By the time we cleared the mountains, the vast glimmer of the city sprawled below, I was accustomed to the vibration and noise.
As when driving, it was a glow on the horizon. We somewhat followed the freeway from the air – I tracked the headlights with my forehead smudging the cold window. The hills seem so big from the car, and that part of the desert is the deepest indigo; there are no streetlights outside the city. As a child, I’d lie in the back and cushion my head on a sweatshirt. The window curved enough that I could see the night sky if I tipped my head back, and I’d get dizzy finding the Big Dipper.
On the ground, the engine would pull you up the hill. You’d reach Apex, summit 2,492 feet, twiddle the steering wheel on the bend, and Las Vegas would swing into view and dazzle your eyes.
From the air, blue-white pinpricks from energy-efficient bulbs glare against the sea of yellow-orange – embroidery fabric, the squares of the grid system.
It’s the worst day of my life and I’m riveted.
Maybe, when this was all over, when everything was better, we could all go together in a helicopter. Maybe to the Grand Canyon.
Not a Life Flight…
Leave a Reply