42: America with Taboush (Part I)
42: America with Taboush (Part I)
7:30 am
Las Vegas, Nevada
The early risers were out and about. Walkers and joggers in their neoprene and spandex, highlighted in neon greens and pinks and blues. The one night stands, satisfied or not, taxied back to the hotel rooms where they’d left their change of clothes. The gamblers who’d finally gone bust and drunks who’d had their last drink, I swear this time I mean it, stumbled into the daylight.
Taboush and I exited our hotel to go for our morning walk. We passed the Riviera Casino on the Las Vegas Strip.
“That’s a pretty looking’ dog,” a middle aged man from South Carolina said, cigarette hanging out of his mouth.
Taboush curtsied.
“Thanks.” I said.
“What kind of dog is it?” The man said.
“She’s a Canaan.” I said.
“A what?” he said.
“She’s a street dog from the Middle East. I got her in Jordan.” I said.
“Yeah, I’m not from around here.” Taboush said.
“Oh. Well, what did you think about it—the Middle East?” the man asked.
“I mean, it’s like you’d imagine it to be.” I said.
“Little kids beat me up when I was just a month old. I’ll have permanent vision damage and aggression issues.” Taboush said, staring vacantly at passers by on the Las Vegas Strip.
“Well, the President wants to go send more troops over there. I think if he does that, someone ought’ta blow him away.” The man said.
I didn’t respond, and Taboush and I continued down the Strip.
“Do you think there was ever a time when people coming to Las Vegas for vacation had class, or is that just a misnomer used by those who pine for the ‘good old days’?” Taboush asked me.
“I don’t know, pup. He’s just one guy—come on, we’ve gotta get back on the road.”
Taboush followed behind me, her nose picking up the scent of broken dreams coming from the air-conditioned casinos.
***
Salt Lake City, Utah
The sun was setting. Hues of fiery red and orange streaked across the clouds, contrasted by the icy blue Utah sky. Lindsay, Taboush, and I walked around the Mormon Temple in downtown Salt Lake City. Towering spires of ornate architectural design surrounded us. Across from the temple was a beautiful modern structure which looked like an embassy you would see in Washington, DC.
The three of us stood on a street corner—the Temple to our backs, the embassy-like structure in front of us. Waiting for the light to change was a man wearing a blue suit with a laminated name badge: “Thomas.”
“Excuse me, do you know what that building is?” Lindsay asked, pointing across the street.
“Oh, this is our convention center.” Thomas said as he turned his head and smiled vacantly at us.
Taboush and I exchanged glances. “Did he just say ‘our’ convention center?” Taboush said.
“Yeah, that was really strange.” I said to my sapient, talking dog.
We continued walking through the downtown area, passing people with Stepford-esque smiles plastered on their faces as they gallivanted about.
“I think we’ve seen all we need to see here.” Taboush said. That was all we saw.
Lindsay and I packed the truck. The next morning we drove north.
***
Seattle, Washington
Taboush and I went for our morning walk. We exited from the Roadway Inn in Shoreline, just north of Seattle. The dispossessed and downtrodden junkies who hung around the area sat outside the main office of the motel, waiting for the owner to open the doors for muffins and coffee.
After 15 minutes of walking, we saw a young woman in an oversized army-green jacket, boots, and a skirt walking toward us. Her face was pockmarked with scars, evident of drug use – probably crystal methamphetamine. She stopped as soon as she saw Taboush.
“Aren’t you so sweet!” the woman said.
“Aren’t I?” Taboush said, rolling onto her back and baring her belly to be petted.
“She’s so sweet.” The woman said to me.
“Thanks. Don’t encourage her. She’s already full of herself.” I said.
“You’re just jealous no one wants to pet your belly.” Taboush said to me. I was jealous.
The woman stood up and said my dog had made her day. Taboush and I continued our walk. After a bit we turned around and headed back to the motel. As we approached the entrance of the motel, we saw the woman in the oversized army-green jacket, boots and skirt leave the motel’s main office with a plate full of muffins and a cup of coffee. I went inside the office to get breakfast. All the muffins were gone.
Later that day Lindsay and I ate oysters at a restaurant on the Peugeot Sound. It was the first time I’d had oysters.
***
Portland, Oregon
Lindsay and I walked through the streets of Portland, Oregon with our dog in tow.
We saw rich people pretending to be poor people, poor people pretending to be homeless people, and a homeless person eating a pre-packaged platter of sushi.
Taboush shook her head in confusion at the whole menagerie, as we headed to a popular donut shop. The donuts were so good that the people of Haiti named their state religion after the bakery: Voodoo.
“This is a strange town. It’s like poverty is a badge of honor.” Taboush said.
“That’s an interesting thought, pup.” I said. “Maybe they’ve just had a tough go of things in life and feel safe here. You were homeless once, too, you know.”
“Boohoo. Anyway, if you’re not going to finish that donut, can I have a bite?” Taboush said to Lindsay.
“Yes, Taboush. Can you sit for me, pretty girl? I’ll give you a piece.” Lindsay said.
“Ok.” Then Taboush leapt up, knocking the donut out of Lindsay’s hand. Before the donut hit the ground, Taboush snatched it, consuming it in two bites.
