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.

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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.

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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.

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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.

Secured my cup between my legs and drove into town. The place was deserted. I stopped at the only diner open, ordered a slice of lemon meringue pie from the tall, thin waitress, wearing a red Santa hat pinned to her dyed platinum hair and sporting crimson lipstick. I waited for her to come back with the slice, took one bite and savored it before going to the payphone on the wall between the bathrooms and calling Colleen's again. Still no answer. Where the hell were they? Lee knew I'd be in by 5:00 on the outside. I called Information but Colleen Messer, at the same number I'd written on the pink post-it, had no address listed.

I went back to my table. By this time it was 5:30, and dark out. I felt pissed, and scared, and looked around the room, tried to focus on the moment at hand to ground me. The diner was a large rectangular room. It wasn't crowded. Mostly older white couples probably there for the senior discount. Christmas tinsel hung off the chair-rail molding that wrapped the room six feet up the walls. Faux-antique decorative plates set in plastic mistletoe on the fireplace mantle in the back completed the Americana scene.

God, what am I doing here?

My waitress delivered my check with a peppy 'Happy New Year,' and a genuine smile. At 6:00p.m. they announced over the P.A. they were closing for the holiday, and I got why she was so cheery. Before leaving the diner I called Colleen's house again. No answer. I must have let it ring fifty times. I called my machine. No messages. Then I called Lee's machine and left one. "Where are you? I have been calling your sisters for two hours and no one answers. I hope everyone's okay, no one's in the hospital or anything." I said sincerely. "I'm in Medford, waiting on directions from you. Please call my machine as soon as you get this message and let me know what's going on."

Waiting for Face to pee in the open field in back of the diner, I felt more scared than anything else at that point. Any number of horrific things could have happened, from car accidents to heart attacks to random acts of violence. There was no reason to assume he was avoiding me, as I cycled over our recent phone conversations line for line. He'd invited me of his own volition. We'd spoken only hours earlier and he'd reiterated he was excited to see me. Something must have happened. And I felt afraid for him, then for me when I noticed most of the cars had left the parking lot. I whistled for Face, we got in my car and I went looking for another open diner, and smoked a roach among several in the ashtray to slow my racing heart.

I spied the brightly lit truck stop ahead. The parking lot was filled with Mack trucks, and I felt small in my Honda Civic as I navigated between them. I parked and extinguished the remains of the joint in the ashtray. I had only a few roaches left, enough to roll maybe one small J. And just beyond the buzz lurked the darkness. Until right then I'd never spent New Year's Eve by myself.

The diner was stark and grimy, the air thick with smoke and the smell of burnt grease. They had a miniature plastic pine tree, blinking with small red and green lights sitting on the counter by the cash register. That was the extent of their holiday decorations. The payphones were near the entrance. It was freezing by the door with people coming in and out as I stood there calling Colleen's. No answer. Tried my machine again. No messages. My buzz was fading and I was barely able to defer my tears.

I got a booth and ordered a cup of tea from the old haggard waitress, then forced myself to focus on what had to be done instead of crying over what was. I'd get a motel and stay the night, leave first thing in the morning for L.A. There was no point in me staying without being able to reach him or his sister. I'd find out what happened down the line if I just kept calling Colleen's. Images of Lee dying of a heart attack, the EMT zipping the body bag, Colleen and Arlene crying as he's wheeled from their house looped in my head. It was likely I'd never see Lee again. If he died, of course. But if he didn't, without a damn good reason he'd not called me back there was no point in rekindling our friendship. Instead of returning home to racquetball, and a great Tavli partner, an occasional dinner or movie companion, and a confidant I could talk to about almost anything, I was now going home to nobody. My eyes burned, my vision blurred and a few tears escaped. No matter how I spun the future, I was the fat girl in some cruddy flat alone on New Year's Eve.

It was 9:00p.m. when the little truck stop cafe closed for the holiday. My waitress let me use the payphone one more time before she locked up. After calling Colleen's again, I left another message on Lee's machine that I hoped everything was okay, and that I was going to find a motel in the area for the night and would be leaving in the morning and I'd appreciate a heads-up on what happened.

There was nothing open and the streets were empty through Medford. The place wasn't exactly a roaring metropolis. I locked Face in the car with food and water. She settled in her sleeping bag as I slammed the hatch then went to checked into the Knights Inn Motel. In the shabby room I called Colleen's again and listened to her phone ring while forcing myself to breathe, and I finally hung up, then called my machine one more time to check my messages.

"I am so sorry!” Lee's passionate delivery resonated on the recording. “Arlene's dog, Etheridge, pulled the phone cord out of the wall. We didn't know. I waited and waited for you to call. I got really worried, but Colleen kept saying that you were a big girl and used to traveling alone and not to freak out about it. Finally I tried calling my machine to see if you left any messages. That's when we realized the phone was out." He paused.

I hung up. Exhaustion suddenly engulfed me. I released the deep, shaky breath it felt as if I'd been holding all night, then got up and paced. To slow my heart, mind, and escalating ire, I rolled one last joint out of the roaches I'd collected, but held off sparking it, instead leaving it in the glass ashtray for after a bath. I replayed his message in my head again and again, wrestling with the disconnect between his simple explanation and why it took him six hours to check his machine if he was so worried about me. I felt a twisted smile emerge, acknowledging the smarter part of me that was glad we'd missed each other tonight. If I believed in fate I'd call tonight another chance to get it right and stay away from Lee. Maybe we'd meet up in L.A., still play ball to stay in shape, but that would be all. No dinners. No movies. I absolutely had to quit Lee, or embrace him, us. Anything else was a prick tease, (whether he knew it or not) and I've always abhorred women who are, for debasing all women by promoting the myth that our sexuality is our greatest value.

