Carson City

Tahoe

South Lake Tahoe looks ridiculous when you approach it via Highway 50 from either direction. It sits in a basin at the top of a very large mountain. It is a very large natural lake. Everyone knows that it is nowhere near the size of a great lake, or even the Great Salt Lake a few hundred miles to the east, but when you are right there near the lake it really feels like an inland ocean. It is impossibly blue and impossibly deep. Scientists estimate that if Lake Tahoe were somehow drained, say to water crops in the fertile valleys down either side of the Sierra Nevada range, it would take more than seven hundred years for the lake to refill naturally. Lake Tahoe is easily the most beautiful lake I have ever seen.

I was approaching Tahoe from the west, the cliff side. Highway 50 leaves Sacramento as a freeway, passes through outlying bedroom communities, past historic Folsom and the posh El Dorado Hills and into the old mining town of Placerville. There’s a stoplight there and once you pass it the highway winds as a two lane road up, up, and up the Sierra Nevadas. In March the snowline could be anywhere. Eventually you climb past that magical elevation and the forest becomes a frozen wonderland. In this year of drought the snowline was particularly high. It was warm and even the deepest of snows were melting, first out of trees, then off deep-mulched soils, but clinging still to rocks and anything in the shade. By the time I reached the edge of the cliff where the highway begins a sharp zigzag down into the Tahoe basin the sun was high and the view was breathtaking. It always is.

There was no snow in the basin this March save for a few traces hidden in shadows behind the dumpsters of the restaurants, hotels, and casinos which line the highway in the not-so-twin towns of South Lake Tahoe, California and Stateline, Nevada, which occupy the flat land on the south side of the enormous lake. The California side looks like any mountain lake resort town in America might look, log buildings with dark green roofs, easy parking and breathtaking views from any perspective. The Nevada side looks like Las Vegas, but with far better views. Every time I drive through there I wonder why anyone ever goes to Las Vegas, when they could be at Lake Tahoe instead. I suppose it is easier to justify staying inside all day and night when you know there is nothing worth looking at outside.

Twelve hours earlier I had been in Midtown Sacramento, as usual, sitting on the porch at Carlyle’s, as usual, drinking beers with a couple of my closest friends, as usual.

“Why are you going to Carson?” Mack asked me.

“It has to be done. For one thing my sister needs me. She is all alone up there with her one-eyed dog and she doesn’t like to go out by herself. She needs someone to show her a good time. She still isn’t over that terrible breakup she had last year and she needs to see that the world is full of good people and fun times.”

“Yes I recall hearing all about that breakup last time she was here.”

“And for another thing, I need to get out of town. I just need a change of scenery but also I need to start setting a precedent with my kids, so they know I am not always available to fetch them what they want and drive them where they want to go, particularly when it is supposed to be their weekend with their mother. They can hassle me next weekend.”

Mack says “Dad of the year over here” as we clink our half-empty pints together.

“Word.”

Mexican Gulch

When I arrived at Jaime’s place she and Mike were just getting ready to leave for their regular Saturday walk. They had been waiting for me to arrive. She knows I like to walk. The three of us climbed into her new truck, a stark-white four-wheel drive model with big tires which, when viewed directly from the front, looks remarkably similar to one of Lucas’ storm troopers. Driving a truck like that is a good way to fit in when you live in a place like Carson City.

“How are you not a lesbian?” I asked as we approached the truck from the front, it was backed into a parking space. It looked to me like it was showing off just sitting there.

“Shut-up asshole.” She laughed as she punched me on the arm.

Mike climbed into a little basket strapped about midway up the back of the rear passenger side seat. That’s the side on which he also has his eye. I suppose his basket might be on the driver’s side if his eye was on that side of his head. Mike is small but he still likes to look out the window, and apparently he prefers to be comfortable while he does.

“I’m so glad you are here” Jaime said to me as we drove through town. “I don’t get many visitors. I have so many things I want to show you. I mean things out here I think are cool, stuff I like to do, and I think you will like them also. I really have been having a lot of fun trying new things since last time you were here. Mike and I have a lot of time on our hands.”

We pulled up a gravel road and parked near what looked like a small house and stables. It was some kind of working museum. We dismounted from the truck.

“This is all BLM land around here, this whole end of the valley, and all of it is open to the public. Mike and I like to walk up to the dam over here. Over there by the house you can sometimes see owls in the trees. Wait it looks like there might be one up there now.”

We looked way up at the tops of the trees and instinctively began walking toward them, owl hunting. Mike suddenly stopped to drop a load on the gravel.

“Really Mike? Here?”

We paused and waited for him.

“We will pick that up on our way back out.” Jaime said, to Mike, not to me. We never picked it up.

