by R. W. Jones
The rest of our history, despite being filled with many happy memories, is one I came to regret over my year of mourning. It wasn’t that we weren’t happy, it’s just that after a while it seemed like every day was the same. At one point early on in our marriage we both had a desire to travel, but with her demanding job, and me picking up freelance writing jobs by the handful, we really didn’t have much time to travel. Instead, we usually settled for family holidays, birthdays, and reunions for our forms of traveling. It’s not that those gatherings weren’t full of love and enjoyable, but I think we always wished we could experience more together.
Three years after getting married, we bought our first house, the house I still live in, with the idea of having children. The only other living creature that ended up living in that house, beside a stray cat or two, was Bahama.
A couple years after moving into the house, my wife went to work, despite a foot of snow on the ground, and growing. She had all but told herself she wouldn’t risk it, but as the only vet in the area she felt obligated. When she finally got to work she trudged her way up the walk and to the door. As she was turning the lock she heard a whimpering from the bushes to the left of the door. When she got a closer look she saw a puppy was underneath, partially covered by the rising snow. My wife gathered up the soaked and shivering puppy and brought her inside and gave her a thorough check-up. Besides being a bit underweight, she appeared to be in good shape. I once heard that we don’t pick our pets, they pick us. That was the day Bahama picked us.
We chose the name Bahama partially out of irony because we found her in a snowstorm, but also because the Bahamas was a place we had always planned to visit had we had the time or money. As it turns out, Bahama would end up doing the traveling in place of my wife, though it would take years.
The topic of children came up, but it was never the right time. For the first couple years of our marriage, I suppose that was a viable excuse. With my wife afraid she’d lose her job if she missed any considerable time, and with me picking up more jobs than ever, it was a daunting thing to think about having a baby. After a couple of more years, I think we both decided maybe having a child wasn’t for us. It’s not a decision I regret, but it has always held the top spot on my life’s “what if” list. Especially now.
So time went on, as it does. There were weddings to go to and be in, funerals of grandparents, and the ups and downs of our personal lives. We were largely homebodies, but loved our house, generally opting to cook out on the grill and watch the sunset. The monotony of our life took a sudden turn for the worse, bringing worse news than we could have ever imagined possible. Just after our seventh year of marriage we had our yearly physicals, a chore we put little thought into.
When her blood work came back they said there was a concern, but there shouldn’t be too much to worry about. We went on with our lives, I wrote, she saved animals, and tried to forget about the tests. But then there were more tests, and more tests. My wife grew more tired and stressed with each impending blood test, but still put herself into her work and never ceased making me happy regardless of all the concerns and possibilities raging in her head.
Finally, on a foggy morning in December, we heard the news that changed our lives forever.
The doctor told us it was a rare blood disease, but since they found it early they were confident they could cure it. The next year and a half was a roller coaster I have largely blocked out. During a doctor appointment my parents drug me to during my year of mourning I mentioned to the man that had been my doctor since I was a little kid, that I couldn’t remember a lot of the last year and a half. He told me this was normal.
With each week my wife got more tired, and began getting headaches and having stomach issues, all symptoms of the disease. In each other’s presence, and in the presence of family, we refused to call the disease by name. We didn’t want to give it life. Despite our best efforts the disease continued to spread. Medicine worked, then didn’t, then worked, then didn’t. She missed a lot of work, and finally had to find someone to replace her, first part-time, then full-time.
We tried diets we had read about online that we were told would battle the disease, different doctors, specialty doctors, but none of them could do anything. Her prognosis was grim. First she was told she shouldn’t work anymore, then it was she shouldn’t leave the house, finally followed by she shouldn’t leave her bed. Through it all she never complained, which at times surprisingly enough, infuriated me. Here she was dealt the worst hand in the deck but all she worried about was my well-being. She wondered how my writing was going, and if Bahama and I had encountered anything exciting on our walks. I tried to answer in an uplifting manner, but all I could do was curse God, a God I was never sure I believed in to begin with, for doing this to such a wonderful woman. The woman I loved.
When her time on earth came near an end her parents moved in, and my parents were there most of the time too. A hospice nurse brought pamphlets on what to expect as she neared death and how her family was to cope after she died. I never read them. It wasn’t right. It’s still not right.
For a far too short couple of weeks some combination of me and parents were in her room just talking, asking if she needed anything, asking if she wanted to see the sunlight. When we were alone she told me her fears and regrets. They were simple, really. She wished she had traveled more and she wished she would have had a child. She also wished she would have known God better. I didn’t know what to say to that then, and I don’t know what to say about that now. I just hope she found Him.
During the final few days Bahama refused to leave her side. Bahama had to be picked up to go outside to use the bathroom. Bahama was fairly young then and we had worried about her being off a leash, but because she was making a beeline right back to her side, there was no need for one. Her father had read to me in one of the pamphlets that often people die when they are alone, even if there were 10 people in the room as recently as a minute ago. That’s the route my wife decided to take to the great unknown.
