by sam paul
So we’re glad to be back in our native land but sad at the realization our vacation is at least half over. Sunny California is the Promise Land for free thinkers and we spent the evening acting like kids in love. We held hands and ate pizza at a transplanted NY pizza parlor, complete with wonderfully gruff employees who all had rich Brooklyn accents. We walked down around the beach, checked out all the head shops, and then sat on the seawall and watched the sun set over the Pacific. We enjoyed what will likely our last day on the ‘Left Coast’ for a while. We walked down and looked at the waves hitting the ocean in the encroaching darkness, while the local druggies and dealers were just starting to emerge. I thought it was romantic in an urban decay kind of way. I mean, on the one hand there was a timeless sunset setting over the beautiful silvery eternalness of the cresting waves on an angry ocean with streaks of crimson clouds slashing the sky, and on the other hand there were desperate people, temporary members of society, each with an individual story of pain, clinging to life and dealing in the short term every day business of pursuing the smallest pleasures. I thought it was a beautiful collection of opposite images that accented each other. Like I said, I was feeling loved and my body was comfortably numb with fatigue and romance.
We bought some Christmas gifts for our friends back home at some of the head shops. A sealable water bong and a couple of cocaine bullets. Those are little portable vials with a one-hitter attachment on them that some of our wilder friends might enjoy. Obviously not items for our families and even though it’s likely not in the true spirit of Christmas to give paraphernalia, they’re decent souvenirs for our friends. We’re planning on sleeping in the car near this Denny’s again, where the cop told us to sleep last time. I am going to miss being here with Jenifer but I look to the future. It’s being with her that’s important, not the invisible whales or our location.
May the Lord forgive me for the dragonflies I killed as a child. Graceful, silent shimmering predators whose only crime was their abundance and innocence. The highway is my Church and my penance, engineered to help me move beyond mere instinctual (re)actions. I will be more than the sum of my parts, more than human. There are foxes in the land of the wolves sometimes.
Something bad happened today. Troopers fat on the excess of power given to various States in the vain attempt to eradicate drugs, bullied us at a checkpoint along I-8 in Arizona. Another blood clot in America’s veins of freedom. We were totally and unnecessarily hassled just because some bitch with a chip on her shoulder is trying to make her way up the pig career ladder. We were just cruising along innocently and our car (of course) was chosen to be the 1 in 10 routinely checked for drug smuggling. No problem right? We just got shook down by the U.S. border patrol yesterday and came out with a clean bill of health. The cunt said she stopped us in particular because my hat with the Grateful Dead patch on it (from the shows) was in plain view on the dashboard and apparently (according to her anyway, believe me we would totally have gone if it was true) there had recently been some Dead shows out in California. I’m thinking, “cool, she thinks we’re acid heads with a hundred pounds of dope in the car or some shit, let her do her worst because I’ve been searched by U.S. customs and I’m clean as the Pope’s bathroom.” It seems I didn’t factor in the small town Mayberry mentality of wanting to punish people different from “us”, which in this case the “us” turned out to be a bunch of inbred, redneck, faggot asshole motherfuckers! They brought out a giant dog and did this trick where they pretend to “accidentally” drop the leash and let their nazi German Shepard practically attack and jump on me. That’s their slick way of violating our rights and letting the dog sniff us for concealed drugs since they can’t technically do anything without probable cause. Then without asking if they could search the vehicle she opened the car doors and let this huge dog climb and sniff around inside our car. At this point I’m aggravated by the blatant display of constitutional violations and abuse of authority but I’m still trying to be nice because I know we don’t have anything on us. In America the innocent are presumed innocent right? Apparently not, the dog smelled some clay pipe that Jenifer had bought during her trip to Vegas several years ago and lost in her glove box. The pipe was empty, it literally hadn’t been smoked in several years and whatever incriminating residue that was still inside it wasn’t even enough to be detected by the border patrol. It had been buried under a bunch of shit at the bottom of her glove box and I would have thrown I out a long time ago had I known about it, after all I threw away my own marijuana when we went into Mexico. The bitch-lady emerged from our car with this evil triumphant shit-eating grin on her face as if she had just happily burned down a Vietnamese village