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Christmas on the Moon – Longreads

Christmas on the Moon – Longreads

2023-12-06 14:23:48

Harrison Scott Key| Longreads | December 6, 2023 | 17 minutes (4,850 phrases)

I’ve loved many completely happy Christmases and loads of disappointing ones, just like the one I spent consuming alone at a Waffle Home on account of an ice storm, or the Christmas my father accused all of the single relations of being homosexual. However of all of the unhappy Yuletides of my life, the one I spent guarding $100,000 value of explosives on the floor of the moon tops the record. The 12 months was 1996. I used to be 21 years outdated and, in a method, fairly homeless. Residence is among the enduring themes of Christmas, the enjoyment of being in its midst and the thundering melancholy of eager for it, questioning in the event you can ever actually get that feeling of belonging again—in the event you ever had it within the first place.

On the time, I used to be a school pupil in Jackson, Mississippi, and barely went dwelling. I might solely battle with Pop about why I ended going to church or entertain questions from Mother about my sudden hair loss and what this did or didn’t imply about radon poisoning. I did love my household, or at the least the concept of them, and took nice satisfaction in our being rednecks who lived far off within the Piney Woods, a lawless land the place no person would ship a pizza. So lots of my school mates got here from civilized locations with public parks and museums. When someone requested the place I used to be from, I might pull out the atlas to poke my finger on the unmarked level on a map of Mississippi, between Brandon and a subatomic little village referred to as Puckett. “Touring circuses wintered there,” I’d say, a element I realized from the Rankin County Information as a boy.

It was a nonplace, actually. The boonies. The type of place you solely went in the event you have been trying to find an escaped convict or a coonskin cap. It didn’t really feel like dwelling. Nowhere did. Mother was from the Delta, Pop from the Hill Nation up close to Coldwater. “Mama and thems,” he referred to as it, in a county the place all of the cemeteries had tombstones filled with Scotts and Keys, that are two of my names. It felt good to be in a spot the place so lots of my relations had been embalmed. 

As a younger man, my father declined a proposal to take over the household farm and break up for Memphis to hunt his fortune like a personality in an outdated nation track, although he by no means discovered it there. Memphis is the place I used to be born. Was that my dwelling? Once I was 9, Pop’s work introduced us right down to the Piney Woods close to Puckett, some three hours south, the place we had no kin. In a spot like Mississippi, the place kin issues, we would as effectively have moved to Tierre del Fuego. However I had my first kiss right here, and hit my first homerun. Possibly this was dwelling. 

It was, I suppose, till per week earlier than Thanksgiving in my senior 12 months of school. I’d come again to perform a little laundry when Pop strode into the kitchen and gravely knowledgeable me that they have been promoting the home and shifting once more, on account of a land dispute with a choleric farmer up the highway who hated everybody however his cows.

“The place are you shifting?” I requested.

“As much as city,” Pop stated.

He meant the Ross Barnett Reservoir, a synthetic lake with weedy marinas surrounded by forgettable subdivisions, which might permit my father to hold on his illicit affair with the largemouth bass. It was hardly half-hour away, however the individuals up there have been all new.

“You coming as much as mama and thems to hunt?” Pop requested as I folded laundry.

I didn’t need to spend Christmas with my household at a farm that by no means would really feel like dwelling, staring backward right into a previous that solely made you unhappy. I needed to stare ahead. I needed one thing new. I wanted cash, for one. My mother and father certain didn’t have any. “It’s important to come,” Mother stated. “It’s Christmas.”

“Possibly,” I stated, strolling out of my final childhood dwelling for the final time. I might by no means come again to this place. We had no individuals right here. Why would I come again? The place would I keep?

I hadn’t been to church in years however nonetheless learn my Bible typically, with all these horrid battles and beasts and pores and skin illnesses that jogged my memory a lot of my Mississippi childhood. The elusiveness of dwelling is among the Bible’s nice themes. God himself was largely homeless. “The foxes have holes, and the birds of the air have nests,” he says, “however the Son of Man hath nowhere to put his head,” Jesus says, somewhat passive-aggressively. 

God doesn’t appear to care an excessive amount of about the place you’re from, and once you’re from a spot, he likes making you go elsewhere, often worse. The entire ebook is a fever dream of exile and actual property growth, starting in a backyard and ending 1,200 chapters later in one thing even higher than New York in autumn, a hermit’s grand hallucination of a metropolis nearly not possible in its magnificence and cleanliness and tax income. 

