I live now in the middle of a growing subdivision on the outskirts of town. A small town on the way to Jackpot, NV. It’s a rental, for six months. It’s not forever.
Until I die here. Which I will. The thought fills me with dread and panic. The kind of panic that would send any sane person straight to the nearest airport. Take me out of here, anywhere but here. Somewhere with people, lots of people I know. People I grew up with.
People who are in heaven. Playing the next video game in the next simulation called life.
I dreamed of this place 10–15 years ago. I remember it now: the dusty plains, the in-between, closed-off cookie-cutter crack houses. Dilapidated. Rooms for rent, the sun and the dirt in this desert.
There’s a school nearby, and lots of fast food restaurants. Just like I remember.
I take my walk around the neighborhood, getting momentarily lost in a new row of tract houses going up on streets named after birds. I just noticed the bird names.
Dogs ferociously bark behind fences at every other tract house. They keep me on edge, as if I’m not walking a neighborhood, but a prison.
Am I a visitor or an inmate?
Death passes ahead.
All those tears
The tired route goes.
Sailing through arid veins.
The earth groaned
A long and deep desert in her voice.
The moon compassionately looked at the earth
And from the skies sent
A bird that started its course
And during the bird's flight, with its song
The bird created a new man
And from its soul
A new dreamy spring was born.
[Magos Herrera, 'La creación de las aves,'
from 'Con Alma Project']"
I listen to a real estate podcast, the first of its kind, from back “home,” in Seattle. I know one of the women. She ruined my life. Destroyed me. Nail in the coffin.
I can never love like that again. Trust again.
Around the time I broke off our friendship, my real friend was dying. The only friend. Terri would’ve been here with me, noticing the dirt, the cloudless sky, the isolation.
Why do I lose friends, while people like that real estate podcast tycoon gains them? To lose yourself, while she gains the world, and all its precious treasures.
I’m sad, lonely, and so scared I won’t ever get my life back, no one will like me here, who will enjoy my sourdough bread (the starter is perfect now)?
The ice pick headache is subsiding. I must go inside. It’s been almost an hour.
Trust. Faith. Maybe true love. At last, love. Blindly, I follow.
Later today, I review Magos Herrera’s world premiere music video, about the desert and the moon and a bird for isolation, called “La creación de las aves.” Oh hey, Bill Evans’ “Never Let Me Go” just came on my YouTube.
Originally published at https://carolbankswebercoggie.wordpress.com on March 16, 2021.