Being in-between novels is like being in-between serious relationships (happy “Candy-Up-For-Grabs-In The-Office-Kitchen Day!” It comes around every February 15). It’s also like being in-between new albums to wear out or being in-between apartments — which is one way to describe my current state of being (another way to describe it would be: my hot water heater is out again and I’m still rocking the blow-out I got on Sunday morning). Borderlands are fun as narrative metaphors, but they are less fun to live in.
I used to have three friends living in San Francisco, so for a while, I would travel there frequently from LA. Most of the time I flew; once, I drove. It was an eight-hour trip. I left on a Friday afternoon and when I was around halfway, I needed to stop for gas. So, I programmed my GPS to find the nearest gas station and followed the “Burgundy Virtual Road” off the highway.
Unfortunately, I’m not the kind of person that updates the maps on my GPS. In fact, I wouldn’t know how to do it if I tried.
I was in rural California. Following the prescribed path, I immediately turned onto an unpaved road lined with unlit trees. Luckily, it was farm-rural; I’m from the Midwest, I recognize farm-rural. Leaving Los Angeles, there is a possibility you will hit desert-rural (Chicagoans call our rural “BumbleFuck” or “Po’ Dunk”, Los Angelinos call theirs “Butt Fuck Egypt”). I’m not sure I would’ve been able to handle desert-rural. Luckily, since I was heading north of LA rather than East, I had found myself in some kind of farmland, probably with fruit trees (I would’ve been even more comfortable if it had been grain or sod).
I was absolutely in the beginning of a horror movie.
It was becoming less and less likely that I would find a gas station at the end of this path the GPS had created for me with incomplete map information. I was probably driving through someone’s private farm property. I passed rows and rows of unlit trees and of course when I reached the end of the path, there was nothing there.
I don’t make the Los Angeles-San Francisco trip as often anymore. Two of my San Fran friends moved away, and one started studying in earnest for her Masters exams, which means she’s living more inside her head than in any particular location.
This post may contain affiliate links.