full of children. What could we say? We tried mumbling an apology and I told her how we forgot it was there and explained how it obviously had not been used anytime recently since we had just come from Mexico and their border patrol dog didn’t even smell it. I was desperately trying to appeal to some sliver of coolness we still innocently believed all people must have somewhere, after all, I was raised on that Star Wars “I know there is good in you father” mentality. She wasn’t having any of that. Finding the pipe gave her the authority to trash our car and belongings, which she enthusiastically did. She systematically threw our clothes on the ground and stepped on them, ripped pieces of the seats out of our beloved RedOne and threw all the insurance papers and tire receipts from the glove box onto the highway where they got blown into the desert by passing semi-trailers. She found the bottles of liquor, another evil triumphant grin, and then found our presents from the head shops and confiscated them, though they were still in their unopened packages. When I protested that the bong was for tobacco and the vials were empty of anything that might suggest they were criminal, she launched into a tirade of how such and such “Buttfuck County Arizona” has zero tolerance laws and just possessing liquor underage gave her the right to auction off Jenifer’s car and blahbitty blahbitty. The evil lady spent several hours tongue lashing us and destroying our various belongings for some reason or another while harassing us over needless bullshit because she was disappointed we were NOT transporting drugs. I was getting really pissed and Jenifer looked like she might cry from frustration, which made me even angrier, but there was nothing to do except bend over and take a reaming in our ass because Arizona decided to give some lady with personal issues the right and power to abuse her authority if she chose to do so. True to Southern tradition, it’s likely that Arizona even encourages or rewards her for harassing the hippies and getting them out of the State.
After her and her colleagues got bored with their steady barrage of insults and threats, she let us go, but only after breaking our Christmas presents and making a show of having us pour out our own Goddamn booze in the bushes. I was so steamed by then I threw down the bottle she handed me and tried to break it on the roadway but the hot soft asphalt wouldn’t break the small sealed bottle. This unleashed another torrent of insults and lectures from her. By that point I would have gladly given up the rest of my life in prison to kill this one person and I felt like it was morally justified because I would have been serving the greater good of society by deleting her cancerous presence. Honestly, if I hadn’t felt like I had the obligation to get Jenifer to immediate safety I would have attacked and at least taken out one of bitch-lady’s eyes before her dog or her fellow merry men could have even reacted.
We finally got in the car and drove out of there as fast as we could. Jenifer went absolutely postal. She turned up the radio as loud as it would go and drove as fast as RedOne would let her, screaming epitaphs and pounding the dashboard with tears pouring from her eyes while I clung onto the “Oh-Shit” handle for dear life. As she slowly calmed from molten lava into steaming rock, any efforts I made to diffuse the situation with attempted lighthearted humor were shrugged off, which was good because I was still so pissed I didn’t really feel like being a good guy and consoling anybody. When we finally stopped about an hour later in Shinbone,
AZ or some place, I got 4 dollars in quarters and prank-called the inspection booth, telling them I was coming with a truckload of guns and that I was going to blow their bacon-flavored snow cone stand off the fucking highway. It was stupid and juvenile I know, but it made me feel better even though I spent most of the $4 trying to call information and actually find the number and I probably only spoke to a confused and now very frightened tollbooth operator. Still, it made me feel somewhat vindicated and we got out of there just in case they could trace the call and send a patrol car.
I also called my Uncle Dennis and Aunt Sandy in Phoenix, kind of as a courtesy call, but I ended up promising to stop by. When I told Jenifer we were stopping down the road she was pissed. All that was on her mind was the evil-lady and getting out of this fucking state as soon as possible. I kind of concurred but I promised we would stop by and this is my Aunt and Uncle who I’ve always looked up to and thought were cool. Jenifer doesn’t know them so I understand her hesitation but at the same time I need an emotional and physical rest. I think if we can stop for a night, things will cool off a little bit. I certainly don’t want one negative incident to create a wedge between us or follow us like a dark cloud all the way home. I also don’t want our first long road trip together to be tinged with some black voodoo of incompatibility. That would be a disastrous shame. Rest will relieve stress.
