denial. My gut tells me he's a little too screwed up to get seriously involved with."

  "Aren't we all." She pressed in the lighter. “But Rick and I are better together then either of us are alone.” She retrieved a pack of Marlboro Lights that was sliding back and forth on top of the metal dashboard, pulled out a cigarette, lit it and took a drag. "He's an alcoholic, ya know." She threw the pack back on top of the dash and reached behind her then pulled open the small back window a crack, but smoke still lingered in the cab. "He's full blown. Functioning, but an alcoholic nonetheless. I don't have to become one because Rick is."

  I'd seen her put away two gin and tonics and at least a beer or two at Happy Hour night after night, which wasn't usual for Chris. I'd never known her to be a big drinker. "Well, whatever you're doing seems to be working for you. I hope it lasts."

  "I don't know about Rick and I being together for the long run, but I am 35 years old and this is the first real boyfriend I have ever had. I am not going to be too critical. Live and let live. Carpé Diem, and all that,” she quoted Robin William's in Dead Poet's Society. Chris took a final drag off her cigarette, rolled down her window and threw out the butt. Even though she closed it in seconds, icy air filled the inside of the truck and I shivered. "Look Rachel, Lee is the first guy you've been excited about in years. So he's not perfect. As you have said to me many times, we are all fatally flawed in one way or another. But a different way to see us is that we're all works in progress."

  I smiled. Chris had never been profound, but was bordering that edge, throwing my own words back at me, with a twist. But living for just today was a fool's play. She'd been smoking since I'd known her, and would end up with lung cancer someday. If she missed that bullet, her weight issues, and now drinking excessively, daily, would certainly lead to major health problem not too far down the line. Regardless that she ignored her choices today would impact her future, and likely the lives she touched, they most certainly would. Whether with diet, career, sex and/or in love— continually making poor choices and you're basically fucking your future self.

  It stopped snowing by the time we got to her parents' sprawling ranch set in the middle of a hundred and fifty acres of chaparral wilderness. The dogs greeted us as we got out of the truck. Three chocolate Dobermans in their prime surrounded Face, but only Duchess, the youngest, would engage in play. The other dogs turned their attention to Chris and I and mooched for affection as they followed us into the house.

  Chris exchanged hugs and kisses with family, and then her slender, attractive mother and her roguishly handsome father hugged me as if I were theirs. Her bear of a big brother, Jim, gave me a quick, tender embrace. Her older sister, Caroline, stayed on the suede couch and said 'Hi,' then inquired about my drive from the 'tar pit.' Six months pregnant at just 21, with a two year old son already in tow, Caroline eloped at 18 with the high school quarterback who permanently injured his knee his first game for Denver State. They'd been living on the government dime ever since.

  For the next ten minutes straight she slammed L.A. for wrecking their economy and stealing Colorado's water. "I'm for turning off the tap and watching them all fry down there." Caroline took another big bite of apple pie drowning in vanilla ice cream, and either didn't care or was unaware of the health issues of being what looked like a hundred pounds overweight during pregnancy. "If they had any brains they'd all go back to where they came from, leave the place to the Beaners, Jews and Fags."

  "When the barbarians come to your gate, you're welcome here, Rachel," Jim said with shy smile.

  "Thanks, Jim." I returned his smile and turned back to Caroline. Though I'd tolerated her slams over the years, they were getting uglier, longer, and words began spilling from my mouth. "People leave towns like these because technology and globalization are wiping out manufacturing jobs and killing the need for U.S. labor. They come to L.A. for work, and they don't leave whether they find it or not because it's better to be warm and broke than freezing alone back in the old home town that everyone moved to L.A. to get away from." My reasoning fell on deaf ears as Caroline's eyes veiled. She looked down at her plate then took another big bite of pie. Everyone was looking at us, and I felt bad for creating the riff, sort of. "Believe me, I too wish everyone stayed in Michigan, or New York, or Colorado, and you had your water and we had our land of plenty back." I sighed, slamming myself for engaging with her at all as I got up to greet Chris' grandparents, then joined the women in the kitchen to help prepare and serve dinner. The men watched football.

  Glass eyes on the embalmed heads of clueless animals mounted on the walls of the guestroom glowed in the dim light from the lamp on the end table, next to the bed covered in bear skins. A buzz would surely help me dispel my disgust among the stuffed heads of deer, elk and even a mountain lion slaughter by man with gun looking to feel powerful. I slid a joint from my camera bag pocket and cracked the double hung window. Icy air flooded in as I lit the J and inhaled sharply, the heat of the smoke warming me inside and out. I moved the chest near the open window and sat on it to exhale directly thought the window opening, but it really didn't matter if smoke lingered in the room. Most everyone in Chris' family smoked cigarettes, including Caroline, even while pregnant. Their house was so saturated with tobacco smoke, the scent of weed would be indisti
nguishable.