We walked a small arc from the truck around near the house and stared up at the tops of the trees which someone no doubt carefully and lovingly planted in the front yard of the farmhouse a long time ago. There were no other trees like these around. The high Nevada desert does not produce a lot of trees, and the trees it does sustain naturally do not grow this tall. These cottonwoods were probably a hundred feet tall. Their roots had found the well.

“Do you see it? Up there in the center near the top, it looks like a little clump of dead mistletoe, like a disease.”

I saw it. There was definitely an owl up there. It was a gray one, with a white beard and brows.

“It seems like it should be all white this time of year. It’s rare to see an owl during the day. I always come here hoping to see one. I think it is good luck. I always feel like if I see an owl out here I am going to have a good week.”

I didn’t mention that in almost every world culture that has known them, owls have been interpreted as a foreboding omen of some kind. I didn’t see the point. Jaime’s owl was good luck.

We walked away down a gravel path that turned to a dirt road. The road followed an irrigation ditch. A couple miles down there was a pedestal holding a plaque. The plaque held a story. It was an historical marker describing historic Mexican Gulch.

“This is all historic out here. These gulches and dams were designed and built by the miners in the 1800s. They irrigated this whole valley so they could grow crops.”

“Yes I think I have read all about it. Mark Twain spent a significant amount of time in this area. He had mining interests all through here when he was a young man. He was the editor of the paper in Virginia City. He wrote volumes about his adventures around here. I just finished reading the first half of his autobiography.”

“Oh yeah I was going to tell you that when Mike and I were out walking in town the other day we passed an old house that had a sign on it saying Mark Twain lived here.”

“I believe it. He wrote about renting a number of different rooms. He was the kind of guy who liked to move around a lot anyway. Sort of like us, like the way Mom and Dad always wanted to move someplace new every few years, and they raised us to feel that urge.”

“Do you really think this place is cool or are you just fucking with me?”

“No I really do think it is cool. I like to walk. I am always interested in history, and Mexican gulches are some of my favorite types of gulches.”

“You are such a nerd. Did Mark Twain really write volumes about this area?”

“One of my favorite of his novels chronicles his adventures here in Carson City, Virginia City, trips to Sacramento and Tahoe. He even has a chapter about passing through Salt Lake City on his way out here in the 1860s which is really hilarious. His brother was secretary of the Nevada Territory appointed by President Lincoln. Twain came west with him just for the fuck of it. He lived here several years.”

“Is it a true story? You called it a novel.”

“Well I guess like anything Twain wrote it is largely autobiographical. But there are definitely elements of fiction. My favorite passage is one where he describes watching a buffalo climb a tree. He swears it happened but that’s what I love so much about Twain. Clearly that part is fiction. The book is called Roughing It and it has been in and out of print over the years, I think because it is insanely racist against American Indians, but there are copies around.”

“A buffalo climbing a tree?”

“Yeah, it’s pretty funny.”

My phone rang. Caller ID suggested it was my teenage son Langston. It wasn’t.

“Hello? You need what? I can’t do it. No I can’t do it. I am not in town. I am not even in the state. Tomorrow afternoon. That’s the best I can do. Whatever.”

Mike, Jaime and I walked on.

“Is everything ok? Does Langston need you?”

“That wasn’t Langston. That was a ruse intended to get me to answer my phone. But everything is fine. 

People just seem to have a problem with me not being around, even for a little while.”

“Oh. Man that sucks that you have to deal with that all the time. Still I am glad that you are here. So is Mike.”

Mike didn’t give a shit.

“So Mom and Dad are still talking about moving.”

“I know” I laughed “I don’t think they are just thinking about it, though that’s what they keep saying. They have decided. They are just trying to bring the rest of us along.”

“They are cleaning stuff out of the house to get ready for moving. Mom says she wants to have a kids’ day for us to all come over and get our stuff. Apparently we all still have a bunch of stuff at their house. I think you are right, they have definitely decided. They even went to church in the new place, to see what it is like.”

“When Mom and Dad go to church in a new place it means they are moving there.”

“I wish they would move here. They could buy such a nice house, and I could drive them to all their appointments. And they love Mike. But Mom doesn’t like it here. She says it’s not green enough.”

“Yeah I think that’s why they want to move south to the Delta. It’s a lower cost of living and still green. Though it won’t help Mom’s fear of flood. Dad tells me he is pretty sure they can sell the big house for enough money to pay cash for a smaller place down there. That’s what he is worried about now that he is retired. He still has five years left on the mortgage. “

“It’s crazy to move away from your children when you are their age.”

“That’s a really good point.”

“I wish they would come here. They could buy a really nice house here for cash and still have plenty of money in the bank.”

“That’s true. And it isn’t so far away that the rest of us wouldn’t see them nearly as much as we do now. I know my kids would love an excuse to drive over the mountains to see Grandma and Grandpa. I think all the grandkids would.”

“Right?”

