The Bridge Within VIII

Maneuvering out of the seatbelt that was twisted around my body, I climbed out of the car with Josh and Nick. The night before we had made a brief stop in a desert rest area off the highway. It was a different world out in the southwest. Signs warning of rattlesnakes in the desert brush surrounding the rest area and on the path to the bathrooms greeted us at the edge of the parking lot. Getting back on the highway, hours later in the quiet dawn we found Gilbert just waking from its desert slumber. Nick had moved to Gilbert mid highschool after leaving Detroit with his mom and sister. His uncle had taken him in after some hardships with his mom. After finishing highschool in Gilbert Nick found a job at the local animal shelter and became a live-in caretaker. His apartment was directly connected to the building and walked right into the main lobby. We scooted through the doors to his place. The shelter was not open yet. Inside his apartment we took our respective places on the living room furniture. I found myself cozy in the air conditioned apartment spreading out on a recliner and dozing back to sleep. Midday came and after a while the noise from the shelter had slowly woken us from our rest. Nick had some hash brown cakes in his freezer and taking him up on it I cooked several. Moving slow and lethargically I left some on the stove for anyone else who was hungry before meandering back to my recliner spot and dozing faintly off for a few more minutes. It was a difficult place, in between too much sleep and the emotional psychological and physical exhaustion of the whole trip since Chicago. Still, everything was brand new, interesting and exciting and whether I knew it or not I was oscillating between wonder and discovery as my world and possibilities were rapidly expanding and survival mode as the down time finally allowed space for my fatigue and the difficult events we had been through to catch up with the rest of my body. This didn't stop me however, I was still in go mode and the momentum of the trip and my new life's possibilities spread as far as the desert out before me. An hour or so after the hashbrowns Nick and Josh began to creek awake from hibernation. Nick wandered out into the lobby of the shelter to talk to his boss. Josh and I both got up, it was nearly 3 pm by now. Deciding to get some more cigs and junk food, we piled into Nick’s car to drive to the Circle K down the street. After nabbing a few snacks and convenient store produce we made off with our items to our next destination. The Gilbert Goodwill had an interesting array of items one would only find in the southwest. One of which I was captivated by, a turquoise bandana. It was a wedding bandana, something I had never seen before. Cowboy themed, it had a picture of a cowgirl and cowboy, inscribed on the border with the wedding date it read, “Celebration of love.” I totally dug it. Odd, quirky and western I was feeling the vibe. With my new bandana we headed over to Trader Joe’s. The store was running a hard bargain on its exit vulnerabilities for shoplifting and so not wanting to push my luck we walked out empty handed, instead opting for the dumpster around back. Nick had found some pretty good stuff before but that was not in the cards this afternoon. After sticking half our torsos over the side of the human size trash can we were approached by staff, told we were trespassing and asked to leave. No matter, we resolved to come back in the nighttime after it closed to see what goodies we could find. Heading back to Nick’s place we killed time skateboarding under the carport of the animal shelter before retreating back to his apartment for several hours from the sweltering heat. When the night fell we got back in the car and headed out for a dumpster run, stopping by several other shopping centers. We scored bagels and baked goods at the Panera Bread in town before stopping back behind Trader Joe’s. Finding the dumpster in the dark, not a soul was around. Discovering a handful of freshly tossed freezer and refrigerated goods we also managed to score a few pieces of fresh fruit. At the end of our digging Josh pulled out the final score, a quarter bottle of Bacardi. Skeptical of a half drunk bottle of liquor out of a dumpster it didn't belong in, I passed, but Josh had at it. After getting back to Nick’s place and taking photos with our dumpster score we promptly ate. The next day saw us waking earlier in the dimly lit apartment. Nick had to work so we putzed around the place till he was off around 3 pm. He had gotten off for the next few days luckily, with just some light helping out at the shelter here and there. That night we watched the movie ‘Kids’ by Harmony Korine which I had never seen. It was a hard movie to get through, portraying a group of teens in New York City, one of which was living with AIDS and sleeping with as many girls as he could without telling them. However horrible it was, I was attracted to movies like this. With grit and disturbing themes, at least they were honest and while hard to swallow they spoke to my own pain. The pain I could not put my finger on, the pain I was made to believe was not there by my middle class white washed suburban upbringing. The false sense of happiness had long expired. Movies like this and the music I listened to were the only real form of expression that could hold a candle to how I felt inside.