  It was one continual party for five straight days. Town folk streamed in and out daily, sharing in the holiday cheer. It snowed only that first night but it was cold, ten degrees or less most days. Other than brief walks with the dogs, and quick trips to the video or liquor store, we stayed inside. Chris and I helped cook and serve the meals, and in between played Tavli, watched movies and cable TV, and ate and ate and ate.

  Initially I embraced the festivities. But it got harder to maintain cheerful after being introduced by her grandma to party-goers as 'Christine's little Jewish friend' for the twentieth time. I considered correcting her, confess to being an atheist, but that would only arouse judgment, and suspicion. Judaism, though foreign, was at least religion. Admitting to being a non-believer I'd be damning myself to the outside, obliterating one of the primary reasons I came here year after year.

  -

  Chapter 14

  12/22/91

  While intuition grants me foresight to the radiating effects of my actions, it's never really stopped me from continually making bad choices.

  Between knowledge and change is the Grand fucking Canyon.

  -----

  Monday morning I showed up at Rick's flat, my car packed, Face walked and fed. I told Chris I was going to the Bay. I didn't know why I lied. I wasn't sure it was a lie. I still had time to change my mind about meeting Lee at his sister's. Winnamucka, Nevada was the fork in the road. From there I could take Hwy 140 to Oregon, or stay on I-80 and go home. He'd said on the phone he was prepared for just friendship, but I knew it a lie. He'd tipped his hand when he admitted to wanting more. Of course, I knew what it was like to take anything over nothing— it's why I stayed friends with Michael for four years after he married.

  I remembered Michael's call a few days after I got his letter explaining why he'd proposed to his roommate. "Allison told me we couldn't stay friends if I married you," he'd said. "I love her, like I do you, so I proposed, offered her the title of 'wife,' since you'll be my best friend for life."

  I shook my head, disgusted I'd felt honored that he'd wanted to stay best friends. Even then I'd refused to acknowledge my relationship with Michael had really always been all about him. Taking something over nothing proved misguided at best, and a direction I had no intention of leading Lee. I pulled one of my three remaining joints from my camera bag and lit it as I left Breckenridge. Reports on the Weather Channel had said a storm was coming in from the Northwest, exactly the way I was headed. It wasn't snowing right then, though the roads were white with a fresh coat from last night.

  Twenty or so miles west on I-70 the snow started falling in big, white flakes and within five miles had turned into a full blown blizzard, with buffeting winds and white-out conditions crossing the Rockies. At one point I had to roll down my window to see I wasn't driving off the highway, my windshield so thick with wet snow my wipers froze in a coat of ice. Teeth chattering cold, fingers practically frozen to the wheel, I was finally able to keep my window rolled up when the snow let up around Salt Lake City.

  Tension from the harrowing drive morphed into a relaxed surrealism with the storm clearing. Sparkling snow drifted across the blacktop in thick ribbons, like hundreds of ghostly sidewinders crossing the highway. The salt flats of western Utah stretched out around me in endless reverberating white against the bright orange horizon as I blazed along I-80 toward the setting sun under a blood red cloud deck.

  My camera case was on the passenger seat next to me. I pulled off the highway onto a utility road and captured the moment, which took half a roll of film and about ten minutes of adjusting the aperture to get the best exposure. Back in the car, I blasted the heater to thwart gangrene. The pain was worth the potential gain though. I'd collected hundreds of beautiful slides over fifteen years of shooting, but every so often I'd stop time, freeze an extraordinary moment to share with those who weren't there to witness it.

  I stopped at the Motel 6 in Elko, Nevada for the night. Inside the shabby room Face curled on the worn gray carpet outside the bathroom while I showered. Lee'd asked me to call him from the road, let him know when I'd likely be coming in to Oregon, but I felt afraid to talk to him right then, that he'd crawl inside my head and discover my doubt, still unsure of the fork in the road ahead. I lay on the mushy bed, clicked on the TV and settled on local news for the weather report but never got to hear the prediction, nor call Lee, the world fading to black within moments.

  ---

  Sparklingly clear and frigid cold out, Face and I were back on the road at dawn the next morning. Stopped at a streetlight, ten TVs in the window of a pawn shop showed a heavy girl sitting cross-legged on a shabby bed, potato chip bags and ice cream containers scattered about her. Camera pulls back to reveal she's alone in some cruddy flat watching the ball drop in Times Square on an old TV. The image gnawed, mocked me as I got back on the interstate.

