Ken and I hiked a two hour round trip down the canyon, making it to the tunnel, turning around and going back up, really not up for a multiday trek down and back up the full canyon. I stayed and stared for a while longer before joining Ken who was in the visitor center, and on we drove to Nevada. The rain kept getting worse and lightning lit up the sky, illuminating for a brief second the outlines of the mountain ranges that surrounded us. How have we been in a perpetual storm this whole trip, I thought as I drove, this better not be a symbol or something.
We arrived at the Vegas summer tract home that belonged to Ken’s parents by 1AM. I brought everything from the car in, did a load of laundry, showered, and laid in my own bed in my own room, and Ken did the same on the other side of the house. I looked around the furnished vacation house, and it was so nice to be in a place that felt like a home again, and it was nice to be clean.
Ken told me to help myself to absolutely anything there. In a kitchen cupboard, I found various fifths of alcohol at various levels of fullness or emptiness. I filled a coffee mug ¼ of the way with Jack Daniels and took it into the bedroom.
“Hey, what do you call it when you drink booze out of a coffee cup?” I shouted across the condo to Ken.
“Alcoholism?” he shouted back.
“Mug-shot!” I answered, though I agreed with his punchline too.
I brought myself to that pleasant level of drunkenness to go to sleep to, swaddled myself in the blankets and covers, and drifted off to sleep, forgetting it all if only for one happy moment.
. . . . .
Day 35. Waking up in Vegas to a mildly throbbing hangover soon pacified by a hearty breakfast from The Egg Works. We then drove around Red Rock Canyon, taking in its beauty in the just risen sun. We passed the ever-creepy Bonnie Ranch on our way out but didn’t stop, and with that, we left nature. We then went to the strip, parking at Mandalay Bay and making our way from one end to the other. We got paid $20 each at the MGM Grand to participate in a research study about TV that took half an hour, and we took that money to the slots at Caesars. Ken lost all of it in under two minutes, and I made eleven dollars out of five and walked away while I was still up. When we walked outside, it surprised us greatly that it was nighttime, you can never have any concept of time from inside a casino.
We decided to scour the town for lenient liquor stores to buy some more booze. And after about two unsuccessful hours of driving and trying, we finally found a small, run-down joint where I walked in and bought two 40’s and two big Smirnoff Ice’s because, fuck it, they’re cheap and they taste really good; the place didn’t sell hard liquor. It was managed by an elderly Native American man.
“You don’t have anything stronger here do you?” I asked as I paid for the booze.
“No, not here,” he answered quietly.
“All good, I just wanted a little whiskey,” as I took the brown paper bags, letting him keep the change.
“Whiskey’s good,” he said with a soft fondness.
I got some beer and the highway’s free.
We returned to the condo and began drinking. We had a little trouble finding the music to suit the mood, I didn’t want to be sad, and this certainly wasn’t a turn-up, maybe a low-key turn-up though, so we settled on some mellow music. I have been drunk just twice in my life so far, and the second time was that night.
I saw Lila everywhere today, I saw her in every couple, heard her in every song, felt her hand clutching my heart. She’s holding on my heart like a hand grenade, as Ken would probably say. But with each drink, I forgot a little bit more. Ken and I got to the point where we just sat on the couches and couldn’t stop laughing at each other. It was really nice. I know I would’ve wanted to take this adventure with Dan, and I wouldn’t want Ken to know that, but this has still been a great journey, and he’s been a surprisingly good travel companion. Now I really can’t imagine having done it any differently. This has been nice.
At a break in the conversation and the drinking, Ken turned to me, rather solemnly.
“Alex, thank you for this, and for everything. I can’t remember having this much fun, being this happy, for a long time. I wouldn’t be here without you.”
“It really has been a great trip.”
“No, Alex, I mean it, everything, I mean, I really- I really wouldn’t be here without you. Like at all, without you.”
“Oh,” I said, now I knew what he was really talking about, but I didn’t know what to say, “of course, Ken.”
Ken took a drink, and a long breath, “You know, that night, the night before- before I was going to do it, I thought of something, one thing…” I could tell he didn’t know what to say either, or at least how to say it. “that night, late that night, I couldn’t sleep at all,” he continued, “I just began to sing this song that I hadn’t thought about since I was a child, the words just came to me and I couldn’t stop singing or crying. It was the most baffling thing.”
I didn’t say anything, I wanted him to be able to say what he wanted and take his time, and I was trying to process all of this too.
“The words just came to me out of nowhere, and, well,” he sighed and then took a deep breath, “Hey, this was really fun, we hope you liked it too,” Ken began to sing, softly, quietly, and I immediately knew the song and the words, even though it was something I hadn’t heard or thought about in over ten years, it all came flooding back to me.
