Pahrump — a city frozen in time, standing proudly in an endless cloud of dust. Surviving on as few establishments as possible while those who live there use their hour-long treks to Vegas every day for bragging rights. It’s a sickening pride, one he can never forget — one that makes him ashamed he’s ever lived in. In ten years, there isn’t a single new store, but someone apparently got bored and fought for a streetlight in the middle of the 160, just before Calvada, making the drive to the RV park a little more obnoxious.
Casey turns at the light, windows down, radio off, car rattling from the uneven roads. They could build an unnecessary street light, but they’d never repave the road; it’s apart of the Pahrumpian charm, after all. How he’d ever lived in this place is beyond him. How he’d ever carried the same pride as everyone else makes him want to bury himself alive.
The closer he gets to the park, the tighter his grip gets on the steering wheel, a barely successful attempt to stifle his temptation to turn the car around. That, or into the nearest ditch, wherever instinct leads him first.
He passes by the water tower he used to hang out on, repainted from white to red, erasing any trace of where he’d scribbled the F-word in sharpie on it as a teenager. The underground house is still there just behind it, embedded safely in the hill — boarded over, but still intact. How many hints of his old self reside in there? How many beer cans or random articles of clothing and things to sleep on?
The park is just a little ways further, down a winding road, the only well-kept one until Vegas probably. It’s as untouched as everything else, always a main attraction, though that’s only because of its attachment to Saddle West. Even then, it still has to compete with Terrible’s, and Terrible’s is always the winner, but Jennifer could never afford to stay there; as it turns out, she couldn’t afford Saddle West anymore either, which is how Casey ended up here.
A deep breath through the nose does nothing to sooth the ache in his chest as he steps out of his car, Jennifer outside on the curb smoking a cigarette. There’s a few suitcases huddled around her. She’s been frozen in time too, exactly where he left her ten years ago. She hasn’t even looked at him yet, yet it still feels like a sickly familiar walk of shame — the type of tip-toeing only a teenager who knows he’s in trouble can pull off, but Casey isn’t a teenager and he’s definitely not in trouble.
“Kinda hurts not to be invited to your own son’s wedding,” she remarks as soon as he’s in earshot, but still doesn’t look at him. She takes a drag off her cigarette, shaking her head. “Then you screwed it up before I could even meet her.”
“Do you want my help or not?” Casey fires back, his eyebrows arched. It’s everything in him not to turn around and pretend the whole trip was just a weird dream. He wants to ask how badly she screwed up with Aunt Barn that she had to reach out to him, but he holds his tongue.
“Come sit down.” Her tone changes, softer even with a face like stone. She’s drunk.
Casey comes forward, but doesn’t sit. Jennifer doesn’t push it. “The baby’s cute,” she says. “Well, I guess she really isn’t a baby at this point, huh?”
“Look, I really didn’t come here to catch up.”
“I know you didn’t. I guess I kinda hoped you might want to though. It’s been ten years now, right?” Jennifer comes to her feet, tossing her cigarette out into the parking lot. “I thought we could be friendly at least.”
“I’m here to keep you off the street, I’m not here to be your friend.” Casey’s eyes sharpen, a small step away when she steps forward, arms tightly over his chest. “That’s what you said, wasn’t it? That we’d never be friends?”
