From Las Vegas to Seattle in a Mobile Home

My second visit to Las Vegas was rainless and scorching, unlike the first.  We flew into 110-degree heat, the hottest I have ever been in.  Mom and Mike took me, but Jason didn't come because it was his dad's turn to spend the weekend with him.

This is where Ruby and Hal Reasby now live, my old neighbors from Maltby, who used to babysit us in the summer.  They'd recently moved to Vegas just after introducing mom to Mike.  What used to be a beautiful, cozy, well-kept yellow house in the suburbs has been lost for them.  Like us, they were cast out of this utopia.  Now they live in a city apartment, probably the result of financial trouble.  They let us stay with them for the night, despite the lack of space.  Hal said I look sexy in my new jacket, but I hate it.  Then when he saw my bare feet, he commented that I had runner's ankles- good for long distance running.  I don't think he even knew I'd been running track.

Ruby was a saint when she used to babysit me.  We'd always cuddle up on the couch, watching daytime soaps and talk shows, looking at maps or picture books.  She taught me about the places she's traveled to, like Provo, Utah.  For some reason that place stands out in my mind.  They had two weiner dogs, Max and Minnie, who always got excited when me and Jason came over.  The best part of their house was their backyard, where a thick forest invited my friends and I to go exploring whenever the Reasbys would let us.  Jason's favorite place was the garage, where he'd watch cartoons on a mini-TV, drinking grape pop among all the stacks of National Geographic magazines.  I don't think I ever recognized how much of an affect the Reasbys had on my geographical interests until now.

We went to a few casinos in Vegas.  The most memorable was the Luxor, a pyramid-shaped hotel with a sphinx entrance hall.  Mike asked me if I'd ever seen so many beautiful women.  Heavens no, they were everywhere.  Tall women, graceful women, scantily clad women.  They drew the eyes like a hunter to a deer.  It felt like I had entered some exotic paradise in the Luxor, drawn by skin and neon, the flashing of all the gambling machines.  Jackpots, joysticks, jelly-glazed dresses glinting under the Egyptian lights, all bathed in a sandy yellow.  I'll never forget that moment, just waiting for them in the casino, watching all the women.

Next morning, we left the city in an old, beat-up mobile home.  That was our main reason for going there, to transfer Mike's home from Vegas to Seattle.  We didn't get very far before the decrepit thing broke down in the middle of the desert, right in a ghost town.  Mom freaked out and they had a skirmish.  I wasn't happy either.  But to be honest, I wouldn't want to get stuck with anyone other than Mike.  I feel safe around him, and I think mom does too.  He's the bravest person I know, and he'd do anything to protect us.

Once he got the engine running, the desert whizzed by quicker than we thought it would.  Relief mixed with fatigue settled in, that calming sensation you feel after a threatening situation, or after a long day on the road.  I thought about Art Bell while looking for Area 51, and whether aliens had really been brought to this part of the country.  His radio show wasn't far from here either, and I found myself looking for some sign of that too.  For all I knew, it could have been just around the corner.  But like the forbidden facility, nothing was in sight.  I also browsed through this strange book called Wizard and Glass, by Stephen King.  Mike likes to read this "master of horror" writer.  He talks about him all the time, and how crazy his characters are.  Trashcan Man, Flagg, Roland... He talks about Roland in a reverent way that reveals his idolization of the fictional character.  I've not read any Stephen King books, but now I'm interested.

We came off the high desert into the sprawl of Carson City-Reno.  A Long December played on the radio, by the Counting Crows- a great song, and totally Mike.  I just watched the open road ahead as he tiredly drove us down into the valley in front of a rusty sunset.  Another song played, called I'm Getting Closer to My Home, perfectly appropriate for us.  I'm not sure who wrote that song [Grand Funk Railroad], but I like it.

Next day we drove through northern California and Oregon.  Mike went speeding off the pass of Lassen Volcano, scaring the crap out of mom again.  I thought it was fun.  We spent that night on a deserted Oregon beach, ready for the final push home on the morrow.