“Seems like we’ve just begun, when suddenly we’re through,” Ken continued and then I joined in, “Goodbye, goodbye, good friends, goodbye,” Ken choked back tears with these lines but pressed on, “‘Cause now it’s time to go, but, hey, I say, well, that’s OK, ‘cause we’ll see you very soon, I know. Goodbye, goodbye, good friends, goodbye,” I started to cry too, sitting on the floor, next to Ken, thinking about everything, everything from the first moment I could remember, the shows I loved as a child, growing up, my parents, Dan, Lila, and Ken, and I cried; good night, ladies, good night, sweet ladies, goodnight, goodnight, “Goodbye, goodbye, good friends, goodbye, and tomorrow, just like today. The moon, the bear and the Big Blue House, we’ll be waiting for you to come and play. To come and play, to come and play.”
I reached over and hugged the crying Kenneth, we grasped each other and cried together, for different reasons, for the same reasons. Goodbye, goodbye, to childhood, and everything that was a part of it. Ken sniffled, and looked at me, “thank you,” he said again.
“Don’t mention it,” I sniffled and replied, wiping the tears from my face, “I love you, man.”
“I love you too. Goodnight Alex, I’ll see you tomorrow.”
“See you tomorrow, Ken.”
We got up and went our separate ways.
I laid in my bed, closing my eyes to the room as it tilted around me. I never knew that was an actual thing until I was drunk enough to experience it myself. Drifting off to sleep, I thought again of Lila. When I opened my eyes briefly to look out the window, it was a clear night, and I could see the stars. The rain that had followed us since the East Coast had finally cleared up. I just want time now, and with time, I’ll feel less about her, less hurt, and she will too, and then we can meet in the middle of that apathetic understanding. But would it even be the same now? Would it even be worth it? I hope so.
I made a mistake, a huge one, and I’m fully feeling the consequences of that now; but I don’t know if I needed to miss her in order to know how much I really loved her. The whole love them, let them go, and they come back thing. Only I was the one that came back, and she didn’t. Goddamnit, I hate that fucking Phil, I’d beat the shit out of him if I ever saw that smug prick. But why am I even mad at him, what fault does he have in this, I’d have done the same, I wish I could’ve done the same. I just don’t un
derstand how she could be so cruel. Why she’d hate me so much, hurt me so much, I mean, I hope she doesn’t hate me. God, I’m starting to sound like Ken.
. . . . .
Day 36. We both slept in, and after gorging ourselves at a buffet, we then spent the rest of the day inside Red Rock Casino theatre, movie hopping. We saw the depressing Man of Steel, the depressing for other reasons Iron Man 3, and the really fun Pacific Rim, and by that time our brains were complete mush, sustaining ourselves for several hours on popcorn and soda refills alone. Ken also wanted to see The Way Way Back, but he agreed when I said I wanted to keep the movies fairly light-hearted. Movies are the great American escape. Okay, I’ll stop with the sweeping ‘America’ statements.
We’re so close to being home, and for a large part of me, that feels really good. We had dinner at the buffet and planned to go back into the theatres when I saw I’d missed a text from Lila.
“Can I call?” it read.
I called.
“Lila?” I asked.
“Yeah, hi Alex, are you free?” she answered.
“Yes, of course, what’s up?” I said, motioning to Ken that he could go on without me.
“I was thinking, and I just wanted to say that I was sorry for saying all of that stuff to you, I didn’t need to say all of that.”
“Oh,” I was caught off guard, pleasantly, “I really appreciate you saying that, thank you.”
“I thought more about what we talked about before too, about how you thought you wanted to be together again, and how you said you’d made a mistake.”
“Yes? And I did make a mistake, I know that now, and I’m so sorry for it, I’m sorry for everything I put you though, but I know now how I feel, and I know that I do—”
“Alex.”
“Yes?”
“It wasn’t a mistake, Alex. I don’t think we’ll ever get back together,” she hesitated, “I know that we won’t get back together. I thought about things, Alex, about everything, and I cared about you, and really Alex, it was the best time, it really was, and I thank you for that, but thinking back, I know that it just wasn’t love. I know now that it was just a high school thing, I never loved you. I never really loved you. It was fun, it was a great experience, but I know now that I never loved you. And I thought you should know that, Alex. Alex? Alex?”
“Yah, I’m here.” I couldn’t say anything. It was done now. It was too late.
“Okay, I’m sorry, Alex, I just needed to tell you, and—” whatever she was saying faded into silence, as the noises of the casino around me took over, though I didn’t hear those either, they all just came together into a cacophony of that which was everything else; and I existed, silent, somewhere in the in between. I wasn’t a part of my surroundings, but I hadn’t transcended them either, the volume of the world had just been turned down, and everything else was out of focus.
“I still care about you, Lila, I never want to not be your friend, and—”
“That’s your problem, Alex, you just want everyone to like you,” she said, and I barely registered, “and I-I’m not some fantasy, I’m not the treasure at the end of a long journey, I’m my own person Alex, and I’ve made up my own mind, and I’m sorry, but I can make my own decisions too, and I don’t choose you.”
I was again on conversational autopilot when I said, “Yeah, of course, I’m sorry, thank you, I’m sorry, and when you’re back in San Diego we should get coffee at the Pannikin, I’d love to see you and—” but I knew that that’d be the last time I’d talk to Lila, or at least to the Lila I once knew. We said our goodbyes, and I knew I wouldn’t see her for the rest of the summer, I didn’t know when I’d see her. Christmas break? Her graduation? I didn’t know, but I also shouldn’t care after what she’d said. She’d just have to become a part of my past now, reluctantly, painfully, this was truly it. It was over. Es muss Sein.