“But then again, I don’t know how many chances in life parents ever get to move away from their kids. I can’t say for sure I wouldn’t do the same thing if I had the opportunity.”

“You are such a nerd.”

We finished walking to the dam. Then we walked back to her truck. 

The Archer in the Hills 

“We need to go find my friend George. He loaned me some trail maps and I need to get them back to him. He is a really cool guy. He took me out bow shooting a couple weeks ago. He’s Indian and I don’t know what it is, but he is very mellow. He has what I think is this very Indian way about him.”

“Right on. Where do we find him?”

“I know he is up in these hills over here somewhere shooting today. So we will just go off-road for a while and find him. I think I know where he will be. I love driving around up here. There’s hardly anyone else around.”

We left the paved road for a gravel one. Soon the gravel gave way to soft, clean, beige dirt. It looked like it had been recently placed to cover the erosion of the winter just barely past. We stopped and shifted the truck into four-wheel-drive. We continued.

“It was so good for me to get out shooting with him. I really needed to get out with new people and try new things and he convinced me. I think you will like him. He works in Indian affairs. He meets with all the local tribes and bands. He knows all the history of all the native peoples in this area. He showed me all around and explained everything and told me all these great stories, some really sad stories. Do you know a lot about the history of Native Americans?”

“I took a couple courses in college, one on Native American History, and one on Native Californian History. And I have watched a lot of documentaries. I know more about California Indians than I do about others.”

“It’s really sad. Anyway I told him I wanted to explore all these hills around here in my truck and he has all these maps of trails and different historic sites and things around here. It was really cool of him to lend them to me. I have had them for a while. I need to return them today.”

“Ok. I am up for whatever. I don’t have any particular agenda today. I am interested though at some point going to get some food and some beers.”

“Do you want to go back to the place we went last time?”

“No let’s try something new while I am out here. I am sure there are other places in town with good beer. And I can more or less always find something to eat.”

“Oh we can go to that Eastern Sierra place. That’s right downtown.”

“Sounds good.”

We crawled and bumped along over the soft dirt, some large boulders, up hills and down, looking for an Indian named George. We found him.

“There he is. Oh good. Don’t you think it is funny that I can just go four-wheeling through the hills to find a friend of mine? I think that’s funny.”

“It is definitely something new for me. I have never driven around off-road in the hills of the desert to find a friend.”

We pulled in front of a red pickup. It was a full-size longbed model. Jaime let Mike out. She walked to where George was standing with his bow in hand, hay-bale targets set up slightly downhill in the distance behind him. He had watched us approach.

“Hey there!” He said to Jaime. He did not seem surprised to see her. He petted Mike, who was already at his feet.

“How’s the shooting going?” She asked him. He told her. Apparently it was not as well as he had hoped.

“This is my brother. He is out visiting from Sacramento.”

He shook my hand. “Good to know you. Getting away for the weekend?”

“You could say that. It’s always fun to come to Carson and hang out with my big sister.”

“I have your maps. We came to return them. Thanks again for loaning them to me.”

He dropped the maps on the open tailgate of his truck, among bags of gear, some loose arrows, binoculars, a thermos and a coffee cup. He was drinking the coffee. We made some more small talk. They talked about work. He asked me about my job. I told him about it. After just a few minutes we were on our way again, over the hills and far away. The maps had been safely delivered.

“He seems like a nice guy. Has he invited you out to church yet?”

“What? What do you mean?”

“If he hasn’t I think he will soon.”

“I don’t think he’s religious. But I don’t know actually. When he first wanted to take me out shooting I freaked out a little. I mean he is married, he is higher up than me at work, he knows about my break-up, and he was taking me essentially out to the wilderness.”

“Those all seem like reasonable concerns.”

“But he is very nice. After a while I realized that it was nothing like that. He just wants to be my friend.”

“That’s how they get you. They find the vulnerable people dealing with tragedy and heartache and they offer them a sense of purpose and something greater. I think the mannerisms you read as being Indian are really just conservative Christian mannerisms. That’s how he immediately came across to me. Everything about him screams conservative Christian, probably evangelical.”

“I guess I do know he goes to church regularly. But I really don’t think that’s it. I think we have similar interests and he wants to be my friend. That’s all.”

“Maybe he wants to bang you but he is still working up to it.”

“No. He is happily married. I do know that much.”

“It’s cute that you think that makes a difference.”

“What do you mean?”

“It doesn’t. I am pretty sure his motivations are either to bang you or to bring you into the fold. In fact you should be more suspicious if you find out they are anything else. Those two things would be normal.”

“You are nuts.”

“Yeah. And maybe I am wrong also.”

“I think you are.”

We made it back to paved roads.

“I just want to grab a quick shower before we go to the restaurant. I don’t go out very often and this is a small town. I want to look at least a little presentable.”

