Northern Nevada Gothic
You walk into a casino restaurant and order an Awful Awful. It doesn’t matter which casino; they all have something called an Awful Awful. It is terrible; you cannot stop eating it.
You are walking down Virginia Street and neglect to warn a tourist (you know they were a tourist - they said “Nev-AH-dah,” and not “Nev-AAA-duh”). They disappear into the gaping maw of the Pioneer Center, never to be found again. You continue on; the guilt subsumes you only briefly. After all, it is tourist season.
It is July. It is snowing. You are unfazed.
You run into a friend from high school. “Didn’t you move out of state?” You ask. “Yes, I did,” they reply. They look dead inside. You exchange a look and know that you can never escape. “I live in Reno now,” they continue. You both nod.
Everyone turns away during the Nevada Day Parade. The locals; the imports; the announcers; even the cameramen. Everyone except the tourists. You discuss the weather while ignoring the feeding frenzy.
You avoid Burning Man. It’s not the drugs or the art or the community, but the Man itself. He Knows you. He is coming.
You pass an Elvis impersonator. He smiles. You smile back.
You take your family out to dinner and invariably wind up at a buffet. Which buffet? How did you get here? When you exit the buffet, you encounter another buffet. How convenient – you’re starving!
You hear the oncoming rumble and check your calendar - is it Hot August Nights or is it Street Vibrations? Your greatest fear is that they might merge.
You sit at a Denny’s. You prepare to order. There is an Elvis impersonator. He smiles. You smile back.
At night, as you drive past Lake Tahoe, you think you might see Tahoe Tessie. You realize you were wrong almost immediately and regret ever having thought something so benign might come from Tahoe’s depths. You speed up.
Your out-of-state friends beg you to take them to a ghost town. You oblige. You will miss them fervently while you are allowed to remember them.
You attend a wedding. There is an Elvis impersonator. He smiles. You smile back.
There are guns. So many guns. “Can I bring my new gun to your house?” a friend asks. “Of course,” you reply, solemnly. You would never offend by refusing such an honor.
You pass by the exit of your grocery store. There is a casino, attended by a wizened elder. You make eye contact with them. They nod at you. You feel yourself drawn to spend a dollar there.
The entire state is burning. It is wildfire season. You have never felt more alive. It’s a dry heat.
While you were at work the seasons changed; it was summer. Now it is fall. Only three hours have passed since your last break.
You pass a group of anti-abortion protesters. There is an Elvis impersonator. He smiles. You smile back.
The Pyramid on the lake calls to you. You resist the call, despite the offer of “a six pack and jello shots.”
There is a bar in Virginia City that claims to be the most haunted building in northern Nevada. You know they are lying. You’ve been to the Grand Sierra Resort.
A small child sings, “Home Means Nevada.” You begin to cry. You do not know why; you hate it here. Where is the child?
You stand between In-n-Out and Del Taco. This is it. This is the splitting point between your possible future selves. Which do you choose? You begin to walk toward Del Taco; the Elvis impersonator starts to cry.
