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Jan. 14th, 2009 11:31 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
lastgunslingerRoland used to think of flight attendants as army women. Eddie Dean clarified that for him, on one of the nights they shared stories after Jake joined them -- stewardesses, he said, or flight attendants.
He waits until the attendant asks his seatmate about a drink, and the wires come out of the young woman's ears as she requests water. Before they can go back in, Roland says, quiet and calm, "Tell me about Denver."
The cup in her hands shakes a little as she turns to look at him, and she won't meet his eyes. "Excuse me?"
"I need to know about Denver." He hasn't forgotten the light of recognition in her eyes, when she first saw him. He's curious; they do say curiosity killed the cat, and Roland can't afford delays. "Will you tell me?"
The woman opens her mouth, and closes it. She looks out the window. Below the country is dark, with splotches of light like varicolored beads spreading over the land, and thin chains of smaller lights connecting them. To the window, she says, "The reason I'm flying tonight is I need to be back at work tomorrow. I just left my friends."
"I as well," Roland says.
"I'd be driving if I could."
"Say on."
"There's the East Coast, and there's the West Coast, and there's what's in the middle. Nobody thinks much about what's in the middle as long as they keep their mouths shut. They vote Republican and they're run by agribusiness and they're really poor, so we can write them off. That's how the thinking goes. And, you know, I kind of bought into the whole deal. And then I left the East Coast and went out to Denver, and it was really, really amazing. There was all this... stuff that I started to understand -- about this country, and about history, and land use and why it's important that we think about that kind of stuff before we go off developing the land and turning it into more strip malls without thinking about it. That's what it was like where I came from, and it's kind of why I left. But out there..." She shakes her head. "It's different."
Strip malls, Roland thinks. I'm pretty sure it doesn't mean what I think it means.
"We're not going to come in the right way," she says. "I wish you could see the right way. When I came out the first time it was dusk and I couldn't figure out what was the clouds and what was the mountains. And you come along I-70 running west, and you're in the middle of eastern Colorado, and it's all plains and hills and it's boring as hell. And then... there are all these lights, and up there it's the mountains, and then there's just this massive metro area with all the lights that go with it. Out of the middle of nothing, there's... there's this outpost."
She's silent for a moment. The plane shakes a little, then settles.
"The point -- the point is that Denver's kind of the city of last chance for a couple hundred miles around, minimum -- I mean, God knows Colorado Springs doesn't count. Both because it sucks, and because that's kind of Denver's place in American cultural consciousness. You got banks and finance and stuff, and a big safety-net hospital system, and what people from the East Coast might think of as culture. And it's weird -- I've noticed just being here that there's kind of this divide between the people who've lived in Colorado all their lives and the people who've imported themselves. And everybody just keeps coming to Colorado, or they know somebody who lives out here. I've got random family down in Alamosa, and my mother found out that one of her cousin's sons just picked up and moved out here, just like I did. It's a magnet. And it can't just be the weather or the skiing or what have you, it's got to be something else. I can't think of any other explanation, except... it's just something in the air."
She turns a little, not quite facing him, but facing more forward. "And at least for me... it's impossible for me to forget that I'm living on the edge of nothing. It'd be easy for me to get in my car during a snowstorm and make it out past the bounds of town and get stuck and die in a blizzard. I'm two hours away from the middle of nowhere in pretty much every direction you could think of. And the mountains -- they're like this massive wall, except they're one you can't see over the top, but you know something's over there. I guess..."
She trails off.
"I guess it's just that the illusion of safety and civilization -- or whatever the hell's passing for it these days -- it's... a lot easier to see it's an illusion out here."
Roland nods, thoughtfully, and sees that she sees it out of the corner of her eye.
Her smile is small, and a little bitter. "Did... was that what you wanted?"
"Yar," Roland says peaceably. "Less glammer. All I needed to know."
And it's exactly what he thought.
She sips water. Offers him some.
He takes it.
The plane continues its trip through the flyover country.
He waits until the attendant asks his seatmate about a drink, and the wires come out of the young woman's ears as she requests water. Before they can go back in, Roland says, quiet and calm, "Tell me about Denver."
The cup in her hands shakes a little as she turns to look at him, and she won't meet his eyes. "Excuse me?"
"I need to know about Denver." He hasn't forgotten the light of recognition in her eyes, when she first saw him. He's curious; they do say curiosity killed the cat, and Roland can't afford delays. "Will you tell me?"
The woman opens her mouth, and closes it. She looks out the window. Below the country is dark, with splotches of light like varicolored beads spreading over the land, and thin chains of smaller lights connecting them. To the window, she says, "The reason I'm flying tonight is I need to be back at work tomorrow. I just left my friends."
"I as well," Roland says.
"I'd be driving if I could."
"Say on."
"There's the East Coast, and there's the West Coast, and there's what's in the middle. Nobody thinks much about what's in the middle as long as they keep their mouths shut. They vote Republican and they're run by agribusiness and they're really poor, so we can write them off. That's how the thinking goes. And, you know, I kind of bought into the whole deal. And then I left the East Coast and went out to Denver, and it was really, really amazing. There was all this... stuff that I started to understand -- about this country, and about history, and land use and why it's important that we think about that kind of stuff before we go off developing the land and turning it into more strip malls without thinking about it. That's what it was like where I came from, and it's kind of why I left. But out there..." She shakes her head. "It's different."
Strip malls, Roland thinks. I'm pretty sure it doesn't mean what I think it means.
"We're not going to come in the right way," she says. "I wish you could see the right way. When I came out the first time it was dusk and I couldn't figure out what was the clouds and what was the mountains. And you come along I-70 running west, and you're in the middle of eastern Colorado, and it's all plains and hills and it's boring as hell. And then... there are all these lights, and up there it's the mountains, and then there's just this massive metro area with all the lights that go with it. Out of the middle of nothing, there's... there's this outpost."
She's silent for a moment. The plane shakes a little, then settles.
"The point -- the point is that Denver's kind of the city of last chance for a couple hundred miles around, minimum -- I mean, God knows Colorado Springs doesn't count. Both because it sucks, and because that's kind of Denver's place in American cultural consciousness. You got banks and finance and stuff, and a big safety-net hospital system, and what people from the East Coast might think of as culture. And it's weird -- I've noticed just being here that there's kind of this divide between the people who've lived in Colorado all their lives and the people who've imported themselves. And everybody just keeps coming to Colorado, or they know somebody who lives out here. I've got random family down in Alamosa, and my mother found out that one of her cousin's sons just picked up and moved out here, just like I did. It's a magnet. And it can't just be the weather or the skiing or what have you, it's got to be something else. I can't think of any other explanation, except... it's just something in the air."
She turns a little, not quite facing him, but facing more forward. "And at least for me... it's impossible for me to forget that I'm living on the edge of nothing. It'd be easy for me to get in my car during a snowstorm and make it out past the bounds of town and get stuck and die in a blizzard. I'm two hours away from the middle of nowhere in pretty much every direction you could think of. And the mountains -- they're like this massive wall, except they're one you can't see over the top, but you know something's over there. I guess..."
She trails off.
"I guess it's just that the illusion of safety and civilization -- or whatever the hell's passing for it these days -- it's... a lot easier to see it's an illusion out here."
Roland nods, thoughtfully, and sees that she sees it out of the corner of her eye.
Her smile is small, and a little bitter. "Did... was that what you wanted?"
"Yar," Roland says peaceably. "Less glammer. All I needed to know."
And it's exactly what he thought.
She sips water. Offers him some.
He takes it.
The plane continues its trip through the flyover country.