I hadn’t been to church in years however nonetheless learn my Bible typically, with all these horrid battles and beasts and pores and skin illnesses that jogged my memory a lot of my Mississippi childhood.

I remembered my Bible, and all these hymns, too, so many songs about on the lookout for a house you possibly can’t fairly put your palms on. In “We’re Marching to Zion,” we sang in regards to the “stunning metropolis” that awaited us, reached by way of “The Gloryland Method,” a non secular freeway main right into a metaphorical Canaan’s Land the place there exists a habitation on a hilltop for peoples of each nation with no warfare or passport necessities. Till then, we slouched by way of arid and inhospitable lands, crammed with stumps and snakes. The message was clear: you can discover a dwelling—you simply should die first.

I drove by way of woods and up into city towards Jackson, questioning if God had a house for me on the market, someplace. He’d led the Israelites to theirs with a pillar of smoke by day and hearth by night time, however driving again to campus at nighttime, I noticed no burning indicators pointing the way in which. All I noticed was a fantastic massive billboard off the interstate, bathed in highlight. In a blaze of fluorescent hearth, the signal shouted with holy ghost energy: fireworks!

And I obtained to pondering.

There are locations that matter, websites of consecration and that means, each pure and human, that possess, by way of the alchemy of time and reminiscence, a holiness: very outdated church buildings, historic baseball stadiums, sure groves of timber on sure campuses. The Romans referred to as it genius loci, the spirit that inhabits the earth and air of a spot. 

There are locations and there are additionally nonplaces, forgotten or ignored or remodeled by human progress into blind spots of expertise the place no person desires to be, just like the landscaping in entrance of a Burger King. The expansive lot with the fireworks billboard off the interstate was a nonplace, which is maybe why I felt so irresistibly drawn to it. 

The billboard stood excessive on a pole, simply off I-55, alongside US Freeway 80. As soon as often called the Dixie Overland Freeway, it stretched from the briny waters of the Atlantic close to Savannah, Georgia, to the raging tempests of the Pacific close to San Diego, California, and thru a now-forgettable piece of Jackson over the brown unhappy water of the Pearl River. As I drove by this nonplace, I beheld a powerful wasteland under the billboard, as soon as a truckstop, now a area of gravel that includes the type of tattered sheet steel buildings the place they chain hostages to the ground. 

The fireworks signal stayed up all 12 months, as a result of each June and December, a capacious candy-striped circus tent crammed with all method of fiery delights materialized on this post-industrial apocalypse as if by some unusual wood-elf magic. It appeared like the right place for a boy from nowhere to spend the upcoming vacation. I don’t know what prompted me to name the phone firm and discover the cellphone variety of the corporate that operated this fireworks tent, however that’s precisely what I did.

“Completely not,” Mother stated, after I defined over the cellphone that I’d discovered vacation employment with Increase Metropolis, LLC, a subsidiary of The Hunan Group, Inc., managing Central Mississippi’s largest fireworks tent on a darkish patch of freeway simply over the river from the Homicide Capital of the New South. Dying was rampant within the space: stabbings, execution-style shootings on the river or the strip golf equipment simply over the hill.

“You’ll be robbed,” Mother stated. “What sort of firm hires a toddler to promote explosives?”

One thing possessed me, a starvation to flee, to rush up and exile myself and get it over with. Lacking Christmas could be a tough cease, a clear demise for the previous. 

A couple of days later, throughout finals week, my father made a uncommon look on campus. A lot of the college students have been gone already. 

“I introduced you some issues,” Pop stated, opening the trunk of the automotive to disclose gun instances, ammo, and a machete wrapped in a military blanket.

“Your momma’s anxious, son. The machete will make her really feel higher. I sharpened it,” he stated, thumbing the blade.

Pop had introduced alongside my outdated 12-gauge pump, my .30-.06 rifle, and three preloaded clips with 220-grain shot, in case the fireworks tent was attacked by a staff of bison.

“And a few pistols,” he stated, handing me a bag of pistols.

“Thanks, Pop,” I stated, transferring the arsenal to my trunk, a couple of parking areas over.

Typically, after I take into consideration my life, I take into consideration the quiet moments that will have formed me greater than I may’ve recognized, just like the time my father handed me a sack of weapons in a dormitory car parking zone as a result of he didn’t need me to die. 

