Nobody knows we exist (and we like it that way) – Part 2

Nobody knows we exist (and we like it that way) Pt.2

I should have been startled, but I wasn’t in the least because the town didn’t feel deserted. I stepped aside to allow the gentleman access to his mailbox. I watched him intently, curious about who he was, where he lived, what he did for a living, and what sort of mail he received. He was wearing blue jeans, sneakers, a sweatshirt and a ball cap. He appeared to be in his 70s and seemed to be the sort of man you’d like to live next door to. He didn’t mind that I stood there staring as he collected his mail; in fact, he chuckled and glanced over at me as he reached his hand in to collect his mail. From the other side of the open post office box I heard a hearty “Good morning sir!” and could see outside, where a man in a USPS uniform stood next to a jeep with a small bag of mail. Now this did startle me.

While the gentlemen chatted about the weather I stepped outside. Off to my left the road continued past the storefronts. A defunct railroad crossing served as the boundary between the abandoned town and a newer town with a few residents going about their business. A woman walked out of a small grocery store carrying bread and eggs while a woman watered her flower garden across the street. Curious, I walked towards the railroad crossing.

Immediately on the other side there stood a drive-in burger joint. A bored carhop in candystripes smacked on gum as a dust devil snaked its way across the empty parking lot. There wasn’t a car in sight, nor the slightest hint that teenagers or youth of any age lived in the town. I approached the carhop to ask her where everyone was, but as I got nearer I realized she wasn’t there. I only expected to find her there.

I suddenly became very concerned that I was lost and would not be able to find my way home. I looked toward the mountains, thinking I could use them as a landmark. While earlier they resembled the Wasatch, they now looked entirely different. I looked around and realized I was nowhere near home. A cloud of dust appeared down the road and made its way toward me. It was an old brown pickup truck driven by a teenage boy in a letterman’s jacket. Next to him sat a girl of the same age. The truck stopped and they both got out and headed in my direction. They were smiling warmly as they greeted me and welcomed them to their town.

“How did you find us?” she asked. I told her that I wasn’t sure, but it certainly was an odd town, wasn’t it? They both laughed, then offered me a ride. The boy had to get to work soon, so we were going to his house. The girl explained that she lived next door; not many people had cars in their town, so she always rode along with him wherever he went. They had gone to school together all their lives and had just graduated from high school. As she told me this, we drove past a high school that had clearly been abandoned for decades. Knowing the question I was about to ask she told me that they didn’t go to school there or anywhere near this town. Their families had moved to the town only a couple of months ago. There wasn’t a whole lot to do, but nobody got into any trouble and people looked after one another.

We pulled up in front of the boy’s house. It looked like something out of “Little House on the Prairie”; as he went inside I tried to get a peek but then realized it was rude and a little creepy to do that. After all, I don’t really know them. The girl and I walked towards her house and I asked her what other towns were nearby. Nothing was nearby, she told me, but some places weren’t as far as other places. The nearest highway was 200 miles to the east, and that would probably get me anywhere I needed to go if I had a car.

And just like that, I did have a car. I was in the passenger seat as the girl sped down a freshly paved two lane highway. Pine trees zipped past as she told me that all the men in the town worked for the railroad at some point but recently they were all getting laid off. The boy worked for the railroad, too. The road got curvier and curvier as she drove faster and faster. Not wanting to offend my host (for that’s what she was), I didn’t say anything until after we’d gone over a crest in the road and the car went airborne for several seconds. When the tires finally touched down I asked her to please stop, as I was worried that my car couldn’t handle that sort of thing and I really needed the car to get home. She ignored me and kept driving until we returned to the town.

I asked her the name of the town before she got out of the car. She told me, but I’ve forgotten. “Is that in Utah?” I asked her. She laughed and said, “It might be. I really don’t know.  You can get to the freeway if you head north for 50 miles, then head east for 200 miles. I don’t know where it’ll take you, but it’ll take you somewhere.” I wondered–but didn’t have the nerve to ask–why her family and the boy’s family had moved there to such an isolated town. As I got into the driver’s seat of the old Camry she said, “I know all of this seems a bit strange. The thing is, nobody knows this place exists. You won’t remember it. Nobody knows WE exist. And you know what? We like it that way.”

