We get the finger often.
Granted, it’s the pointer finger: a casual acknowledgement of our existence as we parade Elvis through town. It’s always from a man, whatever bearded fellow happens to be driving past in his gritty truck. The rest of the calloused digits remain in place, loosely wrapped around the steering wheel.
By now, we’ve circled the perimeter of town more than once. Crisscrossed the neighborhoods, the city streets with their stunning brick Art Deco buildings. We’ve made our way down the narrow roads that dissect cornfields – currently fallow – brown clumps of soil mixed with patches of snow. We’ve witnessed a few people drive to these quiet streets, then stop the car in the middle of the road. They hop out, door open and engine idling, and release their dogs. The dogs bolt. Race down the street, across the edge. Revel in a stretch of unbeatable freedom as their owners tail them from the car.
My little pink makeup bag has been neglected. I root around in the decorative vintage suitcase where it’s kept, and pull it out. Using a grubby compact mirror that lends more of a suggestion than actual guidance, I dab on some foundation. It feels cool, somewhat refreshing. I add some blush, darken my brows, apply a light-colored eyeshadow, and swipe on some mascara.
It’s the first time I’ve put makeup on in over a month.
My hair’s long enough now to be secured in a high ponytail. I find my leather jacket, pull it over my black shirt. Yoga pants get swapped for jeans.
It’s a big day: we’re going to Walmart.
We wake up to a foot of snow. Coffee’s freshly brewed and Elvis – ever impatient – taps at the door, then shoots me an indignant expectant look.
I clip on the leash, and slip my bare feet into boots not bothering to zip up the sides.
Pause.
There’s something bothersome about disturbing a fresh layer of snow.
We step out anyway, the stool is buried. My foot plunges, immediately sinks through the fluffy surface, and snow tumbles into the unzipped part of my boot, the biting cold stings my ankle.
We take Charlie to the vet for blood work. She’s been drinking more water than usual, and I just want to make sure she’s okay.
I bundle her in my arms and gingerly step across the sloppy snow, bumping my hip against the door that opens into the waiting room.
There’s a stooped bearded man at the counter clad in a wooly flannel. He’s lovingly cradling a multicolored cat with greasy looking fur. He chose a purple harness for his kitty.
We sit down on a pew-like wooden bench. Charlie squirms up, manages to awkwardly perch on my shoulder.
“Charlie?”
Chad helps unhook her claws from my shoulder, and we carry her into the exam room.
A loose dog trots around, busy it seems. Opening doors and not closing them.
“That’s my border collie,” the vet confesses after introducing herself, “she usually helps me work my horses but with this weather she’s been hanging out here. I don’t have a job for her, so she’s become self-employed.” As if on cue, the dog reenters the room. Pauses to sniff the stainless-steel table where Charlie’s neatly hunkered, like a furry rotisserie chicken.
Charlie remains perfectly still and lets the vet shave her neck with large buzzing clippers, the fur curling up on itself like ice cream that’s rock-solid frozen, a bitch to scoop. Then comes the needle. I look away; Charlie doesn’t flinch.
We return to the RV park, and Mike flags us down. Chad makes fresh tracks through the snow as we bump toward him in the truck.
“He’s going to wonder what these people from California are doing, braving the snowy conditions to take their cat for a drive,” I muse as we approach.
“You probably wish you were back in California right about now,” Mike says, peering at us through the open driver’s side window. Charlie stares, unblinking. He glances at her, then looks away. “Usually, this time of year I have the spaces all leveled out…we haven’t seen this much snow here since 1984. They estimate we’ll lose eighty percent of the big game herd to starvation.”
I think about the wildlife. The harsh realities and brutal undercurrent of life. I think about how we try and shield ourselves from the horrors – the lengths we go in order to avoid pain – and how it all weaves itself together. A tapestry of moments: good, bad, and neutral – the whitespace. All intertwined in time.
TRAVEL & ADVENTURE 