“Ok. I don’t suffer from that same affliction.”

The outlying casinos and strip-malls began to appear to the left and right of us. We were back in town.

“Did you know Mom and Dad think the Earth is made from pieces of other planets? Mom was telling me this recently. They think Jesus just picked up chunks from older dead planets and put them together to create this one, and that’s where all the fossils of dinosaurs and things come from. They are the remains of creatures who lived on other planets before they were mashed together to make Earth.”

I laughed. “I did know that. I think I first heard it when I was about twelve, and since then it has been my favorite story to tell my friends about our parents. I love it because it is so absolutely crazy…”

We finished the sentence at the same time, both of us laughing “but still so absolutely true!”

“They really believe that Dinosaurs never existed on this planet.”

“It’s like how Mom thinks playing cards have evil spirits in them, and that’s why we never had them in the house growing up, not because of the implied reference to gambling, which is a sin, but because she literally believes there are evil spirits in the cards. My kids love to tease Grandma about that one.”

“She swears now she never said that. But I remember it too.”

“Well, they have learned a lot from us over the years.”

When we arrived back at Jaime’s place, she went to shower, and I decided to just relax in silence. It had already been a long day for me. I sunk into one of the familiar gold chairs that had been in our formal living room growing up. It felt like home. Mike climbed onto my lap. As soon as I closed my eyes my phone began working obscenely to get my attention. My kids were texting. I finally finished responding to the last one when I saw Jaime again.

“Everything ok? Do you need to go or something?” She asked, having seen me texting furiously and fully understanding my situation.

“It’s fine. My kids are nags. I didn’t exactly tell them where I was going, just that I was in Nevada. They assumed I was in Vegas, and they must be having quite a conversation about it amongst themselves because they were texting me to ask how I can afford to go to Vegas when I can’t afford other things they want.”

“Jesus Christ. Are you serious?”

“Dead serious. That’s what I am up against with all these teenagers.”

“Could you imagine ever saying something like that to Mom and Dad when we were their age? I never would have!”

“I might have, but I would have been an asshole for doing it.”

“Isn’t it funny how we grew up in the same family but when we talk about it now we seem to have had completely different parents from each other?”

“I finally just told them I was in Carson visiting my sister and they need to back off. They did. Langston says to say hi to you for him.”

“That’s cute.”

“Yeah I guess they are still a little cute. Hopefully they will leave me alone now. I told them the same thing I told their mom. I will be back tomorrow afternoon and I will entertain requests then.”

Eastern Sierra Brewing Company

“I know it is walking distance from here but we need to drive to the bar. I did my hair and put makeup on and I don’t want to look like a mess by the time we get there.”

“Fine with me.”

We parked her truck about a block away. She handed me the keys. As we approached we could hear loud music and see people coming in and out of what turned out to be a side door through which one enters directly onto the dance floor in front of the stage. We worked our way to the bar. The place was about half full of families and singles, a real nice mix. The band was covering Styx, it was Too Much Time on My Hands, one of my favorites. We found two empty stools in the ideal location at the bar. I looked first at the tap handles and when I found them indecipherable I turned to the chalk board listing the beers brewed on site. Jaime just looked around the bar sizing up the room. I could see that they were understaffed so I joined her.

The regulars appeared to be hovered around the center of the bar, that’s where the regulars usually are. They were an odd mix of aging men, mostly bikers with head bandanas and leather vests, children, and a number of similar looking women of widely varying ages. Most of them were a type, the brand of well-worn, working-class White women who like to have a good time, often referred to as “skanks” but whom my friends and I describe as “just used enough to be a keeper.”

On the dance floor were a number of additional women also fitting the description above, a couple of older men mixed among them, two children, and three or four gentlemen with Down syndrome dancing in a circle. Everyone loves classic rock.  

Behind the bar was the largest leprechaun I have ever seen. He was a grown man, almost six feet tall, with bright red hair and a matching bushy beard. He was dressed head to toe in an elaborate green outfit complete with red and white striped stockings, a hat with a buckle, and pointy shoes with the tips curled up. He was clearly having a better time than the rest of us.

“What can I get you folks?”

“Is it really St. Patrick’s Day?” I asked him.

“Monday, but we are celebrating here all weekend.”

Jaime ordered their raspberry beer and I had their IPA. She loved hers. Mine was just ok.

“This is the place Jaime. This is immediately the coolest place I have been in Carson. This is where you should be hanging out and meeting new people.”

“You think? Yeah I like it here. And this beer is so good. I normally don’t like beer.”

“Definitely”

“I think I know some of these guys over here, the bikers. I am sure I know those two over there. I am going to wait for them to recognize me. I think they will.”

“So many skanks here. I love skanks.”

“You are such a nerd.”

“I might just see if I can bring one home with us.”