The next day Josh and I were propositioned to help do some light roofing work on the shelter, removing an old furnace exhaust. David, the guy heading the project, was a board member for the shelter. Talking to him he invited all three of us over to his house for pizza and a swim in his pool. That afternoon Nick took us to a local school that was doing free lunches for youth up to age 19. Showing our ID’s we were set with free lunches for the foreseeable future. That afternoon we got back to the shelter. Before heading over to David’s, Nick had asked his boss who was somewhat like a guardian to him, to buy us some booze. Agreeing to, she said she could do it the next evening.

Arriving at David’s house, he lived in a nicer area of town. His wife and him were waiting for us with a few boxes of pizza and soda. He was a real estate investor and after talking a bit I had told him about my plans to get a job sailing on a yacht with the hopes to cross the Pacific to New Zealand. Low and behold he had a yacht and a whole slew of sailing friends who crossed the Pacific intermittently from Puerto Vallarta in Mexico. After swimming his daughter got home, she was our age. We all chatted for a bit longer, she was planning to take off with her friends for a surfing trip to San Diego later that week and her dad offered that we might catch a ride out there with her friends and her. I wanted to do it so badly, It was the exact direction I had intended to go and I was mad crushing on her, wanting to get to know her more. Josh was dead set on getting north and for some reason I could not bring myself to separate. After all my independence, all my gall and personal will that had gotten me into riding freight trains in the first place the past weeks of travel had me in retreat, too scared to leave the security of my situation with Josh that I was constantly finding myself at odds with. Begrudgingly I passed up the opportunity choosing to stick with Josh and head north. We opted to set our sights on a potential Craigslist rideshare.

David had given us a kind amount of medical marijuana he had laying around and the next few days saw us lounging poolside at Nick’s uncle’s house who was out of town. Swimming, stoned and with the box of franzia and Mad Dog’s Nick’s boss had bought us we chilled unabated in an inebriated state for several evenings. Nick had heard there would be a show one evening, a number of touring crust punk and grindcore bands were playing nearby in Tempe. We all wanted to go, looking at the set list I realized it was two kids I had met in Baltimore the spring before at Maryland Deathfest, their band ‘Abrade’ was one of the headliners. Stoked, we decided to hit the show the next evening. Arriving I found the two guys I knew from the band at their merch table. We chatted for a bit before Nick got a call. Unbeknownst to Josh or I, Arizona and much of the southwest experience a monsoon season during the summer months. Nick was on call that night for the shelter and it had been raining heavily throughout the evening. The Shelter was flooding and Nick’s boss was calling him needing help. Unfortunately we had to ditch the show, No big deal though, the rest of the night was spent inebriated drinking and smoking more of the weed and booze we had gotten. It was fun regardless, after the rain we meandered in our stupor down some abandoned train tracks near nick’s place and ran out for smokes at the Circle K. The evening ended quietly with us each passing out in our respective places in the living room. The next day after our school lunch Josh and I set to work. Looking on Craigslist we began to plan our next move out of Arizona. On the Rideshare board we found an interesting ad. A woman from California had posted needing someone to assist her 80 some year old father in driving back to Santa Cruz. Reaching out she was laid back about the whole thing and only really concerned that her dad made it back to her family's home in one piece. Her father had been visiting his 90 year old girlfriend in Scottsdale Arizona just outside of Phoenix when he had fallen ill. He was too weak to drive himself back and so Josh and I obliged to help. The family lived in Santa Cruz but were away on vacation in Hawaii at the time. Her sister from New York, however, was not as easy going and wanted our ID’s and personal info. No problem, we faxed them to her promptly that day. The woman from California said we should have no issue with her father, telling us he was an ex CIA agent and full of stories. The plot thickened.

That night we drove through Gilbert out to Tempe one last time. Nick’s 15 year old cousin worked at the Baskin Robbins out there and we were charged with giving her a ride home that evening. After some free Ice Cream and a safe delivery back to her house we retired back at the animal shelter for one final night.