Tap tap tap
This is my heart in my hands, This is my hand on my heart.
Tap tap tap
—me
Talk about an attitude readjustment. It turns out that my aunt and uncle’s house was the perfect place for us to stop. Instead of racing home bearing animosity against the “Grand Canyon State,” we are still here resting our bodies and enjoying our vacation again. Dennis and Sandy are treating us so cool. They have a humongous house with a heated pool and a hot tub in their big backyard next to a giant trampoline for their two children. They have a little boy Derrick who is older than their little girl, about 3, I suppose. Cassie, or Cassandra, and Jenifer seem to be smitten with each other and it’s so cute to watch them play together. It’s like observing two little blonde angels that could be sisters or perhaps mother and daughter. Cassie seems to have formed a bond with Jenifer and surprisingly only-child Jenifer, who has never shown the least bit of interest or excitement around children, has fallen in love with her little friend. Cassie looks so much like the child we might one day have together that seeing them goofing around on the trampoline and the way she follows and imitates Jenifer’s every move makes me want to live with her forever. I can sense Jenifer feels safe here, the way she holds me so close while we sleep together at night tells me that she secretly pines for an eventual family lifestyle with beautiful children, a rickety house filled with love, a big dumb dog and maybe a little cash. I can’t lie and say I don’t feel the same things; there is a touch of God in this place.
Dennis and Sandy have given us our own section of the house to stay in, literally a guest wing with it’s own bathroom and a giant soft bed to lie and love in. I always imagined some fraction of my family would be modern enough to acknowledge we sleep together, I just never thought I would meet them. Because they are treating us like human beings, the general awkwardness that goes along with being around my relatives and the nervousness and apprehension I get about Jenifer not wanting to stay with family has worn off. We both feel comfortable and the evil Arizona incident is finally behind us. At night when the kids are asleep we get to relax into a deep coma in the vapors of their steaming hot tub while we get drunk with my Aunt and Uncle. My Uncle seems kind of disappointed that Jenifer and I are not normally big drinkers, even though he manages to keep getting me to do tequila shots with him and I wind up shitfaced. I thought I had learned my lesson after the dog biter of a hangover I got the first night we arrived. Tequila. Blechhh. It’s an acquired buzz, I gather.
The best reason for staying up late is getting to hear Dennis and Sandy’s mesmerizing stories of where they’ve lived all over the world. This was all B.C. (before children) of course. Wonderful rambling tales of nights in Iran and exotic fruit markets in the back alleys of Egypt. It’s interesting to hear how different cultures simultaneously help and harm their women under the guise of isolation and protection. I suppose we oppress our American women in different ways, but I still like to think we’ve made progressive strides as a society. I also heard them say that crime is virtually nonexistent over there because if you are a thief and you get caught stealing they chop off your right hand or execute you on the spot. Apparently the left hand is reserved only for wiping the ass! So if you cut off somebody’s right hand, nobody will give them food or eat with them since they have to eat with their ass-hand. I guess it’s like the “stink finger,” only on a hand sized scale, over there. Jenifer and I stay up with them and watch bad action movies on the VCR and just hang out mostly. I suspect that sometimes my aunt and uncle are reliving some of their youthfulness through us because they want to hear about ALL the details of our limited traveling experience. They ask questions and listen with interest but I think they are just cool people who get a lot more out of life than average folks. Plus even though nobody in my family ever seems to piece it together it’s totally obvious they were/are with the CIA and how fucking cool is that to be part of an international spying team!? I see them as two lovers with mutual intelligence that got them great jobs and long paper to do whatever the hell they want. Plus I find it reassuring that given the freedom to see the world, Dennis and Sandy still ended up with a beautiful family.