“You do that. I don’t care. You are driving. I am getting drunk. Just promise me you will make sure I get home.”

“I got you.”

“I am serious. You have to promise me.”

“It’s fine. I will drink slow enough to stay sober. I promise I will make sure you get home tonight.”

Her attention was already somewhere else.

“Oh that girl over there with the tattoos, she is a waitress at the Bread Box. I think that one is also.”

Just then those two young women walked up to each other and kissed. It was not a friendly kiss. It was a passionate kiss. It went on and on. These two hot women were making out in the middle of the bar. Everyone was watching. No one was complaining.

“Oh this is fun!” Jaime swung around to tell me. “I rarely see anything like that in Carson.”

I couldn’t possibly have agreed more. Jaime took my phone, she texted my kid. 

-          Hi Langston this is your aunt Jaime. How are you?    

-          Hi. I am good.

-          That’s good. Thanks for sharing your dad with me. I really needed a friend.

Harley

As the evening wore on more and more people filed in off the streets and the place began to fill. As the band began its second set I noticed that each of the gentlemen with Down syndrome had a sexy new partner. There are good people in Carson. A couple guys joined us at the far end of the bar, and then a woman who had been on the dance floor since we arrived took the seat between me and them.

She was a nice looking woman, about forty, slender, obviously a dancer. She seemed to be there by herself and she was not wearing a ring. The guys on her right wasted no time in striking up a conversation with her. I couldn’t hear what they were saying. The band was covering Wild Cherry. Jaime had been recognized by her bikers. She was busy with them. I could feel my buzz turning to a drunk. I remembered my promise and ordered water with my last beer.

The two guys to my right quickly turned into one guy. More specifically I now had a couple to my right. They were sitting and speaking closely enough that personal space was no longer a consideration. That’s how it works in bars as the night goes on. He was drunk. Somehow I don’t think she was.

The dance floor was crowded again. The guys were back at it. The skanks continued to entertain them. Good for them, I thought. By the time I glanced left again the male member of the couple was gone, not even an empty glass remained where he was. The woman and I were now alone at our end of the bar. It wouldn’t last long.

“Did that guy just miss an opportunity?” I asked her.

She smiled. “I don’t think so. He was pretty wasted.”

“As a people watcher, I would have predicted you two leaving together.”

“Nah he isn’t really my type. I like big buff guys. I work for the forest service and spend a lot of time with loggers and firefighters.”

“That’s interesting. You are into lumberjacks. Is it a flannel shirt thing or a beard thing?”

“It’s a rough sex thing. But beards are nice.”

I stroked my beard. “Everyone likes rough sex.”

“Yes, but I can get it any time I want. That’s what I Iove about being divorced.”

“Hell yes you can. I am divorced also. We should drink to that.”

We clinked our pints. The giant leprechaun appeared with a tiny green drink. He set it down in front of her.

“The gentleman at the end of the bar asked me to send this your way.”

“Is that a midori sour?” She asked him. “And which guy bought it?”

“Yes it is. And it was that guy down at the other corner, with the black shirt and the Nascar hat.”

I was too deep to resist leaning forward to peer past Jaime and the bikers in time to see the guy nod and tip his hat. He had another midori sour in his other hand. The leprechaun was gone again.

“Shit now I am going to be wasted. I better order some food.” She was clearly a sensible woman.

 “I love this band” she continued. “I came here tonight just to see them.”

“Do you know them?”

“No. I am not from around here.”

“Neither am I. I am from Sacramento. I am here visiting my sister.”

“I live in Petaluma.”

“You drove to Carson City from Petaluma just to see this band?”

“Rode, and yes. I saw them here once before and I really liked them. I like this place. I checked their website and saw that my favorite band was playing tonight and decided to come see them. I am trying to get out and do new things as often as possible.”

“Word.”

“I am Harley, by the way.” She held out her hand. I took it.

“Nice to meet you Harley.”

Suddenly the guy with the Nascar hat was sitting on Harley’s other side. She turned toward him and shook his hand, began the obligatory small talk. Jaime was also back.

“I think I might be a little drunk. What’s going on over here?”

“This is my new friend Harley. And this is some guy who bought her a drink.”

They both looked over. Introductions were made all around. The conversation continued as a group for a while. Eventually Jaime became interested in something Nascar was saying and she moved to his left. We were slowly creeping further down the bar. Harley and I were left to continue our conversation.

“They seem to be hitting it off.” I offered.

“That’s fine with me. He’s not my type anyway.”

“Right you like lumberjacks.”

“I think most men are intimidated by me. I see it a lot. I know what I want. I know what I don’t want. And more importantly, I know what I like.”

“Yes men are often intimidated by strong women. They see them as a threat to their imagined authority. So what do you like, besides rough sex with lumberjacks?”

“I like a lot of things. But I really like sex. I only just learned how much. I feel like I have really missed out for many years.”