The next day we packed up our gear into Nick’s Car. Leaving behind the Phoenix suburbs we headed towards the city and on into Scottsdale. The day was sweltering, all I could do was press my face up against the cold window in Nick’s beat up late 90’s sedan and gawk at all the interesting new scenery. Finally in Scottsdale the surroundings changed from Urban shops and businesses to gated retirement communities and care homes. Pulling into one of the communities we parked in the driveway of a giant mansion-like single story home with a large solid wood door and wheelchair access ramp to boot. Knocking on the door a CNA answered. In my crusty street clothes with my grindcore band t-shirt and dirty patched up blue jeans I waited while she fetched the older gentleman we would soon be escorting across state lines. As he came to the door I greeted him. Without a second glance at me he insisted we go, I assisted him to his Jeep Wrangler we’d be driving him in. He looked worn and tired, disheveled and barely able to walk across the driveway without becoming fatigued. Climbing into the back seat I helped him and closed the door. Walking around to the passenger seat up front I climbed in, Josh was the designated driver for the whole trip. At 19 I still had not gotten my driver’s license. After seeing the way my father had manipulated and controlled my brother with the debt he owed on his car I had been completely uninterested in a vehicle or my license. Josh had just procured his before leaving Detroit and after seeing how beneficial it could’ve been for us in this circumstance I began to wonder if my all or nothing attitude needed a little flexibility. Waving to the nurses and the man’s 90 year old girlfriend on the porch, we backed out of the driveway underneath the blazing midday sun and headed towards the highway. The trip was a flat desert landscape as we made our way from Phoenix to the edge of California. Crossing the border we found ourselves amongst green irrigated farmland. It was near 5 P.M. when we stopped at a diner for dinner. The old man with his wrinkled blood blistered arms, heaving slowly, emerged from the car with the help of Josh and I. He hobbled slowly along with us as we helped him to the door and into the restaurant. Sitting down at a table the diner felt like something you’d see in a movie. A small highway stop in the middle of nowhere California. A desert side show from the past along route 66. But it wasn’t Route 66 and the desert was now lush with green crops patchworked into the brown dust ridden landscape. Our waitress with a perpetual unamused look on her face and no bullshit demeanor took our order. The old man, not knowing my age, insisted, “get this young man a beer!” Taken aback but not about to deny the moment I asked for a Miller. Turning towards Josh he pointed, “No beer for this guy, he’s driving!” Without an I.D. check the lady went ahead and got me one. Finishing up our meal we helped the guy out to the car and hit the road. By about 9 P.M. The old man didn't seem like he was doing so hot. Heaving in the backseat he told us it was time to find a hotel. Pulling off the highway in Desert Hot Springs we found the one hotel in the area that was open and cheapest. The Aqua Soleil Hotel and Mineral Water Spa. At $80’s a night it was a score for us, the man paid for the whole thing giving us our own room. After making sure he got to his room safely we stripped down to our boxers and hit the pool. The hotel was a three storied stucco building with outdoor room entrances off walkways facing the interior pool area. What luck would have thought we’d end up going from drinking 40’s behind a Sports Authority to swimming in a mineral spa hotel's pool in the middle of the desert? After a while we retired back to our room knowing we'd be up in the morning to drive the whole day to Santa Cruz.

The next morning came fresh and early. We had arranged to come check on the old man around 9 A.M. as he had designated. Up at around 8 A.M. we turned the tv on to find a Lucho Libre match. It was bizarre to see, something I had never witnessed back in Detroit. I loved it, eating the southern Californian culture up. I was amazed at how different and amusing simple things like fast food chains or television programs, the landscape, the Mexican influence, the fact that I had just spent the night at some random spa hotel after driving an 80 year old stranger all day.

Knocking on his door it took about 5 minutes for him to answer. He had been sleeping, asking us to give him a minute while he got ready. He gave us the car keys and twenty bucks instructing us to go get gas and pick up some donuts for breakfast. Finding a donut place just up the street we got a dozen and came back to find him waiting for us in the front lobby. He was fatigued and slow moving as we helped him to the car. Climbing into the backseat, he nearly collapsed as he sat abruptly back almost slumping in place. Asking if he was ok, he ushered us on. Turning onto the highway we passed through the desert landscape just past Joshua Tree and the Salton Sea. A swath of wind turbines filled the desert to our left along the highway. It was a view I only could have imagined in a movie. I ate my donuts in awe at the passing views.

Pulling through Pasadena we stopped off the highway for gas. While not in L.A. proper I could feel the sprawl, nothing but concrete and buildings for miles. Pulling back onto the highway we headed north towards Glendale to merge onto the 5. We would follow the 5 all the way up to Paso Robles before taking the scenic way, turning off onto highway 1. The old man insisted, knowing I had never been, despite his health and state, knowing the trip would take longer. We just did as we were told as he cajolled us forward toward the turnoff.

