4.

When I was sure the last of my vomit had washed down the sink, I turned on the radio, stretched out on my back on the motel bed, and began drinking again. I refused to go east or west, north or south. I had lost much more than any enlightenment, bliss or closure I’d gained from retracing these letters.

Each had seemed to steer me further from where and who I wanted to be. My father’s travels had been his; attempting some poor man’s recreation of them in search of answers was my own naive idiocy, and now I found myself with no compelling reason to carry on or to return home. I waited in self-imposed purgatory for answers to questions I hadn’t asked yet – some clue I wouldn’t recognise.

Slivers of light found their way between blinds and shadows began to move. A cobweb had formed in a corner of the room. It caught air rising from the back of a bar fridge beneath, making soft turns as it rose and fell. Its shape was like a child’s drawing of a fish; an infinity symbol with an end left open. At certain angles, it caught in the light and shimmered. I watched it bend and twist as it swam through an endless ocean.

In the afternoon, I woke from a nap I hadn’t planned to take. The view from my room wasn’t spectacular, but over the tops of other buildings and through the gaps between, I could see the desert disappearing into the distance. The funny thing about the horizon is everybody has their own and it moves with them. I had spent my time in America convinced I could catch mine, but had made myself the butt of my own joke. For every step forward I took, my horizon took one back, taunting me. Trying to run it down was a fool’s errand.

The great frontier isn’t somewhere you go, I decided. It isn’t something you reach by plane or car, bus or boat. It exists inside each man, when he takes that first big stride or timid step over the city limits of his own self. If my father was waiting for me at the end of all of this, I would shake his hand, buy him a drink and then break his nose. I would drag him from the bar, bloodied, and pin him on the sidewalk by his throat for everyone to see. I’d ask him if it was all worth it; if the two lives he ruined were worth it to forge the one he had for himself. If he were proud of himself – proud that the son he’d abandoned felt a flicker of hatred whenever he was told he looked just like his father. That his leather was too worn for his age and that he had become rotten inside like a piece of fruit.

The desert changed, white speckles appearing in the purple sky. It’s strange how it happens out there; the darkness sneaks up on you. The cold is brutal and sudden, like warmth and life is looted from the land the moment the sun’s vigilant eye wanes. I swayed down Navajo Boulevard. There were a few bars to choose from, so I decided to try an alternative to the one I’d been asked to leave the night before. I caught a few glances as I entered. Maybe I was already a celebrity in this town.

I drank and drank. Even when I didn’t think I could stomach another, I tapped on the bar. I clicked my lighter shut and dropped it onto the bar in front of me. A man beside me, chatting up a woman another seat down the bar, picked it up. In a swift, finessed movement he clicked the lid open, turned the tip of the two smokes between his lips bright red and clicked it shut again. He handed one of the cigarettes to her. She smiled like they were following a script. A real fuckin’ John Wayne.

‘This is a nice lighter,’ he either said to her or to me as he studied it between his fingers.

‘Well, you can find one like it in just about any gas station,’ I said, snatching it from his grip. ‘This one’s not for sale.’

‘Hey now, I wasn’t asking to buy it.’

‘Yeah? What, planning on taking it? Go for it. Good luck.’

The bartender curved a brow and the woman seemed uncomfortable.

‘Son, I was merely admiring your lighter. Used to have one a bit like it. Didn’t mean any harm.’

‘Marvellous. Thank you for sharing.’

I managed to get another drink before being asked to leave. A few patrons looked like they wanted to follow and bruise me up, but the man who’d used my lighter just watched with curious eyes. I stumbled up the street past the same bus stop. Even drunker than the night before, I skipped the first part, went straight to the shopfront and sat down on the ground.

Ash grew long on my cigarette before being taken in the breeze. I closed my eyes and listened to faraway trucks. The sky pushed down on my shoulder again, its pressure so extreme it roused me from sleep. The man with the long nose and the white moustache knelt beside me, holding a brown paper bag under his arm.

‘Damn, how many groceries do you go through?’

‘Not nearly as many as you do drinks, I’m guessing.’

‘Did you hear I’m two for two?’

‘Two for two what?’

‘Getting cut off from bars in this shitty town.’

‘What are you doing, son?’

‘I’m sitting.’

‘No, what are you doing with yourself and this life?’

‘That’s a hostile question.’

‘Only for some.’

‘I’m going to California.’

‘Really? Because it looks to me like you’re not doing a whole bunch of anything. Looks to me like you haven’t moved an inch since I last saw you.’

‘Why don’t you fuck off?’

‘Why don’t you let me give you a ride back to wherever it is you’re staying?’

I pondered his offer.

‘Okay.’

Working myself up the brickwork, I stood and swayed, looking up at the man. He was a giant. ‘Come on,’ he said as we walked to his truck. I leant my head against his passenger window, looking up as we drove. The stars were bright. I watched as they faded to black through my tired, drooping eyes.