Bend, Oregon

December 29, 2007. Some time after 10 PM.

The snow on the ground quit and turned into ice and the town was quiet. But unlike the dreamy nights in the forest or the desert, people could still be heard in the distance, operating their machines and staying as far away from me as possible. Goddamnit, what a nightmare. I sat in my car and watched my breath disappear and reappear from the frost that formed like cancer on my windshield. The hotel parking lot was a graveyard and I felt like a ghost- the only ghost in this ghost town, haunting nobody but the reflection in the mirror. This can't be permanent, I reminded myself. It's too silly to be. I had driven to Bend to visit what turned out to be an imaginary lover who had been real everywhere except the actual town she lived in. Back in October, we had spent three nights together in California, happily sharing our daydreams and imaginary things until we were convinced it could become a reality. Now, my imagination was falling apart, and her broken pieces laid cautiously on the sheets of my empty hotel bed. When I finally met her again, she was a stranger, with a stranger voice than I had imagined, a stranger face than I had imagined, a stranger faith I hadn't imagined, a stranger without the love I had completely imagined. She found Jesus and I found...out. To hell with this place. I started my car- to hell with you- and with the clockwork of self-loathing and shame, the first few simple blues notes of Bright Eyes' "We Are Nowhere" moaned from the frozen speakers, and I let it play. You must choose wisely the songs that make these moments of your life last forever, because they will never sound any other way. I pulled out of the hotel and began my pathetic parade of hide-and-go-seek along the Christmas carcass streets of Nowhere. I was good at seeking, but she was even better at hiding.

Bend was much more livable than I had imagined. The main streets were as wide as any suburban town in California and familiar traces of consumer symbols lit the corners of parking lots and gas stations. In the daytime, the people were friendly and active, expecting to exchange nothing less than human warmth and sincerity in every cold winter encounter. The sun was a golden mother to her children in Bend, and you appreciated every touch of affection from her in the short hours she watched over you. In fact, I really liked the town as far as towns went. But now it was dark, and it was cold and I was alone. What does anything in the daytime matter when night is here?

The pavement was laminated with invisible ice. I drove cautiously and consciously, fearing an accident above anything else. I felt as though I had already betrayed my family and friends by being in Bend. I had driven through Mt. Shasta in a blizzard to get to her. To die or lie in a hospital bed on account of this trip would have be unforgivable.

From the Red Lion Hotel, I made a right onto 3rd Street, which was the main road in Bend that turned into a highway as soon as you left town. There were hardly any cars on the road. The few that passed by left me no consolation in my isolation. They appeared to be machines, not driven by human beings, but self-sustained lifeless pieces of metal, emotionless and invincible, patrolling the area for intruders and cry babies. I left the heater off. I preferred to shiver in my sleeves.

I had planned to finish this but it's been weeks and I realized, I have no real feelings towards this anymore. Anything beyond what has been written would be forced as a narrative, and there's much more interesting fiction to be written about than this. For better or for worse, this is as done as it can be.