Nobody knows we exist (and we like it that way) – Part 1

Thanks to pharmaceuticals, I had my first epic post-insomnia dream experience a few weeks back. The dream was so riveting that I obsessed over it for days. Here’s my attempt to capture it in words.

Nobody knows we exist (and we like it that way)

The desert sun was bright and relentless but the air was neutral in temperature. In silence I walked alongside a featureless presence; it was little more than a glint of reflected glare in my peripheral vision and yet I felt no apprehension in having it with me as I trekked. Drifts of sand were spotted with clustered blades of yucca and puffs of sagebrush. In the distance was a range of dusty violet mountain peaks that resembled the Wasatch. I couldn’t turn to my partner to determine which way I was supposed to go, as it always disappeared if I looked directly at it. I had a sense that I was supposed to continue toward the mountains, which always loomed impossibly far away over small hills of sand that prevented me from seeing what lie between myself and the familiar peaks.

Suddenly we stopped and it said to me, “There’s an old abandoned town just over the hill. Nobody knows it’s there, so it’s in pristine condition. Go, see for yourself.” I turned toward the voice and caught a glimpse of a man-shaped cloud of sand that glittered away before I could see it. I turned to view the mountains when suddenly the panorama revealed itself. I gasped in awe when I realized that I was standing on top of a hill, looking down upon an old rutted road. Beyond the road stood the surprisingly modern looking town. It was shrouded in desert haze, but I could just make out one or two buildings that were ten stories or so in height. A tumbleweed lazily rolled past as I focused my eyes on a flashing red dot of light in the haze; it was a lone stoplight standing guard over crumbled asphalt at the entrance to the town.

STOP. STOP. STOP. STOP. STOP.

So I did. On the rutted road below, an old blue sedan slowly made its way in the direction I had come from. A portly man in a business suit casually sipped coffee from a commuter mug and tapped the steering wheel to the beat of a twangy tune coming from his AM radio. I could see him as clearly as if I were sitting in the passenger seat next to him, yet he was completely unaware of my presence. I waited for him to pass, entranced by the unexpected sight of a very normal looking man obliviously doing very normal things in this surreal environment created by my subconscious. I speculated as to who he may be. Certainly I had never seen him before in the dreamworld or the physical; I concluded that he was not meant to be there and was simply getting out of the way so I could continue on my journey.

Within seconds I was standing on the crest of another hill overlooking the town. The tall buildings had vanished, along with the stoplight. To my right, at the bottom of the hill, stood a two-story hotel surrounded by a porch. A road ran alongside the hotel, passed in front of me, and continued on to my left. My eyes followed the road, taking in the old post office and storefronts. It looked very much like your standard Old West town, and while nobody was there, it didn’t feel like a ghost town. Nothing was in disrepair; lacy curtains hung in the window of a dry goods store; windows were intact and clean; a shiny blue USPS mailbox stood in front of the post office. This didn’t strike me as odd, as one expects to find a shiny blue mailbox in front of the post office.

Inside the post office, more lacy curtains hung in the windows and a small museum of sorts showcased treasured possessions of late 19th and early 20th centuries: thimbles; porcelain and cloth dolls; doilies; oil lamps with milk glass bases; opera glasses; daguerrotypes; a Victrola; iron skillets; ink wells and plume pens; and the portrait of a long since forgotten heiress in a bubble glass frame. There were only a few rows of brass post office boxes. Most didn’t have a door and stood open with not a speck of dust inside. A handful had doors with combination locks and glass fronts; all had mail inside. I peered into one, hoping to see envelopes with fancy handwriting that might contain letters between dear friends or lovers separated by some great distance. Behind me I heard someone clear their throat. “Excuse me, ma’am, but I need to get my mail.”

…to be continued…