A Trip to Vegas

Yes, a trip to Vegas some time ago, when civilization grew tiresome.

"I wanna see the good stuff," says Dana. "You gotta go to Vegas and figure out for yourself what that is for you."

As we drive through the mountainous desert, we went over the list of the top 100 American movies, trying to figure out how many each of us had seen. I'd seen about thirty. From what others said, I realize a few I want to see, like The Godfather, Stage Coach, Easy Rider, and Full Meteal Jacket.

After drinking myself silly from wine-in-a-box the night before, it was comforting to be in my right mind. I was in a good state to be driving, but Kyle was behind the wheel instead. After discussing the movies, we need to relax, and experience one of those moments of quiet reflection which punctuate our times together. We're listening to Motorhead, Sam's choice. I'm grateful.

Dana and I take up the back seat. He talks to me a bit about his sales job, how he does it and what it means to him. Then silence again as we look out the window at the clean canvas of desert pavement, the surface on which we and our parents built our lives and our meaning. So many possibilities. And then a great dread fell upon me, as upon Abraham many years before.

"You know, a lot of things that are wrong elsewhere are okay in Vegas," Dana inserts into the silence.

"Prostitution? Hasty marriages?" I ask.

"A lot of things, Shane," he replies forebodingly.

"Yeah. I like being able to walk around with alcohol and leave it anywhere," Kyle adds in his humorous, yet frighteningly serious way. We pass Baker, gateway to Death Valley, which boasts of the world's largest thermometer. It's one of those towns whose elevation is higher than its population. Which says a lot in this part of the country where elevations hover near sea level.

I look forward to wearing my eye patch for a while, so I can open it in the midst of Vegas madness.

Dana has already won $2000 at craps, daydreaming.

We all look out the window, and carry on.

As the sun was setting, I fell into a deep sleep, and a thick and dreadful darkness came over me. On one side, I saw Yahweh, and on the other, an impregnable darkness, like words without truth. Inside of me, I could see I was staring down a beast whose ability to reason had atrophied, whose heart was sinking in darkness. Like the Congo in Joseph Conrad's story, we rode that highway further and further into the heart of that darkness. Who or what would be my Kurtz? Could I overcome him? Help me, Yahweh.