Words From the Fragile Spire

Lights of Las Vegas

I still light up for you.

The Las Vegas Strip looked wrong in daylight. At night, it's the picturesque version of the city everyone imagines – all the neon-soaked glamour and hedonism. But at this hour, it was eerie; like I had intruded on the devil's downtime.

I recalled the first time I ever came to the city. I was 10. My parents drove us on US-95 South for seven hours. The drive itself never stuck in my memory; it's hard to see Nevada as anything except for a single city surrounded by a featureless void of desert.

But I do remember one moment. I stuck my head out the window and saw a ball of pure light in the distance – likes the gates of heaven descended to Earth. Even though it was the dead of night, the city's neon glow was like the next day's sunrise come early.

♠

"You look like shit," Liz said when I walked through the door.

I nodded. "You're not at work."

"I know. Take this thing off and get in a hot bath. It'll make you feel better."

She came close to take off my jacket and I hugged her.

She seemed surprised. "I love you," she said.

"Why are you not at work?" I asked.

She broke away: "It's not such a big deal, really."

"I just want to know."
"I wanted to stay until you got home. You know you were gone all day, right? I got worried."

"Liz, you've never done this before- "

"Yeah? And you've never come home this late. And you look like a dump! What the hell were you doing?"

Before I could respond, she started again.

"I'm sorry, Nick. I get jealous of the fun you have."

Fun. That's a tricky way to put it. "Come on," I said, "what are really saying?"

"Ok," she sighed. "I quit my job."

"You what?" I was shocked.

She looked like she had a lot to say. "When I first moved out here it felt, I don't know, exciting and rebellious, and now it's just... so familiar, I guess. I want to live that true Vegas lifestyle with you – for a while. We can work things out from there. Can't we?"

In that moment, I said nothing. I could only stare at her. My mind whirled with hundreds of thoughts but sunk me into my memory of the first time I met her.

♦

"Look at how beautiful it is," she had said.

Sometimes you have a good day that makes you forget about the rest; sometimes you win a little that makes you forget the big losses. That day, I had lost big. The Fountain at the Bellagio was always the place I'd go to on those days. The sensual sway of the water was the perfect pleasure hit.

"Don't you think so?"

I thought she was out of her mind. Could she not see the liter of vodka wrapped in a paper bag in my right hand? Could she not see the deserted look in my eyes? Those eyes, crimson from everything in my body except for sleep. Why did she talk to me?

"Beautiful. Yes, very beautiful," I said.

"I'm Liz," she said.

"Nick." I paused. "Is this your first time in the city?"

"Yes! It's just amazing!"

In that moment, the fountain escaped my attention. It was the look on her face: the giddy smile like she couldn't help herself. She reminded me of who I used to be: that kid who once saw this place as a postcard reality.

"You know, I was talking about you," I said.

"What?"

"When I said, 'beautiful.'"

♣

After years, her beauty was unchanged. I loved her because I saw myself in her; I still did. But now, that sensation didn't fill me with bliss – it had become something else, as had I.

"I also have something to tell you," I began nervously.

"What is it?" she said.

"I need to go away. For a while."

"What are you talking about?"

"I've had a lot of things on my mind lately, and I just need to get away from it all."

"I don't know what you're saying. Look, you're not feeling well. You just need to get some rest."

"I let you down!"

Now she just stared at me.

"I let you down. It was good between us. Really good. But the spark I felt for you slipped away. I'm not a great person. I haven't made a lot of great decisions in my life, and I don't want you to follow my same path."

I could see one tear roll down her face. By the way she looked at me, I knew she wanted me to cry too. To pretend this was just an outburst; to get back to living the way we had been.

"You can go," she said. I guess she'd waited too long.

"It doesn't have to be like this," I said.

"Go," she said with a tone of finality. And I did.

♥

Once you live in this city for so long, you look at everything differently. The brightest lights become dim. The omnipresent cigarette smoke becomes less admirable and more detestable. It's the smell – that fucking smell. The linger that 1000 dry-cleanings can't erase.

Sin City – it instills urges in you that you thought you'd never have. It doesn't surprise me now that father was so excited to take us here, and why my mom dreaded the whole thing. How could a man stay faithful in a place like this? The only urge I felt now was for fresh air.

It was twilight by the time I headed North on US-95 for the first time in my life. All around me were the blinding lights of a city that whispered to me: I still light up for you. I wish I could say the same, but things change. Not all fires burn forever.

Halfway into the desert, I looked into my rearview mirror and saw a ball of pure light behind me – like the sunrise. Was it heaven? Or just Las Vegas? I suppose it only depends on which direction you travel.