The 1 was slow going, winding turns almost nauseating on a belly of donuts and Hardees from earlier that afternoon. The weather was turning and after leaving bright dry hot and sunny Desert Hot Springs that morning, the air had cooled into crispy misty grey ocean fog with occasional precipitation. Up the coast jagged cliffs dropped to our left around hairpin turns. It was Josh’s first car drive beyond minor grocery store runs back in Detroit. Several hours passed as the sheer cliff faces of Highway 1 began to level. Nearing our way towards Monterrey we began to see signs of sea life on the beaches. Seals, people kite surfing and fishing and seafood restaurants all began appearing along the bay. The old man was tired slumping away from the window towards the middle of the bench seating in the back. Checking on him periodically he was falling in and out of sleep with the occasional labored wheezing. Worried but feeling as though he would make it we pressed on. Talking to him briefly I had questioned him about his time in the CIA. All he had to say to me was, Yes he had worked for the CIA and that John Mccain was his ticket for the next presidential election. After a grueling almost 9 hour trip we finally made our way around Monterey Bay and up to Scotts Valley where he lived just outside of Santa Cruz.

Helping him out of the car, we grabbed his things and were greeted by his in-laws. Insisting we have a beer, a woman who I assumed was a distant relative and two guys in their 20’s helped him to his bedroom. There in the kitchen they pulled a 4 pack of some fancy beer and handed two to us, popping the tops off we drank. Sitting around the kitchen counter we talked briefly and they asked us what we wanted to do. Our options were to stay the night at there place and catch a ride into Santa Cruz the next morning or they could drop us off in town that night. I personally was comfortable and hands down ready for another night in a bed. Josh’s masochistic fearful self had some other plans, and after deliberation he insisted we ride into town that night. He wanted to catch the earliest bus possible up to Willet’s where his aunt lived and his family was all getting together. After getting dropped off in downtown Santa Cruz we wandered over to the Greyhound Station. The sun had gone down when we had arrived at the old man's house and it was nearing 10 P.M. now. Tired, but in a new place, we deliberated on what to do after finding out what time the bus station opened the next morning. I wanted to go explore, Josh wanted to sit in one place and not do anything. It felt like Josh was becoming more of a mental ball and chain then a source of companionship or camaraderie. “Sit there,” I told him, “I'm gonna go check out downtown.” Walking through the streets I was in disbelief. Here I was, in a place I had heard and read so much about as a young skater. Walking down the avenue the night was full and alive with evening activity. Passing a young dready dude about my height he whispered at me, “you need weed?” Stopping I looked at him and without a second thought, “yeah,” I said. $10 for a gram. The exchange was quick. The weed smelled better than what I had gotten back in Detroit. Sitting down on a bench I pulled my pocket knife out and cut a slit in the waistband of my jeans. Stuffing the cellophane bag in my waistband I walked back to Josh who was sitting with my bag. I had no intention of telling him, he was already paranoid and a buzzkill, I wasn't about to give him an inch more to freak out whine or complain about, especially since we were heading to weed country via Greyhound and had heard reports of random drug dog checks on the busses. After finding Josh we wandered around looking for a good spot to lie down. Finding an outdoor eating area of a closed cafe that was cordoned off by a row of flower planters, we made some room for ourselves, rolling out our sleeping bags on the ground in between the inside of the planters and the tables and chairs. The night sky was overcast and we were not sure if it would rain. Looking up at the sky you could feel the wetness in the wind but no rain came. The air was heavy with a fog and the chill from the ocean would come and go intermittently. This part of California was much cooler than I expected, especially for early summer.

