I stand here amidst the fall,
Eyes shut wide, my mind fully awake.
My feet hold onto the ground,
Leaves crackling under.
I woke up in the midst of darkness this morning. A solid seven hours of sleep. Or was it just a moment? The room was unfamiliar, but the bed somewhat comforting. I ambled out of bed and into the sparsely lit living room. The surroundings were becoming vaguely familiar as I stood in front of the mirror; introduced to a man I’ve grown to known over the years. The house--my parents. The bed--my father’s. The man in the mirror, his son.
I noted that I looked tired. Hair spiked from the evenings sleep and sporting a beard of two days I examined myself. The dashing good looks were no longer there. But I felt comforted noting that it was never there in the first place.
For the first time in what seemed like months, I felt ready for Las Vegas. Which also meant that my Saturday was suddenly free. Breakfast seemed like a good idea—the most important meal, the Breakfast of Champions. I decided to see if Mom felt like having pancakes. Now I personally stay clear of those sugary sappy flat clumps of dough, but somehow Mom has a thing for IHOP. I can always have a BLT, which according to me, is the true Breakfast of Champions.
I decided later on in the afternoon to visit Dad. It’s been a few months and the fall scenery might be nice to spend some time. It also occurred to me that I might take one of his books and read to him. Odd about the books he loved. Science fiction and fantasy were his favorite choices. From Tolkein to the Conan series—neither of which I ever enjoyed. Literature was more of what I bent towards; pulp fiction was his. But strangely his love for reading seeped into my DNA I suppose. I recall the Saturday runs to the library and lingering amidst the rows, only to emerge several hours later to find my Dad at the checkout counter.
Leaving for Vegas from Oakland didn’t seem to be a good idea. It meant finishing the presentation at my parents with continual motherly distractions. And of course with no Internet connection, it meant mad dashes to Starbucks to download and upload files. It seems crazy. But as Walt, my long gone mentor and teacher of bad habits, once told me, the day you stop loving the craziness is when it’s time to pack up. Besides, he used to remind me, how could you not love that rush as you exit the building, colleagues in tow for a round of drinks because you just absolutely killed them and left them all on the floor to die, beggin’ for more? Walt had a gift for eloquence. Or some would say, the lack of one.
Oddly enough, I suddenly recall that I was in a similar predicament this time last year. The Monday before Thanksgiving last year was the day for yet another major pitch. How fast the year had gone by. And while all of the things that I experienced flash by within a moment’s time, there are memories I won’t allow to casually brush through. While I headed to San Francisco for last year’s engagement, Vegas is the setting for this year’s. As much as I’m intolerant of that city and the population it draws, I’ve grown fond of the emptiness of strip. There’s something to be said of the attitude of tearing down and rebuilding. As if they weren’t able to get it right the first time. I guess there’s a bit of Vegas in all of us. I hope I do Walt proud.
And were an epitaph be my story,
I’d have a short one ready for my own.
I would have written of me on my stone;
I had a lover’s quarrel with the world.
Robert Frost
