By Emily - Peace Corps 2005

Send me to Vegas now. On someone else’s dime. Let me forget, there on the red carpet among the bells and whistles. And when my glass falls to the floor and I stumble in, broke and broken, it will be fine, because my head will be spinning.

Okay. Now. There I am. I am looking at this tree. It is really big. I know that I might be able to hoist myself into it. But can I? Do people do that? Do they get into trees and sit there? Really though? Fuck this. And so I did it on the second try and so elated not by the feat itself but by the fact that I brought myself to it. Ha. Hey, remember the Getty at night with that boy who you didn’t know but trusted still and the sky was orange and the terrace dark lights on the water jazz playing down the steps told him you liked it there more for the architecture than the art and he agreed you got back in the truck for another three hours because that is how long it takes from orange county to l.a. in traffic and stopped at that mall you had always seen because you were both starving and had thai and he ordered a beer. At this point your small universe changed because as yet you had only seen adults actually order alcohol. Ridiculous no? But yes, you were so surprised and had to think a moment about it. Processed and filed: you were growing up. So back in the truck down the 405 again and reading signs talking about god and Mexico and Rosecrans and he offers and in response to your squeals and giggles he pulls off there and you are driving there in Compton at least you suppose it is Compton and it's just dingy donut houses and sound walls but then ahead there seems to be a hubbub. A check point at Crenshaw. You gasp because this is yet another new problem he lies to the officer who upon seeing you asks rather pointedly what you are doing here and upon receiving the admittedly inadequate explanation tells him to get you out of here. Lesson one.