Around 1 A.M. we heard it. A cry, a whaling cry of agony. Not far away but from the doorway of the cafe whose patio we were occupying. I looked up and out from my sleeping bag. A homeless woman had perched in the doorframe and was rocking back and forth moaning and crying incoherently. Her ear piercing screech cut through any semblance of quiet that had settled, stirring us both from our drowsy half awakened slumber. It was sad, freaky and above all maddening as I grasped at the precious few hours of sleep that were still available before the bus station opened. The woman did not let up and after a tireless night and several other homeless folks yelling at her from their respective sleeping places, we crawled out of our bags and slowly made our way to the bus terminal. It was 5 A.M. Buying two tickets to Willets we had a two hour layover in San Fran. Climbing onto the bus we found our respective seats and pulling my sleeping bag out I crawled back in. Sitting against the window and sprawled across the empty row. No one was on this bus, at least not enough people to warrant a random person sitting down next to me. Watching the city pass by we pulled out in the wet misty morning dawn, the sun was blocked out by the fog and smoke from the wildfires. Riding north back up through Scotts Valley we took the 17 all the way to San Jose before cutting further North on I 280 towards San Fran. It was still foggy and the sun was vacant in the San Francisco morning air. The misty cool from the Pacific filtered its way in and around the buildings, engulfing them in a foggy haze that made me wonder if I had been duped by all I was told about California sun. Not about to sit in the San Fran Greyhound Station for the next 2 hours we wandered down the stairs to the bottom floor of the building and outside onto the street. It was late morning and our bus wouldn’t arrive till 1 P.M. Wandering out down the street we found a Subway. For $5 you could not go wrong, with 1 sub being enough for almost two meals I got a foot long and a cookie. Wandering around the streets, Pride fest was that day but aside from a few tell tale signs; banners and random people walking around in rainbow colored everything, the streets were barren. What bizarre coincidence to have wandered through the city on its most well known holiday.

Nearing noon the fog began to clear and the clouds parted, the sun in all its warm glory glowed through the lingering ambient haze and we watched the city slowly begin to liven up. It was a Sunday afterall and so as to be expected there was a lull in life. Around 12:30 we headed back into the terminal to the upstairs where our departure line was beginning to form. Making sure we got a good footing towards the front we sat in line and waited. Making casual conversation with those around us, it seemed the demographic who used the Greyhounds was much more diverse out here on the west coast than that of the midwest or east. Many people from different backgrounds; races, colors, etc. everyone wasn't strictly hampered by poverty. The culture was expansive, new, fresh and not as restricted and tied down to traditions and historical values as the east and midwest seemed to be. The landscape reflected the vibe with sweeping ocean vistas and forests, and, while the cities like San Fran were densely populated, in between was wild wide open land. From mountain ranges to desert to quiet uninhabited beaches.

In the Greyhound Station Josh and I stepped out of line, getting our neighbors behind us to watch our bags. Walking over to the desk Josh went to check on something while I used the bathroom. After meeting him over at the desk we were approached by some random dude claiming he was in the area filming a movie and one of his family members had passed away. He asked if we could spare him some cash for a ticket. Josh and I looked at each other, neither of us trusted the dude. It almost felt like he was acting himself, going into what felt like an embellished rant about how the last person he asked insulted him with a racial slur. We both said, “no,” “sorry dude we're strapped ourselves, we just spent last night outside.” We both found it funny, this guy was asking some random kids for money. Maybe he was that desperate.