I reported for obligation on Wednesday, December 18, 1996. I introduced lengthy johns, a searching coat, bedroll, cookstove, radio, books, and the weapons; together with ample foodstuffs for the lengthy darkish winter: bins of ramen, a number of gallons of Dinty Moore Beef Stew—sufficient survival gear to stage a scrumptious, hearty coup. 

The lot was hemmed in on two sides by interstate overpasses and an enormous junkyard to the rear. In between the tent and the interstate sat a midcentury motor lodge for vacationers utilizing this freeway, again when vacationers used this freeway. The place was nonetheless open, rot be damned. An indication introduced: phone in each room. Presumably, so you can name and say goodbye to your family members as you bled out on the ground.

The big circus tent had gone up in a single day. A tractor-trailer the colour of dry mustard backed as much as one nook, however in any other case, the positioning was empty—a moonscape. Right here I used to be to fulfill a person referred to as Donny, who’d present me the place the execution-style murders would happen.

Donny was perhaps 30 years outdated with a .44 Magnum on his hip and ran all of the Increase Metropolis tents on this a part of the state. Orientation started within the tent correct, large enough for a church revival, strings of bare bulbs draped throughout the expanse of it. He opened the trailer, the merchandise stacked to the ceiling. 

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“It’s 100 grand value of fireworks,” he stated. “I hope you bought a gun.”

“I’ve sufficient weapons to start out a brand new authorities,” I stated.

Behind the trailer, tucked away within the again, have been my sleeping quarters, a tiny trailer the colour and form of a Grade B egg.

“There’s a scorching plate in there,” he stated. “However don’t use it.”

“Received it.”

“You get caught leaving, you’ll be fired,” he stated.

“Received it.”

He appeared across the empty tent and went to a darkish place inside himself. 

“Individuals will need to steal all the pieces,” he stated. “However don’t go calling the cops simply because. Don’t be jumpy just like the final dude.”

“What occurred to the final dude?” I stated.

“He obtained jumpy.” 

“What if I have to bathe?”

“Use the motel,” he stated, of the intercourse staff’ encampment throughout the lot. “They’ll offer you a bathe for 5 {dollars}.”

“Have you ever ever been inside it?” I requested.

“Hell no,” he stated. 

Donny had me signal papers that relieved Increase Metropolis of any legal responsibility within the occasion of my dismemberment and stated he’d see me in per week to empty the money field and bury my stays.

Alone now on the floor of this godless asteroid, I tossed my bag and bedding into the egg. I’d introduced a single sheet and a pair of heavy, careworn quilts made by my great-grandmother, Mama Bessie—my mom’s mom’s mom—powerful as outdated boot leather-based and the scale of an emaciated gnome. Mama Bessie raised six youngsters alone and got here from a time when males have been women and men have been additionally males, on account of all the lads dying. She made her dwelling close to Possumneck, one other nonplace, east of West and west of Ethel. I couldn’t shake the strangeness of life—how in the future, you’re a boy, hoping Santa Claus solutions your letters, and the following, you’re dwelling inside a fiberglass egg with a loaded rifle and a pair of heirloom quilts from a village that Santa won’t ever once more go to, for it not exists.

I labored myself ragged that first day, by way of the early sundown and into the blue-black chill of night time. My in a single day safety could be arriving someday earlier than midnight. Donny had let me rent my very own night time watchman, and I’d chosen my massive brother, Chook, the one human I knew— moreover my father—who appeared able to manslaughter. He was on the town for a couple of days and sleeping on the new home over on the reservoir, the one I hadn’t even been to but.

When Chook lastly confirmed up, my physique was already lined in a advantageous layer of gunpowder. 

“What’s the brand new home like?” I stated.

“It’s a home,” he stated.

“I’m going to mattress,” I stated.

“What would you like me to do all night time?” he stated, surveying the ridiculous tent.

“Preserve us each alive.” I handed him one of many pistols.

“I introduced my very own.”

“If one thing dangerous occurs, wake me up,” I stated.

“Simply come out in the event you hear capturing,” Chook stated.