  I lit my second to last joint and took several quick hits hoping the buzz would drown out my inner voice that was sure if I exited onto Hwy 95, I'd be taking the wrong fork in the road.

  12/30/91 (driving)

  What is the defining line of crazy?

  When do you cross that line?

  On what do you base your sanity?

  I believe I may be losing mine.

  -----

  I slid the pen back in the wire ring of the binder, closed the notebook, and took another hit before exiting I-80 at Winnamuca. A few more hits toasted the joint and stifled my inner chorus enough to allow me to take pleasure in the ride. No point in second guessing my decision. I knew I wouldn't change my mind, fear of my nothingness descending again driving me. Desire to be with Lee, him wanting to be with me, had defeated all reason.

  Desolate high-desert, Hwy 140 was mostly flat except for craggy hills in the far distance. Exploring new routes always entertained regardless of the terrain—an empowering adventure— a lone explorer of roads less traveled. And this one sure was. Maybe five cars passed in four hours, and I never came up on anyone until I got close to Lakeview, Oregon. Foliage and trees reappeared on the scene, and the drive got more and more stunning as the pines grew, changing scent and hue while passing through the northern rim of the Sierra Nevada's.

  It was close to 3:00, sunny with a few puffy white clouds when I pulled into the Shell station just outside Klamath Falls. A balmy 48 degrees, according to the digital display on the monolithic steel structure in front of the Bank of America across the street. I soaked in the sunshine, basked in its warmth while filling the Civic, glad to be back in the West, excited to get to Medford.. I called Lee from the payphone next to a huge field while Face peed.

  "Hi. This is Lee."

  "Hi." I was surprised he answered his sister's phone. "It's me."

  "Hey, you. Nice to hear ya. How was the drive?"

  "It was great. When did you get up there?"

  "Early last night. Where are you?"

  "Some tiny town. I'm still about eighty miles from Medford."

  "I'll give you directions how to get here. It's kind of complicated. Got a pen?"

  "No. And I still have another hour on the road, so I'll call you again when I get into town and you can give me directions then, OK?"

  "Good idea. Colleen and Arlene are at the store. They'll be back by the time you call and can give you much better directions than me." Lee paused, to take a hit off a joint. "Drive safely, and I'll talk to you soon." He exhaled. "Can't wait to see ya," he added like an afterthought. "Bye."

  "Bye." I called Face, watched the dog romping toward me through the tall, tan grass, disappearing then reappearing like a lioness in the savanna with the setting sun behind her.

  Back on the highway I smoked my last joint and imagined the evening ahead. I pictured The Big Chill, all of us cooking, then cleaning up while dancing around his sister's huge, country kitchen to a rock-n-roll score. Cut to full rotation of the four of us toasting in the New Year with champagne, and I don't even like champagne. See what too much Hollywood can do?


  I took another hit and savored it, let the smoke linger in my mouth before inhaling. I was going to miss the sweet, smoky flavor of weed. I switched tapes to Brian Ferry's Don't Stop the Dance, his creamy sax mirroring the smooth, winding roads. I'd miss the way music sounded high, like being plugged into the sound board, or being the board. I shuddered with pleasure at the vibration of music running through me, then caught the intoxicating sweet scent of sex. Along with weed providing a conduit to my creativity, I'd profoundly miss getting off buzzed.

  My plan to quit using wasn't exactly at 12:01a.m. To avoid straying too far from the accord with myself, I laid down some specifics as I finished my last joint. I'd get high with Lee and his family tonight, then again tomorrow to christen the New Year with them, then leave mid-day. I'd allow myself the rest of the road trip to use, then be done. And I laughed as I flashed on Jeff Goldbloom in The Big Chill: "I don't know anyone who can get through the day without two or three juicy rationalizations."

  Twilight encroached, the sky a mix of reds and blues, silhouetting the huge old redwoods into sleeping giants. I felt small, like a bug scurrying silently at their rooted feet as I pulled off the highway a few miles from Medford to call Colleen's. I stood at the payphone outside the mini-mart and let it ring quite some time but got no answer.

  I went inside and made a cup of Earl Gray, paid and then went back outside and called again. Still no answer. And this time I let it ring even longer. Okay... So they were outside, took a walk, went back to the store for something. I got back in my car and sipped my tea, stared at the payphone. Ten minutes later I called again and only hung up when I lost count after thirty rings.