Without a second thought we stepped back into line and waited. Finally 20 minutes after our departure time the bus arrived and after everyone from the previous journey had gotten off the bus and retrieved their cargo we single filed onto the bus. Sitting next to the window a girl slightly older than us situated herself in the seat in front. We began talking. She was from Ann Arbor Michigan and had just flown into San Fran to head north into Mendocino for a job trimming weed for the summer. We talked about gender politics, Josh had never heard the term “pansexual” until I had told him that was how I Identified. With a slight challenge he asked the girl if she had ever heard the term. She was a lesbian and well versed in her own knowledge of the culture and confirmed that it was a thing. Sitting back in our seats we watched as our bus pulled across the bay bridge into Oakland before turning north towards San Rafael. Through several stops the bus dropped people off and took people on. My mind occasionally came back to the gram of weed in my waistband at each stop. Staying vigilant for any sign of cops and weed sniffing dogs. No such encounter thankfully. Near 7 P.M. We finally pulled through the tiny main street of Willits. Walking down the avenue we ogled at all the cool hippy stores and health food spots. It was like we had just entered a little elf community tucked deep in the redwoods. Walking from one end of downtown to the other, Josh and I rounded a corner past the railroad tracks where the Safeway was. There at the edge of the parking lot a camper van sat. Walking by, a guy stuck his head out the back of the camper door. “Hey! You got any weed?” “Yeah,” I said. Excited to try out this gram I had copped back in Santa Cruz I walked on ahead of Josh to the camper and climbed inside. Three dirty hippie kids maybe 5 years older than me sat weary. Handing me a bowl I packed it and the guy who had asked took a hit. Coughing he dumped it onto the dirty carpet of the van. “This shit is fucked! Let me smoke you out.” Taking out some weed from behind him he said, “This is the stuff we were growing. It’s called Herojuana.” Lighting it and passing it around, the next few hours were a slow and sluggish down tempo blur. Josh and I had quickly exited the camper after the first go around, in haste to meet his aunt at the north end of the main drag where the bottom of the hill their neighborhood sat on began. Finally getting to the bottom of the hill we waited. The twilight was creeping through the leaves of the giant redwoods that dwarfed all around us. I sluggishly put my pack down, still blitzed from earlier. His aunt showed up in her SUV around 5 minutes later and we piled in. She was on a taco run and driving by the local taqueria picked us up some burritos for dinner. I was so grateful, sinking my teeth into Mexican food in California was a whole new experience. Everything tasted that much better. Driving back to the house we were offered Tecates and or a glass of Franzia and were soon greeted by the rest of Josh’s family. His uncle who owned the place worked for a Mexican gang in town outfitting cars with hidden compartments for smuggling folks across the border. His other uncle and his wife had flown in from Germany, Sitting on the fireplace ledge Josh and I ate our burritos. I was still completely blitzed out of my mind from the herojuana I had smoked earlier. Letting Josh do the talking I sipped my Tecate and stared off, through whatever object was immediately in my line of sight. The evening wore on and we all moved out to the porch. It was an odd gathering. Josh’s cousin Olivia was back home visiting from college. Around our age she was not invited to hangout and drink with the rest of us. It was as though Josh and I were welcomed separately as adults whereas her dad still sought to preserve her innocence. There on the porch we drank Franzia and I pulled out the remainder of my weed I had bought in Santa Cruz. Without a second thought I had rolled a joint and lit it up offering to the rest of Josh’s family sitting around me. No one batted an eye, later though, Josh would tell me how surprised his aunt was at my nonchalant attitude toward smoking weed around them. I guess I had overestimated the overall attitude towards marijuana in Mendocino County. While it was weed country it still was legal and despite Josh’s uncles profession the family was still invested in keeping up appearances. After a late night beer run I passed out on the porch. The next morning I awoke to the smell of homemade pancakes wafting from the kitchen. Josh’s aunt was in the middle of breakfast and after getting my plate I scarfed them down. Another contingent of his family unit was due to arrive later that day. After our morning breakfast Josh’s uncle and his wife from Germany invited us to join them for a ride out to Fort Bragg on the coast. Winding through the misty fog of the coastal hills and redwoods we made our way to Glass Beach. The weather was overcast with a slight chill that made us dawn our hoodies. Josh’s uncle had bought a new longboard and eager to try it out, he cruised around the parking lot while we situated ourselves outside of the car.. Strolling across the main drag to the beach we clamored up and around the numerous boulders that sat atop each other littering the ocean side. Eyeing the random specimens of coastal sea life that swam around in their unique micro environments we crisscrossed rocks traversing the sea-glass laden beach and its tide pools. It was a whole new world for me. I had never seen sea glass nor had I had the chance to play in the Pacific. It was my first time meeting this great western ocean. After a few hours of exploring we decided to drive north through the hills and surrounding area. Josh’s uncle pointed out several significant places their family had lived and dwelled when his uncle was growing up. An old logging business and dilapidated house in the middle of the redwoods were just a few spots. Circling back east into Willits we found Josh’s aunt, who we’d soon be staying with, had arrived with her 1 year old. They were planning sushi that night and after meeting Wendy I decided to go on a grocery store run. Wendy was the youngest and sort of the black sheep of the family. As a youngster she had left home and hitchhiked up and down the California coast living on the street. Josh’s family at this gathering, for the most part, seemed to be in a place of recovering from the pervasive indoctrination they had endured growing up as Jehovah’s Witnesses. The next day saw us fumbling around the house, painting a gazebo in his aunt's front yard before going by his uncle’s mechanic shop to pick up some carne asada he had been marinating all day. That night the whole family gathered with some of Josh’s uncles friends for a Mexican barbecue, Casadores and Squirt, Tecates, elotes and tacos con carne asada were on the menu. The night faded into another drunken celebration.I woke up the next morning in my sleep bag against the hard tile floor. On the couch next to me was Josh. The clamor from the kitchen and wafting scent of fried eggs filled the room stirring us from our lingering haze of the night before. Josh’s aunt walked over with two plates of eggs and handed them to us. Sitting up she looked at both of us and commented on how nice I was to give Josh the couch. “Nice”, however, wasn’t the word. As independent as I was and as much as I had acted out as a way of defending and protecting myself I had also been in the business of rolling over, playing dead and over giving. It was a relational habit I had not come to understand yet and had plagued me in the few partners I had been with. My sense of independence and individuality had long kept it from affecting any friendships as I had never allowed others to get so involved or close that I would feel an obligation to give more than I had. This situation with Josh had me in a different sorts and I now had found myself going from a casual travel partnership where it was easy to distinguish where I was going to feeling intertwined in survival mode with him. While going along with Josh may have looked like the more logical approach to the situation, being that we could have each others backs in tight situations and look out for one another I was finding myself, however minor the circumstances, giving way and allowing my autonomy and decision making to be influenced by my own fears of abandonment and lack of self worth. Truth be told, the reason why I had never really let anyone close enough and when I did I became entangled in them was because I had never been taught to value who I was. My family had always been so controlling and emotionally manipulative, often holding love, praise and belonging as a prize for conforming to a social identity and set of performance standards. Often the price for not fitting in or choosing differently wasn't just a disagreement but violent reactivity and punitive measures and all of this saw me only pushing back harder. I had come to learn that their control was contingent upon one thing, my complicity. Nights spent getting chased up the street by my father in his underwear yelling after coming home late continuously. Huddled, hiding under a trampoline in a neighbor's yard without a coat as it snowed. Kicked across the floor curled in a ball and locked in the basement finding a screwdriver to protect myself. My grades had never been good enough, It was the very reason I had rebelled so hard and left, or at least one of them.