That first morning, my massive brother woke me with a vigorous rap on the door of the egg. I unfolded myself, thanked him, and he drove away, to return 16 hours later, as he would each night time that vacation. Even when it turned steely chilly, I discovered the solitary work hypnotic and absorbing, a approach to vanquish the dread regime of time. For 18 hours, I unboxed and priced Roman candles, M-60s, Black Cats, Saturn missiles, my physique lined in flamable filth. At sundown, I walked the lot with a value gun in a single hand and a pistol within the different. I warmed a bowl of Dinty Moore on the forbidden scorching plate and watched vacation programming on a small TV on the counter.

Even when it turned steely chilly, I discovered the solitary work hypnotic and absorbing, a approach to vanquish the dread regime of time.

When the climate turned chilly and surprising flurries started, I donned a woolen poncho and took my smoke breaks mere steps from the explosives, utilizing the tractor-trailer as a windbreak. I will need to have appeared a sight to the shoppers and sellers who got here and went with some frequency from the Intercourse Lodge. Typically I learn Shakespeare. I had a Full Works the form and measurement of a Bible, tiny print on cigarette paper. I had given some thought to changing into an actor, touring the countryside with a troupe. Who wants a house once you’ve obtained a stage?

100 yards behind the tent, out within the scrubby desert of disemboweled vehicles, sat a cinderblock shed the place a person with a wispy white mullet lived, sexton of the junkyard. I noticed him solely as soon as a day when he tootled across the lot on a small dune buggy. Sooner or later after lunch, I walked throughout the gravel to introduce myself. No one answered and I walked away. Then a voice rang out.

“Ho, there!” 

I turned and there he was, in overalls and T-shirt, waving me again.

“I’m Otto,” he stated.

“I’m working the tent,” I stated. 

“I do like a sparkler infrequently,” he stated, his thoughts wandering to a happier youth. 

“I’ve seen you out right here in your dune buggy,” I stated.

“That ain’t me,” he stated. 

“Oh,” I stated, although it was clearly him.

“That’s the opposite Otto.”

I needed to ask him what it was prefer to stay with dissociative identification dysfunction and which Otto could be slitting my throat later. However this Otto appeared nice. 

Clients have been scarce—a couple of truck drivers, attorneys who drove over the bridge from downtown. One afternoon, a neighborhood TV reporter stopped by and requested to interview me for a phase on fireworks security and I made up some necessary information about fireworks security. I will need to have appeared like one thing dragged out of a bathroom, the scruffy character within the vacation film who teaches life classes.

I referred to as Mother from the landline that bumped into the tent from a close-by pole, to present her the quantity and supply proof of life.

“May you come to the farm Christmas day, at the least?” she stated.

“I can’t,” I stated.

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“I left you a turkey breast, in the event you get an opportunity to go to the home,” she stated.

“I can’t, I’m not allowed to go away.”

“I simply hate this,” she stated. “It’s Christmas.”

Isolation works a quantity on you. I nearly needed criminals to cease by. Within the lengthy stretch of darkish between sunset and the arrival of my brother, I took to dragging a chair out in the course of the lot, past the glow of the tent, beneath the good black ceiling of stars, staring up into the chilly. I felt like Abraham when God informed him to go away dwelling and go discover one other one and that his household would develop as many as the celebs above. I felt like Jacob, his grandson, who sleeps on the bottom at night time and calls for a blessing and God places him in a scissor maintain and provides him a hip harm that lasts all his days. It at all times appeared odd to me that God would seem to Jacob and all Jacob needed to do was wrestle. However after per week out on the moonscape, I understood. If God had proven up, I’d have needed to wrestle, too. 

The night time of Christmas Eve, I sat out in entrance of the tent trying on the stars, the faint wash of interstate visitors a distant waterfall. The place have been all of the individuals going? Again dwelling or madly away? My faculty mates have been unfold throughout the nation. Different mates have been over past the gelid swamp rot at Martin’s, a seedy downtown lounge at all times energetic within the homecoming days earlier than Christmas, crammed with a neon haze of cigarette smoke and the gorgeous stench of whisky and ash. The considered all that happiness made me unhappy. I didn’t need to be unhappy however you possibly can’t assist what you consider. All these individuals, at the least those I knew, had houses to return to, proper there on the town, heat childhood beds in leafy neighborhoods the place they’d grown up and will most likely hold coming again to for the remainder of their lives, in the event that they needed. 

The concept of getting a spot to return to—a home, a village, the place you’d know individuals and they’d know you—appeared a priceless luxurious past creativeness. Pop had a spot like that, on the Coldwater farm. He was there now, asleep subsequent to Mother in a mattress in his mother and father’ home, on the land he referred to as dwelling and at all times would. I had an egg on wheels.