We continued this line of conversation for some time. Then Jaime and Nascar were gone. I looked around. Harley noticed and without a word she pointed to the front door, they were standing outside, just beyond the glass.

“Should we check on them?” She asked. “I think your sister is a little drunk.”

“I know she is a little drunk. But I think they are fine as long as we can see them. Her purse is here at my feet. She won’t leave without it. And I have her keys.”

“As long as we can see them” she repeated.

“That’s the thing about marriage.” I offered, returning to our previous topic. “The sexual desert I mean. I get it. You also strike me as a woman in love with a few favorite toys.”

“I don’t believe in vibrators.”

“You don’t believe in vibratos? Like you don’t believe they exist? I feel confident in assuring you that they do exist. I have seen them.”

“No silly I don’t believe in using vibrators. I think they cause women to become insensitive to a real penis.”

“I believe that most women can be a little insensitive where penises are concerned.” I smiled and laughed just a little. “But this is definitely the first time I have heard this theory.”

“Desensitized. Shit. I should stop drinking.”

“Me too.”

“We can’t see them anymore.”

I spun around. She was right. Jaime and Nascar were gone.

“I am going to go take a peek outside to see if I can spot them. Would you mind keeping an eye on her purse while I do?”

“I’ll tell you what” She picked up the purse. “I will just come with you. I will carry this so you don’t have to.“

“I appreciate that more than you know. As a divorced man I swore I would never hold anyone’s purse for them again.”

“I get it.”

We walked outside. The streets were empty, dark, and quiet. It was a stark contrast to the noisy bar. My foggy mind had some trouble processing the scene. We looked around. We walked toward the rear of the building where most people parked. 

“I don’t see them anywhere.” Harley sounded more worried than me. 

“Me neither. She couldn’t have gone far.”

“But he could have. And she could have gone with him.”

“Oh I know. I can find her on my phone. My dad convinced us all to join a family network on this location tracking app. I should be able to see where she is.”

I pulled my phone from my pocket and opened the app. As convenient as smartphones are, in a pinch, they never work as fast as you want them to. Two dots appeared on the screen, a map of Carson City in the background. Over one dot hovered a bubble with my photo. The other photo was Jaime’s. The dots were not close together. 

“It looks like she is several blocks from here, maybe a couple miles. I don’t know Carson very well. I have no idea where this is.”

“We should go find her.”

“I don’t know. She is a big girl. She would call or text if she had a problem. Maybe it’s better to leave it alone and wait here. She has to come back eventually.”

“I don’t trust that guy. I really think we need to go find her.”

“I am going to trust your instinct on creepy guys. Let’s go find her. I can drive. We can just drive toward the dot.” 

“Okay but promise me you won’t try anything in the car.”

“I promise.”

“Let me just grab my jacket.”

She walked across the street and retrieved a small leather jacket from the storage compartment on the back of a motorcycle. It was a Harley. 

We drove Jaime’s truck toward the red dot. Suddenly we were at Jaime’s place.

“This is her place. Let’s just go in and check on them. We don’t need to stay. I can drive you back to the bar, or wherever.”

“She will want her purse, and I could use a recommendation for a nice motel.”

We approached the door slowly and quietly. We were whispering.

“I don’t know which key it is. I will just try every key that looks like a house key.”

Harley stood closest to the door. “I can hear someone in there, but they aren’t talking.”

The third key did it. By the time I got the door open Mike was very happy to see me. He was also happy to meet Harley. The place was dark. Mike was alone.

“This is one-eye Mike. I don’t think anyone is here. Let me just look around.”

Harley petted Mike. Everyone likes Mike.

By the time I reached the back bedroom I could see Jaime’s phone sitting on the bed. She’d never even had it with her. I was suddenly worried.

“She left her phone here. So I now have no idea where she is. Let’s drive back to the bar so she at least knows where to find us.”

“Okay. Bye Mike. It was nice to meet you.”

We when found our way back to the bar we approached from the other side. Jaime and Nascar were standing out front. They were waiting for us. We parked on the street.

“I wondered what happened to you two.” Jaime said with a smile and more than a little suggestion that we had been up to something. “I noticed my truck was gone so we just decided to wait until you came back.”

Harley handed Jaime her purse. The three of them talked while I read some new texts from my kids.

“No it’s J-E-N-N-I-E.” This was the first thing I heard as I wandered back to the group. Jaime was trying not to give Nascar her number.

“I thought you said your name was Jamie?” Nascar was confused. 

“No I said Jennie.” She looked at Harley. Harley nodded. 

“I have always known her as Jennie” she said. 

“Wait that’s not enough numbers.”

“Let me look. She has had a lot to drink. I know her number.”

Harley took his phone and started entering numbers. Nascar looked at me. I looked at Harley. Then I looked at the sky. Just as I was noticing how clear it was, Jaime was standing next to me. 

