Louder Than Words

Before we leave Dog Beach, Katie approaches the man who has been tirelessly throwing a stick into the water for his (also tireless) border collie to fetch for the last half-hour, 

She compliments his gentle, intuitive way with the dog, the way that the two of them seemed to understand each other completely, and he graciously thanks her, adding that his connection with his pet is “non-verbal.”

After we’re on our way, I say, “I’m glad you went up to him. If I had done it, I would have told him I loved him, and that I hoped he was happy every day for the rest of his life.”

Portrait, Terminal 1, LAS

Golden sun on the high white girders, sunrise reflecting off the planes lurking at the gates outside.

The same useless gear - t-shirts with winking slogans, shot glasses covered in facsimiles of playing cards, casino branded boxes of chocolates - at dozens of differently named, but otherwise identical, stores.

Four Starbucks, at least (let’s go to the good one - no not that one, the other one).

Slot machines burbling their electronic come-ons at every gate, promising endless distraction, perhaps a payday, while the sun comes up over the desert, out where the silence lives.

What Are You Gonna Do If It Isn’t?

She herds the gaggle of children into the movie theater around the 15 minute mark of previews, a good dozen or so of all boys, all around 10 years old, maybe 11. They cross in front of our seats, not terribly loud or annoying, just regular kids being kids.

It takes her a few minutes to get everybody in the right seats and settled, again, not a huge problem, but more hassle than I would have wanted to deal with. 

THEN, in a moment of near-silence, she asks of no one in particular, “Is this the theater for Ghostbusters?”

The House Always Wins

Names of streets near Las Vegas, NV (a literal desert town) specifically in the subdivision in which my mother lives: Sandpiper Village Way, Crystal Stream, Gentle Spring, Aqua, Tadpole, Marlin Cove, Bamboo Bay. There are others. 

Las Vegas is the ultimate destination for magical thinking - even if there isn’t water, if we invoke it enough in our street names and just keep building, it might not matter.

Even though the house always wins, if we keep trying, maybe our luck will turn, maybe the right card will turn, and we will finally, finally be free. 

The Suburban Jungle

Opening the backdoor to the patio sets off the burglar alarm, which mom has set to arm automatically, and the sound is apocalyptic. A strident, screaming klaxon, it sends the dog into a howling, barking frenzy until I can get to the keypad in the laundry room and turn it off.

After I apologize to my mother, the dog, and my racing heart, I take the recycling out to the bins in back that sulk in the dim light of a street lamp.

Something about the dark, the quiet, and the suburban isolation, along with the shriek of the alarm still echoing in my head, leaves me deeply uneasy, and more nervous than I’ve ever been in a big city surrounded by arguably greater danger and more people.

Beauty is Inconvenient

“These hallways used to be beautiful,” my mother says as we walk down plain white corridors to the elevator after her dentist appointment. “Like the chandeliers,” she adds, pointing the graceful glass hanging in sheets surround the lights out over the foyer.

“Why do you think they changed it?” I ask. 

The modern elevator beeps gratingly before the cheap metal doors slide open, and she says, “Oh, people were bumping into the artwork that hung on the walls, and it was easier to just get rid of it.”

Trying To Be Nice

“How’d you do today?” I ask after he presses the button for our floor in the casino parking garage.

“Well, it’s a new ball,” he replies, indicating the swirled-red and black bowling ball he’s go balanced on the top of his rolling luggage, “so I’m still trying to get the hang of it. 175 averaged over 3 games, but the other day I did 187 over five games.”

“Sounds like progress to me!” I say nonsensically.