When Chook confirmed up that night time to let me sleep, I’d made up my thoughts.

“I’m going to the brand new home,” I stated. 

“Thought you wasn’t supposed to go away,” he stated.

“If Donny exhibits up, inform him I’m over on the motel.”

The concept of getting a spot to return to—a home, a village, the place you’d know individuals and they’d know you—appeared a priceless luxurious past creativeness.

I careened by way of higher components of city, all the pieces closed for Christmas Eve however store home windows gleaming but with gentle. I needed a bathe. It will be a present to myself, a small luxurious, a humanizing act, a blessing to wrest from the grip of God. I pulled into the neighborhood, tucked away on a forgettable avenue amongst a sequence of forgettable subdivisions, every with its personal forgettable boat ramp. The design of the houses was by-product at finest, one other subdivision with out historical past, all these Frankenstein facades, a Victorian gable right here, a Tudor chimney there, shallow porches, hole columns. The brand new home was darkish, simply one other brick ranch with shutters that wouldn’t shut. 

As quickly as I noticed it, I laughed aloud: I’d as soon as gone out with a woman who lived right here, two or three years earlier than. Uncanny. The lady, Libby, was so fairly, so type, so tall, so blond—like a captain for the Finnish nationwide volleyball staff—and I bear in mind feeling envy that she lived right here, in a home, in a spot the place you can get pizza delivered proper to your door. Life is bizarre.

Pop’s boat was backed into the open carport. By means of the window, I caught the unmistakable glow of our lighted Christmas tree, although the home was empty. I discovered the important thing Pop had handed me a month earlier than and tried the facet door, however it didn’t work, and neither did every other key, and neither would the home windows budge nor the locks be jimmied with a bank card. I kicked the shrubberies. I cursed the identify of God. I whispered fuck very loudly. 

I climbed up into the bass boat, into the one good seat accessible, and smoked. 

Libby! The place had her household gone? The brass knocker on the entrance door nonetheless had her household’s surname on it. She’d lived right here all her life, she stated. Why’d they depart? Divorce? Promotion? A sudden flip of ailing fortune? The place did she sleep now and was she unhappy about that? 

I assume it was in that second that I will need to have first begun to see, by way of a glass, darkly, that every one of us lose dwelling ultimately. Otto hadn’t been born in that cinderblock shed. Mother had no household farm. She had nothing however us, her youngsters. No surprise she referred to as the fireworks tent each night time. Once I took this ridiculous job after which employed her firstborn to danger his life in order that I would sleep somewhat, I’d performed greater than cancel my very own Christmas. I’d canceled everyone else’s, too. 

I threw my head again and exhaled a cloud of breath and smoke and overhead noticed an ideal sq. reduce into the carport ceiling. Possibly Christmas didn’t should be annulled. Possibly I may climb by way of the ceiling and sit by the tree and simply get pleasure from it, for an hour or two.

I discovered a ladder within the storage and climbed into the attic, crawling on palms and knees throughout ceiling joists with a lighter to indicate me the way in which. I might take a bathe and make a scrumptious turkey sandwich. It will make Mother so completely happy to know she’d fed me. Possibly I might make a fireplace, sit by the tree, and watch It’s a Fantastic Life, remembering happier Christmases. Possibly even pray for a couple of extra, down the highway. I might make Chook a sandwich, too. 

Once I took this ridiculous job after which employed her firstborn to danger his life in order that I would sleep somewhat, I’d performed greater than cancel my very own Christmas. I’d canceled everyone else’s, too. 

Up within the rafters now, above what I reasoned was the kitchen, I kicked at each gap within the ceiling that appeared prefer it could be an attic door, however nothing would give. I kicked and cursed like a failed St. Nick, with no items and no magic and no method right into a home that will by no means be a house. No room on this inn. Not tonight.

I climbed out and drove again to the vacancy on US 80, the place I half-expected to seek out Chook useless, all the cash and fireworks gone, however he sat there, completely unhurt, a rifle throughout his lap, watching a snowy feed on the tv. 

Later, Chook and I sat there collectively at nighttime past the sunshine of the tent and smoked. From the interstate, the nice and cozy pink gentle of the striped canvas will need to have appeared inviting within the blackness. The Bible says Jesus is rather like that, a tent you possibly can crawl inside. “Behold, the tabernacle of God is with males, and he’ll dwell with them, they usually shall be his individuals, and God himself shall be with them, and be their God,” writes John within the Guide of Revelation. 