After scarfing down our respective plates of fried eggs and pancakes we circled up with the rest of the family who were all filtering there way into the kitchen. The plan was a family caravan to Reno. Josh’s uncle was footing the bill. Into Wendy’s boxy Chevy Astro we piled; Josh, his aunt whose house we were staying at, Olivia his cousin, Wendy’s little boy and me. It was a beautiful ride, down through Lake county and out towards the Sierra Nevada’s stopping in the mountains to pee and get some fresh air. Cresting the Sierras the view into Nevada lay awash with a desert brown that spanned the horizon. It was a jaw dropping sight as we made our descent into the low desert scape towards Reno. The winding road into the city brought us to a Subway sandwich shop on the edge of town. Hungry as all ever we bought a few subs in an attempt to satiate our bellies as we held out for the rest of the party to arrive. Finally after another half hour we had all regrouped and made our way to the casino we were staying at that night. It was a trip literally and figuratively, in a matter of 1 month I had gone from walking across the stage for a late highschool graduation, to surviving a freight train ride through devastating flooding in Iowa and sweltering heat in the Mojave, to driving an old man in his car more than halfway up the west coast to now this. My world was in an ever evolving state of change and unfolding and while some parts of the journey may have been terrifying I was learning more about myself and the world in the only real way that I had ever learned, by doing. Aside from the trauma fueled codependence of my relationship with Josh I was beginning to find myself increasingly in a state of flow, ever present and in constant discovery of each moment. The casino was a different world and while the bright lights, slots and random oddities that came with the experience were entertaining I was finding myself more and more infatuated with Olivia, Josh’s cousin. Our age, Olivia was quiet and there was a quality to her that I had been attracted to in other girls. Maybe it was a sadness or a pain I could resonate with, whatever the case I had not yet at this juncture found the skill of assertive confidence I needed to pursue her with any real outcome. I found myself frightened and stunted in my ability to actually be comfortable enough with myself, to be comfortable with her and find myself worthy of the companionship and intimacy I longed for. My issues with worthiness and codependent patterns were finding me once again unaware of their gravity and hold on me.