“I like her. I think she would be such a good friend. We have similar jobs and everything.”

Nascar eventually walked off in a huff. His dignity should have sent him away fifteen minutes earlier. Now it was just me and the girls. I looked inside the bar, it was nearly empty. The night was chilly and beautiful. I was sober.

“I think I need to go home” Jaime said. “Do you still want to go gambling?”

“I don’t need to go gambling”

“Ok because I think I need to go home.” 

Jaime turned to Harley. “You should come with us back to my place! Or we could go to a casino.”

“We’ve just come from your place. I met your dog.”

“Awww my little Mike. I love my dog so much. I miss him.”

“I think I am going to go there.” Harley pointed to a cigar bar across the street. She turned and hugged Jaime. 

“It was so much fun meeting you. I will look you up next time I am in town.”

She let go. She looked my way. “And this guy…” She put both her arms around my neck and hugged me hard. “I think this is a pretty great guy.” She said it in my ear, but loud enough for Jaime to hear.

“I assure you it is a ruse. Ask anyone.” 

“My brother would never drive around with a stranger looking for me. He wouldn’t give a shit.”

“Maybe he can give me lessons.”

We watched her walk across the street.

“Do you want me to take that bitch out for you?”

“Harley? No she isn’t even my type. I never had a chance.”

“Not Harley dork. Aww I love Harley. I want her to be my new best friend. You know who I mean.”

“I don’t think that’s really necessary.”

“Okay but you know I would.”

I was a little overcome. I hugged her. I had to. It was too sweet and too pathetic all at the same time. 

“I know you would.” 

Horses and Steel

We went to the Bread Box for breakfast. We were among the first to arrive. It was just after seven.

“Mom and Dad were all excited about some new discoveries of ancient artifacts in Mexico when I was in Sacramento last month. Dad was trying to tell me all about it. He was showing me videos. He was all fired up. I didn’t really understand but it was interesting. Have you talked to them about that stuff?”

“Yes I know about that stuff. They know I am skeptical. So they temper their reactions with me.”

“What did you think about it?”

“Well it is interesting. I watched a number of videos about it and read a couple other articles on my own. What has happened is the ruins of an ancient city were discovered recently in Southern Mexico. This is not a big deal by itself. Ancient cities are always being discovered in Mesoamerica. Scholars and Archaeologists expect there are still hundreds of undiscovered cities down there.”

“So why are Mom and Dad all excited about this one?”

“Because it happens to contain some writing which suggest it has the same name as a city described in the Book of Mormon. It also happens to be located, according to at least one school of thought on the location in the modern world where the Book of Mormon stories took place, right where the book of Mormon says it was.”

“That’s pretty heavy.”

“It’s basically Mormon apologetics.”

“I don’t know what that means.”

“Have you ever read the Book of Mormon?”

“I never have. I always meant to. I know I was supposed to. But I never did.”

A young, familiar-looking waitress with a single full-sleeve of tattoos came to pour us some coffee.  She smiled warmly and walked away. If she recognized us she didn’t let on.

“I told you she worked here. But I don’t see the other one.” 

“You were correct.”

“I think it’s cool that the cute young girls who were making out in the bar last night work here. I love this place. I love Carson City.”

“It’s definitely growing on me.”

“Whatever dork. You know you like it here.”

She was back to take our orders. Jaime ordered the local favorite using what sounded like secret code to me. It is tough to be an outsider. Neither of us had opened a menu. 

“And what can I get you?”

“I haven’ looked at the menu, but I will tell you what sounds good, and hopefully you we can work something out.”

“Ok”

“I would like a pile of hash browns…”

She interrupted me. “We don’t have hash browns.”

I just stopped and stared. We all did. I wasn’t sure where to go next. What kind of breakfast restaurant doesn’t have hash browns?

“Potatoes.” It was Jaime who said it. 

“Yes potatoes.” I said

“We definitely have potatoes.”

“Great. I would like a pile of potatoes, some wheat toast, and do you maybe have some avocado slices?

“Sure.”

“That would be perfect, no butter on the toast, oh and a bottle of Cholula if you have some.”

“You don’t want any eggs or meat or anything?”

“No thanks.”

“You are definitely not from around here.” Jaime reminded me. We continued where we left off.

“Anyway the Book of Mormon describes all the events which it chronicles as having happened on two different land masses which were connected by a narrow strip of land. It was clearly designed to be recognizable to the ignorant as North, Central and South America. Only Joseph Smith apparently didn’t realize that no one could possibly have travelled the distances the stories describe in the time frames they describe if those bodies of land were really continents.”

“You think Joseph Smith wrote the book of Mormon?”