Ken and I didn’t see another movie, he just drove back to the condo for me. I took the sleeping pills, polished off some more of the bottle of Jack and tried to be asleep in a place that was not where I was.
. . . . .
Day 37. I was up early, I cleaned up the condo and did a load of laundry. Monotony was comforting. Order and cleanliness were comforting. And then the road was comforting. With the top down, I floored that faster horse across those long, flat, straight stretches of desert road from Las Vegas to Los Angeles. It’s a long drive for someone with nothing to think about, traveling swallowing diphenhydramine. I weaved in-between cars on those long stretches of road, feeling my heart thump in my chest, knowing what it felt like to be alive.
We stopped to use the extra-terrestrial themed bathrooms at Alien Fresh Jerky in Baker, and in Barstow, we had McDonald’s at the train depot and drove on to the coast, The 15 taking us all the way there, chasing our final sunset to the edge of America.
We drove that car as far as we could and found ourselves back West.
California. They used to think this place was an island, it still is. Isla de California, that’s what the Spaniards of the Old World called this foreignly undiscovered land commensurate with the boundless capacity for human wonder, a land having rumored to contain the Garden of Eden, Cities of Gold, and droves of virginal Amazonian women. And for the most part, they weren’t wrong, except maybe about the virgin part. It’s a beautiful valley of starlets, harlots, and saintly charlatans. And it’s home to me. The dream of the West is the dream of all America, and all of the world. From the first settlers to the pioneers, to the Joads, to us, we all came or came back in search of something golden. And in one way or another, I’m sure we’ll find it.
And California never felt like home to me until I had you on the open road.
We drove around LA, both having been before, and sat in our car eating In-N-Out, what we now knew to definitively be the best burgers in the whole damn country (that, and Hodad’s), and knowing that it was good to be home. We stopped at the Pantry, the 24-hour beacon of Los Angeles, standing indifferent to time, like something out of a Hopper painting. We finished our damn good coffee, I quoted On the Road like a twat, and we found our way out of the city. We drove the coast through the darkness back to home. Oh, Columbia, you have been good to me.
Blue, you sit so pretty West of The One.
We listened to and sang “Wagon Wheel” one last time as we turned off of The 5. It seemed like it had all been a dream, the fact that we’d just driven coast to coast, all across America hadn’t hit us yet in the slightest.
We parked in that same bank parking lot that we started in, and knew that we were home again.
11821.3 miles.
Thirty-seven days.
Ken turned to me with a look of sincerity cutting through the exhaustion and said, “thank you for this, Alex, and for everything, really.” He reached over the median and gave me as earnest a side-hug as possible.
“Of course, always.”
As I drove Ken to his house, just after midnight, I could hardly believe that it was over. So many things were over. Even sitting in my room, unpacking my things, making the transition back to real life, I can’t believe that it’s truly over, almost as much as I can’t believe that it happened in the first place.
I’ve been to places where the traffic lights hang on wires, where the cornfields stretch far away for miles, towns where people shoot the road signs, where they paint the back of streetlamps black, and I’ve been home. I love home the most.
I shaved my road-beard, showered, put on clean pajamas, and I laid down in my own bed. I drifted off into a long sleep, and I thought, not all who wander are lost.
. . . . .
Day 40. Pretty soon I’d be making another road trip, this time it’d be up to C
al with all of my stuff. I’d be starting a new chapter in my life, in college, hopefully having learned at least a few things. I know Ken would be going into his junior year a better person, or at least better at being a person; Dr. Kindlon would make sure of that. I know we’ll keep in touch, and I look forward to it. I can only hope that someday, maybe even next year, he’ll find some freshman in Mr. Darcy’s class that he can help out because that’s all it takes. One person can change the whole world for someone else. And no matter what, I know I can always remember that confused freshman kid from two years ago, full of rage and love and say, “Well, I helped that one.”
And as for my parents, I know it’ll be good to get away from home, for all of us, it’s better that way; hopefully they’ll be better without me there to fight over. I don’t hate them, I don’t at all, some things just can’t be fixed so neatly. Some things just take time. And hopefully, in time, things will be better. After all, they’re just people too; if Rivers Cuomo could forgive his foolish father, so could I.
And I thought,
Lila, in my dreams I walk dripping from a sea-journey on the highway across America in tears to the door of your cottage in the Western night.
And I thought the difference between stories and real life is that stories have to make sense. There would be no catharsis for me, no new lease on life, no grand lessons learned, and no getting back together with Lila and I know that. Lila was no manic pixie, and I was no hero. And that’s it. And even if I could get her back, after all that’s happened it wouldn’t be the same, and I know that; there’s never the same love twice. And so, I move on. There will always be another sunrise, and it will always be beautiful. I remember when I used to think people our age were adults, but the truth is, we’re still just kids, and we always will be, because we’ll always have had this time.
No More Dead Kids Page 21