Walking through the Casino’s hotel; Olivia, Josh, Wendy, her little boy and I found our way through the maze of different spectacles, games, bars and slots to our hotel room for the night. Settling into the room we put on a movie for Wendy’s little boy. Near 11:00 p.m. Josh’s aunt (Olivia’s mom) called our room asking for one of us to walk Olivia back to her room through the hotel. I volunteered, with nervousness in my heart and stomach I walked her back still unable to find the words or courage to say anything. I didn’t even know the girl but I was gushing inside. The night was much less eventful than I had expected. Arriving back at the room with Wendy and the others we promptly called it a night and hit the sack. The next day saw us up and at em for an early morning breakfast buffet. Being all you can eat Josh and I stuffed our faces with anticipation for the road ahead hoping we would save money by filling up on what we could. After breakfast we strolled through the hotel and down to the street below wandering around the surrounding area of the casino. Finding a pawn shop Josh stopped inside and copped himself a Leatherman. Walking further on, we finally circled back to the cars, picking up the rest of everyone's luggage back at the hotel.

Driving northwest out of Reno we headed to Josh’s grandparents for a short visit. They were the stronghold of the Jehovah’s Witness influence on his family and seemed to be the source of all family contention. Wendy had not talked to them in years and there was a sort of disconnect between the grandparents and later generations. Everyone after them had either been disowned for outright defiance of the faith or simply shamed silently for quietly choosing a different lifestyle. Arriving in the small eastern California town it was a simple strip of houses with a shopping center at the end of the main drag. It could've been anywhere USA and honestly felt like some small country town in Oklahoma or the midwest. Nothing empty land for miles. There was a stillness and quiet in the air. The wind blew about in a darkened ominous hue forewarning of a storm in the possible future. Arriving at the grandparents house the old man sat in place with an oxygen tank tubed up his nose. His wife, spry and in much better health seemed to zing about greeting everyone as they exited their cars. Kindness oozed from her lips but nowhere else. It was a kind of superficial buffer between the people she loved or wanted to or thought she must and the fear of hell from her faith that she chose. The heartbreak lingered in the air along with the stillness of the threatening weather. Darkened skies but quiet. You wouldn't know it unless you had read it before in your own life. Wendy spoke to her father in private with her family hovering around the conversation. The diplomacy was cutting and just that, political, with religious posturing overriding any sense of love or affiliation. Wendy walked out devastated but strong. Abandonment is a strange horse but so often the achilles heel of family trauma is the expectation of the love you were supposed to receive from someone who never received or learned to give it to themselves. Sitting on the porch we deliberated what we would do that night. Upon arrival we had scanned the surrounding neighborhood. Maybe we would hitchhike out of town the next morning. Josh’s grandfather who was sitting nearby scanned us up and down. Me in my grindcore t-shirt and Josh with his neck tattoo and piercings, “you boys better not think you're sleeping here tonight,” he said. According to the Jehovah's Witnesses we were worldly, “other”, and probably going to hell. Scanning the baseball diamond across the street we noticed the dugout and decidedly said to each other, “If all else fails tonight we’ll sleep there.” It all depended on what everyone else was doing. There was talk between Josh’s two Uncles and aunt about whether they would attempt to camp out at his grandparents house or whether we would all split up and head out of town that night. After Wendy finished talking to her father, that was it, we were leaving. Piling into Wendy’s Car; Josh Wendy’s little boy, Wendy and I saddled up in her old Astro and said goodbye. Josh’s grandmother looked at me from outside the sliding door of the backseat of Wendy’s van. With a hopeless half smile she said to Josh’s aunt “once a kid always a kid.” As if to defer her inability to associate with me by claiming my innocence. It was an interesting experience to see how deep the pain had seeped its way in between everyone. Pulling out Josh and I listened to Wendy as she told us what had happened. I entertained her little boy in the backseat as she cried and spilled her pain driving through the evening dark toward Klamath Falls Oregon.

When we arrived that night in K Falls we were greeted by her then husband Chris.

With red hair and a jolly smile he greeted me warmly and both him and Wendy spoke about how nervous they had been when Josh had mentioned another friend from the street would be coming with. For the past few days I had taken to Wendy’s little boy like a babysitter. I loved little kids and throughout highschool I had talked about wanting to be a midwife. When our health class was charged with taking home microchipped baby dolls that we had to feed, burp etc our teacher asked who the class thought would get the best grade and all fingers pointed to me. Lo and behold they were right. I had an affiliation with kids, something about their innocence did resonate with me and although I had been through so much my heart was still preserved.

Chris and Wendy commiserated over how comfortable and happy Wendy was, with how I took care of her little guy. Bringing the rest of our stuff in the house we chatted some more, eating cantaloupe with salt in the kitchen before settling down on the two sofas in the living room and falling asleep.