Their children are nefarious early risers so we are not getting to sleep in late here, but that’s ok. It’s sweet to see how Miss Cassandra can tame Jenifer’s morning monster with sheer adoration and innocent fascination. I’ll open an eye and see the door slowly open with a tiny swoosh noise on the carpet. Then a little blond mop of hair furtively bounces through the door to see if there is any reaction. I suppose Cassie’s not used to having somebody try and sleep late while she wanders around and after a few minutes of playing an awkward game of one sided peek-a-boo with no response she either decides Jenifer is feigning sleep or she’ll summon the courage only children possess and tiptoe into the room. She sees me watching her but since I am not the object of her affections I merely receive a conspiratorial smile. Cassandra will pat her on the head and stage whisper a loud “Jenni-fur, are you sweeping?” Once Jenifer responds that yes, she is in fact sleeping, the battle is already lost. My aunt might come in and chase her out of the room but Jenifer knows already that it’s a futile effort.
I’m really happy here. I love seeing the feeling of raw maternal-ness gleaning in Jenifer’s sleepy eyes, but if I told her that she would probably punch me. “Alas,” insert sweeping sarcastic hand motion here, “It’s so hard to be a sister figure.”
We’ve visited with my grandparents a few times since they “Winter” in Arizona and live near here. I love my grandparents, their old-fashioned logic and traveling RV lifestyle really appeals to me. I can also tell they like Jenifer a lot, which is important to me, but I can see they are not exactly sure how to react to her nose ring. To them it’s like meeting somebody you really like and then finding out they’ve had a sex change. Once, I brought a black girl, who was a good friend in high school, over to my parent’s house when my grandparents were visiting us in Texas and it nearly gave them a heart attack. I suspect that Jenifer’s having blond hair and white skin is a relief to them despite the nose ring and that they think it’s just a phase she’s going through. Raising four boys and my mother certainly qualifies them to think in terms of “phases” with no reproach I suppose. Like I said, they have old fashioned ways but they are good respectable people and I regret not being able to communicate my admiration of them in any tangible way. I suspect they understand though, being grandparents and all. Jenifer just talks and talks to them, innocently oblivious to their slight discomfort, and it’s obvious she’s won them over with her honest and open man
ner.
It’s funny for me to observe how much of my mom is in my grandparents. That may sound silly but she inherited their slight uptightness and amplified it with a squeeze of psychosis.
Tomorrow we’re going to try and go for a ride in my Uncle’s plane. He actually built a plane from a kit (see? CIA!) in his garage and since he’s a licensed pilot he’ll periodically take relatives up in the air and just hand over the controls to see how they do. I’ve always just liked cruising along looking out the canopy and watching the myriad of landscaped grids go by in a kaleidoscope of crazy patterns, but every time I’ve been up in the air with him he scares me shitless by making me fly. My brain starts screaming, “Hey, he built this fucking thing in his garage!” Or, “This thing is made out of the same stuff my parent’s swimming pool is made of.” and my imagination creates scenarios involving prolonged fiery death. The plane is made of fiberglass, it is no bigger than Jenifer’s car and it’s an ass-backwards looking bird with the big wings and prop on the back-end and the small ‘steering’ wings on the front. To fly in it is different than cruising around in a regular small plane because instead of feeling like there is something solid & secure steadily pulling me through the air, it feels like something powerful is thrusting me hell-bent-for-leather across the sky. It’s really a totally different sensation altogether. We’ve already been out to the hangar where he keeps his 70’s Corvette (with the motor ripped out) and other miscellaneous junk. It’s sort of his attic away from home with big toys inside it. Jenifer’s eyes actually bugged out of her head when my uncle dragged the plane out by the nose with his hands, thinking maybe he was joking about going up tomorrow and then secretly confronting her own mortality. Hell, we thrive on excitement! How many girls do I love that actually went bungee jumping on their own? Adventure makes her wet but I don’t think her parents would be too happy if one of my relatives killed her.