“Whether he wrote it or plagiarized it makes little difference in my mind. There were several very similar stories published in the northeast in the years prior to publication of the Book of Mormon. Plus he was a known fraud. And it is a little convenient that the gold plates don’t exist anymore, and that the method he supposedly used to translate them was purely divine and can’t be duplicated.” 

“It is a crazy story when you think about it.”

“So anyway much of the current thinking among Mormon scholars about the actual locations of the events in the Book of Mormon centers on southern Mexico and northern Guatemala. And that’s where they found this city. Also the translation of the name of the city into modern languages is very similar to the name of a city described in the Book of Mormon.”

“But you don’t believe it.”

“I don’t even believe in a magic man in the sky. But, suspending that for a moment, it seems to me that if someone was going to use this or any discovery of ancient civilizations to try and prove that the Book of Mormon must be true they would be ignoring the most glaring archeological deficiencies.”

“Which are?”

“Horses and steel.”

She laughed. “Horses and steel?”

“The Book of Mormon clearly describes the use of horses and steel. It describes battles on horseback among huge populations of ancient peoples who don’t exist anymore, with steel swords and breastplates. It mimics the bible that way. The only problem is we know that horses didn’t exist in the Americas during that time. And neither did steel. There is no archaeological record anywhere of either horses or steel existing in the Americas before Europeans arrived a few hundred years ago.”

“But the Book of Mormon stories take place a lot longer ago than that.”

“This is true, but if they existed where did they go? Why aren’t there any fossils? Why aren’t there any steel artifacts found in any of the thousands of ancient sites discovered in the Americas?”

“That’s interesting. I didn’t realize that.”

“Most modern Mormons don’t, or if they do they consider it a failing of archaeology, which is absurd. The burden of proof is on them. They are the people making ridiculous claims. Joseph Smith was just like any other American White guy in the nineteenth century. He hated Indians so he vilified their ancestors in his stupid book. I might say he was a little like Twain that way. But Twain wrote about Joseph Smith in his autobiography. He didn’t have very nice things to say about him or his book.”

“You dislike the religion more than I do.”

“Word.”

Indian School 

“I want to show you one last place before you go. Do you have time?”

“Sure.”

We drove a little outside of town again, this time deeper into the valley. Cutting through a neighborhood of five-acre farms we approached a complex of old buildings in various stages of renovation and disrepair. The sign said Stewart Indian School.

“George brought me here and told me all about it. Do you know that a hundred years ago the government took Indian children away from their parents and put them in boarding schools called Indian Schools?”

“I did know. It’s a heartbreaking piece of history.”

“Yeah. It’s totally fucked up. They thought by taking kids away from their parents and teaching them to conform to White culture they could eliminate Indian culture in a single generation. This was one of the schools.”

“I had no idea this was here.”

We drove through the complex. It is quite large really. There was plenty of room to damage a lot of children there. Jaime described the various buildings to me as she understood them. They were all made from stone quarried locally. There were yellow, red, brown and green chunks of rock stacked on top of each other to create walls, the various colors spaced for uniformity. Some buildings had been restored to their former “glory”, if such a word can even be used to describe a place like this. The restored buildings were beautiful. The grounds were well maintained. The ruins were fascinating. They reminded us of a time when buildings were constructed with whatever materials could be found nearby, before cities all looked the same. But an air of misery hung over the place. It was the ghosts of thousands of families torn apart. I asked Jaime to stop so I could take a photo. I chose a group of small buildings which seemed to bridge the space between restoration and ruin. Some windows were replaced, some were boarded. Some buildings had new shingles. The space between them was occupied by brown weeds and leafless trees all barely clinging to life. The sky above was deep blue, cloudless. It was spring but there was no way to know it by looking.  

 “Just a short visit this time?”

“Yeah. I need to get back to my real life.”

“I am really glad you came out.”

“I am also. These short trips are good for me.”

“Have you heard from Harley this morning?”

“No. I don’t expect to ever hear from Harley again.”

“I gave her my number.”

“She has mine as well.”

“Did you get her number?”

“No.”

“Still I hope she texts. She would be a fun friend.”

“I meet people like that in bars all the time. We exchange numbers and promise to be friends but mostly we never talk to or see each other again.”

“I wish Mom and Dad would move here, but Mom just doesn’t like it here.”

“I think they should move wherever they want. They have definitely earned that right. They’re good old shits.”

“Yeah they really are.”

“Keep taking good care of Mike.”

“I will.” She found him and petted his head playfully. “I just love my little Mike. He is the best dog in the world. Aren’t you? Yes he is. I just love him so much.”

Driving west over the eastern ridge into the Tahoe basin produces spectacular views from almost any elevation. But I think the first view of the lake is the best. As I wind down the mountain I can see the huge casinos in the distance. They end abruptly where California begins. Past that I can see Highway 50 rise against the cliff side. That’s where I am going. Over those mountains is where I live.