There was one exception: Bahama never left her side. On her final night, I walked into her room to see her breathing shallow and labored, but she still greeted me with a smile despite not opening her eyes much, if at all. In what was my closest supernatural experience I’ve ever had, I saw the door of the room narrow as I walked out of it for the final time in her life. I had the overwhelming feeling that when I walked through the door I would never see her alive again. Shortly after I kissed her goodbye, I had walked outside and onto the deck. A few minutes later her father came out and put his arm around me and buried his head in my shoulder and began crying. He didn’t have to say a word. A few seconds later, Bahama joined us on the deck.
23
For a ride that amounts to almost 3,000 miles, I was largely fixated on thinking about my wife during my trip west. There were no major traffic or weather delays, and Bahama enjoyed the trip just fine, swapping time between sticking her nose out of the back window and sitting in the passenger side seat. She was blessed with a strong bladder, so she doesn’t need to make a lot of stops. It’s usually me making those stops.
Despite getting a rise in excitement level when I saw the lights, I was way too exhausted to do any exploring that first night. My final day of driving started in Tucumcari, New Mexico and ended just off the Las Vegas strip – about 12 hours of driving. The town of Tucumcari had seen better days, but there was a unique aspect about it. The historic Route 66 has been virtually wiped away as it was known 50 years ago in most parts of the country, but in Tucumcari it looks close to what it used to be back then. It has modern touches of today, with McDonald’s and other chain restaurants and stores appearing, but many of the hotels and diners have been there since Route 66’s heyday.
When I called home and told my parents of my whereabouts, which I had been doing every week or so during my adventure, I told my dad about my travels through this town, which brought up good memories for him. My father’s father was a trav
eling salesman, usually driving up and down the east coast, but once a year he had to drive out to California for a big meeting with all the bosses of the company. This meeting took place during the summer, so my dad would drive along with him, where they used Route 66 exclusively.
I found a little pharmacy and gift shop before I headed out of Tucumcari and picked up five “historic” postcards to send back home to him. He also remembered driving through Vegas during his school years but never dreamed of asking his dad to stop as his father was a deeply religious man who never would have dreamt of putting money down on a game of chance. For the most part, my father followed those same values, though he does buy a lottery ticket every now and then when the prize gets really high.
I was then in the city where everyone was hoping to cash a lottery ticket, whether it was with roulette, blackjack, Keno, or poker. Growing up with a father like I did, I didn’t know if this was the right city for me, but like I mentioned back in Key West, I was there because I was looking for the exact opposite type of place. I would soon be getting what I asked for.
Even at 32 years old, I wondered what my father would think of me spending a considerable amount of time in a city his dad wouldn’t even mention by name, especially by its nickname. So, naturally I didn’t bring it up when I spoke to him, though he did ask about it from time to time.
That first night I booked a room at a resort and casino called South Point. Technically it was on the Las Vegas Strip, but it was still a few miles away from the main casinos everyone recognizes on commercials and television. For the first night that would have to do because they accepted dogs and I was too tired to go any farther. After checking in, and having a few very nice drunk women celebrating a bachelorette party pet Bahama on the way to my room, I dropped her off and went down to the casino to look around for a bite to eat.
What I remember most about that night is, number one starving, and number two wondering exactly what I was doing there. As usual with me during this trip I worried about my stomach first. Figuring out why I was there could wait until later.
I sat in a 50’s style restaurant near the back of the giant casino floor called Steak ‘n Shake. All I know is that they had an amazing double steak burger with cheese and above average fries, and the best chocolate shake I have ever had. I seriously considered ordering seconds, on everything, but I didn’t want to pay for it in the morning, my first full day in Las Vegas. Still, I was stuffed and waddled back into my room. I had once read that people find it hard to sleep in Vegas, but after a 12 hour drive, and a belly full of grease and sugar, I didn’t have that problem.
The next morning I called around for hotels that accepted pets but weren’t as expensive as South Point. I figured that because South Point was one of the farthest casinos away from the main popular casinos that I wouldn’t have luck finding one cheap enough to house Bahama and I for the duration of our trip. I was right, I didn’t have any luck, but after talking to a chatty receptionist at one of the dozen hotels I called, she suggested that I try to find a furnished place. She told me that almost no casinos in the heart of the city would accept a dog and that I could find a place off the strip for a fraction of the price it would cost for me to stay at a casino for any significant amount of time.
While I didn’t have an idea of where to start, I had read that Henderson, the next city over from Vegas and only about 15 minutes away from the strip, was nice. I figured my best bet, one of the few bets I actually made in Vegas, would be to try apartment and condo complexes, though I had no idea if they would offer furnished, short-term, options. Still, I had to start somewhere.
After getting to Henderson, most of my conversations with complex employees started and ended with one of two questions. Number one was always “Do you accept dogs?” and if that was a yes we were always shut down with “Do you have furnished places?”