The water was just shy of scalding when I eased in. The bath calmed me. It wasn't so bad, just me and my dog. I sat in the tub and listened to people outside on the walkway laughing and partying. Surprisingly, there was no longing. I was safe inside and reveled in the autonomy. I didn't have to put on a smile and pretend I was having fun ringing in the New Year at some party or dance club with people who cared I was there about as much I wanted to be. I may never have been by myself on New Year's Eve, but that didn't mean I wasn't alone on quite a few of them, especially in recent years. I'd been using major holidays as a barometer— mirroring the media scenes somehow defined me as socially acceptable, normal. And I shook my head with the awakening, that it had taken me so long to get to. The truth was, participating in these festivities didn't validate, they undermined me. And I wasn't the poor fat girl watching the ball drop alone if I didn't share the holidays the way TV and movies depicted a young, single woman should. I was more than normal, if I chose to be, worked at becoming. And I scoffed aloud at my idiocy for buying into the media hype all these years, especially when I created it for a living.

The phone in my room rang at around 10:00p.m. I just laid in the bath. He could wait now, as it was most assuredly Lee since no one else knew where I was. He must have called the few motels around Medford to find me after hearing my last message. He let it continue ringing. I didn't move. It stopped. I smiled. A minute later it rang again. Still I didn't move. But this time he just let it ring. And the ringing was loud, and annoying. Finally I got up, pulled a towel from the metal rack and wrapped it around me as I went to answer the phone.

"Hello?" I said calmly into the receiver as I sat on the heavy, dark floral print drape-like fabric that covered the lumpy double bed.

"Hi." He paused, I guess checking my mood. I didn't say anything so he rushed on. "I am so sorry, Ray!” He paused again. I still didn't say anything, my eyes settling on the joint and box of matches in the glass ashtray on the nightstand. “I know you're really pissed right now. And I don't blame you. New Year's got totally wrecked, for all of us, and I'm sorry. What can I do to make it up to you? How about I come over there right now."

"I don't think that's a good idea." I retrieved the ashtray and put it on the bed next to me.

"I want to come. I want to make it up to you. Colleen and Arlene do too. They want you to come to breakfast in the morning. They both feel really bad. My sister was just trying to protect me, thinking maybe you decided not to show.” He paused. I couldn't think of anything to say. “If I jam I can probably get there before midnight. The roads are icy, and it'll take me a while, but even if I'm there a minute before, I want to ring in the New Year with you, Ray."

"Please don't come, Lee. It's late and dangerous and I don't want to go back to worrying you got in a wreck. Tonight was a mistake. I get that, and I'm not mad. I just don't feel like celebrating New Year's Eve anymore. I'm getting ready to crawl into bed and watch a movie. Then I'm going to sleep so I can get up early and head home." I sparked the joint and took a deep hit.

The Unbearable Lightness of Being was starting on HBO. I had no interest in listening to his rationalizations, even if his 'my dog did it' excuse was true. In all likelihood, he was probably getting buzzed with the ladies while gorging, which tends to distract one's attention from the passing of time.

"You can't just leave tomorrow. You have to come to my sister's in the morning, if not for my sake, then for theirs. Please don't be pissed.” He paused again.

“I'm not,” I exhaled, thought of adding more but had nothing else to say, then took another hit off the J. The growing buzz narrowed my focus to the opening of the movie.

“Then come over here tomorrow morning to ring in the New Year with us." He paused again and I was sure I heard him hitting a joint. “The girls went shopping in town this afternoon and spent a small fortune on an amazing spread for us. And my sister copped some truly spectacular local bud. Please come. Give us a chance to set things right." He paused again, waiting for my response but I didn't offer any. He was pulling me out of 1968 Czechoslovakia and into 1991 at some dive motel in Oregon. "If you don't come Colleen and Arlene will think you're mad at them for what happened tonight. Why do you want to make them feel bad when you're really mad at me?"

"I don't. And I'm not mad at you." I was more disheartened in me, chasing after Lee when I shouldn't be with him at all. "I'll let you know in the morning.”

“I'll call you then, probably around 8:00 if that's OK."

"Fine."

"Good. Well, happy New Year. And I guess I'll talk to you in the morning then." He wanted to keep the conversation going. I didn't. I was done for the evening.

Tomáš and Tereza are arguing about his liaison with Sabina in the movie. Everything to Tomáš is relative, meaningless, he tells her to justify his affair. Existence is full of unbearable lightness because it is brief, and entropic. Tereza, a photojournalist during the Soviet occupation of Prague, sees and records the turbulence around her. The violence and anger penetrate her, suck her into darkness. She fears her heaviness pushes Tomáš to other lighter, less complex women, and blames herself for driving him away.

Even high, the parallel wasn't lost on me, and I felt small, and sad for being the dark cloud of reality the filmmakers portrayed Tereza to be. It was no wonder mentally stable men, like her physician husband, Tomáš, were attracted to the silly, sexy, carefree Sabina, and not women like Tereza and me.

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