“Merry Fucking Christmas, little brother,” Chook stated.

“So merry,” I stated, fingering the protection of my rifle.

We appeared on the stars and informed tales. I didn’t need to depart him alone and I feel he didn’t need me to fall asleep. No matter disappointment I felt was as a lot my fault as anyone’s. I’d made my selections. Residence was on the market, someplace. All of the hymns stated so. Possibly it might be a metropolis or perhaps it might be a church or a spouse and kids or a home on a stupendous avenue, or perhaps it might simply be peace within the invisible tabernacle that was Jesus. Who may know.

A couple of days later, the world descended upon the home of explosives and purchased nearly all the pieces. No one died, I noticed no drug offers gone fallacious, no person shot anyone, and Otto didn’t present himself once more and neither did the opposite Otto. I employed a couple of mates to assist out on New 12 months’s Eve, and it was good to have firm. 

After midnight, when the gang lastly thinned and the visitors slowed, out past the glow of the tent, my mates fired off bottle rockets and multi-shot aerials, which burst in vibrant bouquets of colour and light-weight over the junkyard and much throughout the darkness of the river, and it was enjoyable to see them having enjoyable, however my thoughts was already down the highway, towards some new future the place I would by no means should be alone once more on the most fantastic time of the 12 months. A household. A spouse. A spot to sleep with out wheels. My final night time on the lot, within the trailer formed like an egg, I felt able to hatch and fly towards some new dwelling. 

Nowadays, I don’t know what to inform individuals after they ask the place I’m from. I’ve lived in Tennessee, Texas, Louisiana, Alabama, Illinois, North Carolina, and Wyoming, and I’ve lived in Savannah, Georgia, now for 17 years—longer than I’ve ever lived wherever. My mom lives right here and my father is buried right here, beneath mushy inexperienced grass 5 minutes from my home. I’ve a spouse, too, who moved as a toddler much more than I did. We’ve three ladies. One will likely be off to school subsequent fall and the opposite two after that. I like the concept of staying right here in order that our kids could be from someplace, even after they depart. It’s good to know the place you’re from.

When individuals ask the place I’m from, I nonetheless say “Mississippi.”

And other people say, “Whereabouts?”

Typically I say, “The Piney Woods.”

Typically, “Brandon,” the place I had my first kiss.

Or “Star,” the place I went to highschool.

Or “Puckett,” the place I hit that homerun. 

Principally I simply say “You haven’t heard of it. I haven’t even heard of it.”

I nonetheless take into consideration that massive circus tent. Unusually sufficient, I now stay mere blocks from the very origins of the outdated Dixie Overland Freeway, US 80. They name it Victory Drive right here in Savannah, Georgia, however it’s the exact same highway that runs proper by the tent the place I labored that December, some 600 miles to the east. I trip my bike throughout this highway to go to work. Crossing that highway is like fording a river of time that runs again by way of the bizarre historical past of my little life and all of the locations I’ve lived and left. Typically I feel the one dwelling any of us have is within the tabernacle of reminiscence, although I do personal a reasonably brick home on a leafy avenue, which feels as near paradise as I’ll ever get, at the least on this facet of the Gloryland Method.

The 12 months after I labored the tent, I heard that my successor had been robbed of all his cash in the course of the night time and stripped bare, gagged, and certain to a pole. Found hours later he was believed to be useless however was solely asleep. They are saying he was advantageous. I nonetheless drive over that piece of interstate each few years after I come again to Mississippi, and I at all times look off towards the moonscape with fondness; that desolation the place I spent the loneliest Christmas of my life. The motel continues to be there, and so is Otto’s cottage. I don’t know if the tent goes up anymore. Rather than the massive fireworks signal is a good massive banner promising romantic adventures. I’ve typically thought-about stopping, to have a more in-depth look and stand there amid the wasteland and really feel the candy pang of misplaced youth, however having no weapon, I drive on.

Harrison Scott Key is the creator of three nonfiction books, together with The best way to Keep Married: The Most Insane Love Story Ever Informed, Congratulations Who Are You Once more, and The World’s Largest Man. He lives in Savannah, Georgia.

Editor: Carolyn Wells
Copyeditor: Krista Stevens

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