After a long day of inquiring at seven or eight different apartment and townhome complexes I resigned myself to the fact that I would have to probably take to the internet to find a place, but not knowing the area, and having to wait for people to have time to show me their rental unit could take another week, at least. Just as I was getting ready to go back to South Point I spotted a set of buildings just off the exit that were “corporate apartments.” I have never had been a part of any corporation, but I figured if I had the money they would let me stay – and my little dog too.
I was right. After working out a pay schedule, including a little money down, I decided I would stay there. I chose a 750 square foot apartment, with washer/dryer, full kitchen, slightly old furniture and an older television. But the property included a small dog run in the back, which was its main selling point. This would more than do, I remember thinking.
The rest of the day I got settled, stocked the fridge with fruits and vegetables, something foreign to me on this trip so far, and relaxed. Two nights in Vegas and I haven’t been on The Strip yet. I felt I was doing it wrong, though I didn’t know exactly what it was I should be doing.
The next morning I got up with the intention of going straight to The Strip. I let Bahama know that’d I’d be back later. A pro at this game by now, she curled up on the bed as I gathered up my wallet and keys. She was asleep by the time I walked out. Up on the 5th floor and windows that didn’t open, there was little concern for unwanted cats visiting us there.
It was 9 a.m. on a Thursday in early October when I hit the Vegas Strip for the first time. It was already busier than what I would expect this early. People posed for pictures in every direction you could see, including up on the pedestrian walkways that went between casinos and over the busy road. I got onto The Strip near the Stratosphere, which is generally considered the beginning of The Strip. As I drove towards the middle of The Strip, the buildings got more impressive. One thing I learned very early about Vegas is that if you placed a Casino like The Sahara in any other city in America, it would be considered one of the nicest hotels in the country. In Las Vegas, there were about ten hotels that were considered nicer within two miles.
My first stop on the Vegas Strip, not including traffic, came at the Bellagio. I choose the Bellagio because I instantly recognized the fountains from TV and movies. Now I was doing something “Vegasy.” Every half an hour they shoot the fountains into the air, while accompanied by some famous piece of classical music. You can choose to watch the show from The Strip sidewalk or you can walk towards the entrance of the Bellagio and find a place to watch it anywhere on the circle that makes a full loop from the sidewalk to the front door. The prime position predictably is center on The Strip sidewalk. I parked my car using the valet, asking the ultimate tourist question – How much does valet cost? - Only to be told it was free everywhere on The Strip, and pretty much free everywhere in Vegas.
Unlike a side view mirror in a car, objects are farther than they appear in Vegas, not closer. On the half hour mark I had only made it about halfway through the circle, so I watched the show uninterrupted, but from a bad view. I had to wait another half-hour before I saw the show from straight on, but just coming from Key West where a few people walking in front of you was considered a traffic jam, the congestion of people was too much. I started walking back into the casino before the show was over. Some tourist I was.
I walked in to the Bellagio and was blown away by the sheer size of the place. The lobby itself was a prime picture taking spot for tourists. After navigating my way through that maze, I walked onto the casino floor. Right away I could tell the building blew South Point away aesthetically. Plus, the people were dressed in a much nicer fashion, in a way that suggested they just wanted to be seen. I was wearing a New River University shirt and khaki shorts. I stuck out like a sore thumb.
After walking around for a few minutes I encountered a problem I would have my entire stay in Vegas – dry mouth. Surprisingly enough it turns out the desert is dry, and it has no issue sucking the moisture in my body out like a vacuum storage bag. I picked up a four dollar bottle of water at
the food court, and began to make my retreat for the exit. I considered leaving my car at valet and walking up Las Vegas Boulevard, but after taking over an hour to walk a circle on the Bellagio’s property I opted to get my car. It also didn’t help that I had gained a few pounds since the start of my trip. Between my new found gut and dry mouth I couldn’t completely convince myself I could make it back to the Bellagio later.
While I was waiting for my car I saw others giving the valets a dollar or two upon receiving their car. I had a stray dollar in my pocket, so I looked a little less like a tourist on my way out then on the way in. I doubted I was fooling anyone, but the Valet asked me if I needed directions.
“Yeah, where’s the famous ‘Welcome to Las Vegas’ sign that you see in the movies?” I had remembered movies where you saw characters drive by it somewhere way out in the desert, so I didn’t know if I was going to see it that day, but wanted to know anyway.
“Sure bud, it’s about a mile up the road when you turn right out of here. It’s in the median, you can’t miss it.”
“But I thought it was way out in the desert? Is this a different one?”
“Oh no, they moved it into the city years ago so the cops could keep a better eye on it. People were vandalizing it almost every day. It was costing the city thousands to keep repairing it.”
I thanked him, handed him the dollar, and headed for the sign. Sure enough, it was right in the median with a parking lot so people could get in and out on both sides of the road. It was there that I first saw the epitome of Las Vegas, an Elvis impersonator joining a newly married couple posing for pictures. It turns out the Elvis impersonator also married them.
It was doing things like this on my trip that always made me feel the oddest. I was already concerned about being in Las Vegas because I was afraid I was being seen as the “creepy old guy.” In Vegas, with so many beautiful young people running around, it was very easy to feel like that.
