Southern California Commute

(Cheyenne, 1988)

{When Cheyenne is moving in with Nikki. and he thinks it's a good idea to drive from the East coast to the West. I'm from Hemet California, not a long distance from L.A so i spent a lot of time in the city. It's pretty much a rural area in Hemet, the town i grew up in, but once you get out on the freeway, it's amazing. There are no feeder roads in Southern California like there is in Texas and it's totally a different planet, it seems. I'm trying to portray that here, in this story. I imagine that Nikki hasn't really explained to Cheyenne where they are going so she has a meltdown when they cross the deserts in Nevada, thinking that's where she is going to live. I remember Cheyenne showing me pictures of where she lived in Colorado and it appeared to be nothing more than sand and dirt. So i imagine that she wouldn't want to be living in that sort of place again, hence her break down. Sorry if i gave a little too much information, Chey, but it only makes sense with this story.}

At first, I wept dramatically in the backseat of the Mustang, clutching a wadded-up Kleenex to my red, runny nose. But each time i wailed, Gizmo lifted his little head and wailed with me.

"Nikki, how could you doooooo this! What's so wrong with Philly?" I bellowed.

Ahhhoooooo! Gizmo imitated me. Oooh, oooh.

Gizmo's howl made Nikki laugh, which really made me mad. So, eventually, i let the tears flow soundlessly down my cheeks. I suffered in the loudest silence i could muster.

I'd seen the outskirts of Barstow before. On TV, when the news rovers landed on Mars and dune-buggied around and sent those orange pictures back to us. That's what Interstate Fifteen to Barstow looked like. Mars. Only without the orange color. As far as the eye could see was dirt and sand and scruffy scrub dotting the planetary landscape. As we drove further into oblivion, i felt so low i could walk under a snake with a beehive hairdo. There wasn't even a Burger King. I mean, you could die out there.

"You've got to be kidding." It was all i could say between bursts of tears. Over and over, "You have got to be kidding me."

"It's a desert, honey," Nikki said by way of explanation.

"No way."

"Really, it's the Mojave Desert."

"I know it's a desert! No way am i living in the middle of a desert. What's going on? Why are we here?"

Nikki ignored my question, just as he'd done for the past hour. After a year of of watching him not tell me the truth about all kinds of stuff, i knew he could easily not tell me why we were moving for the entire car ride there. Which is exactly what he did (and didn't) do. Stubbornly, he stared through the windshield, following the U-Move truck with Gizmo and I squished into the Mustang.

We drove forever on the freeway. At first, it was bumper-to-bumper traffic, one driver per car, a paper-wrapped sandwich in one hand, coffee mug in the other-the typical southern California commute. Nikki didn't seem to care, settled his fanny into the car seat, and propped his elbow on the windowsill. I leaned my head against the window and let Gizmo lick the tears off my face.

By the time we reached Pasadena, the traffic had thinned out and the U-Move became a smaller square ahead of us. At the junction to Interstate Fifteen, the truck was hardly visible, he was so far ahead.

"Do you think he's trying to ditch us?" Nikki said, joking.

I barely smiled.

By the time the landscape became lunar, we'd driven about two hours. I was cried out, exhausted by despair. Gizmo was softly snoring on my lap.