'EXTREMES' OR 'MOTHER FUCKING LIFE'

by
Joel Van Noord

The loneliness is enough to kill yourself. The exhilaration too, will have that effect. The land is a place of extremes and it leads the emotions to that same unsteady precipice. Dangerously flailing from one ominous vista to the other.

"What do we have left for food?" Wren asked as he walked to the bed of the truck.

"I think tonight's pasta... Or� we have those cans of soup� we'd left for tomorrow," Ashley answered dryly. It was calm now. The calms were too low while the discoveries, which tittered on bliss, were too expanding.

"Let's do that pasta then. Do we have anything for it?"

Wren was tired. He wanted to sit but there were no seats. There was only the truck, their gear, and the austere, uninhabited valley between two ranges. The mountains on the west, which separated Utah from Nevada, were 12,000 feet and were fluffy and white �textbook mountain peaks. The ridge on the right was smaller and intimidating, full of bare cliffs and layers of colour �a harsh desert peak. They drove to a warm spring near the swoop of the desert range, where they normally camped, but it was too wet and they found a small eruption of land cradled in the featureless land between.

Wren stopped the truck after they rolled off the dirt road used almost exclusively by sheepherders and from the passenger seat she pointed to the higher elevation, saying, "That will probably be drier."

From the summit of the 100 foot blurb, Wren looked around; he was high from the landscape. He felt bliss at the beauty and then an utter loneliness with the fact that he could not share it with anyone. Granted, Ashley was down there, but that was different. He wished he was closer to his loved ones.

Ashley watched him quickly make his way up the slope, bouncing from rock to rock with a carefree love. She watched him slow as the gradient increased. He hunched over and used his hands to reach the summit, then he turned to take in the view. She watched for him to look down at her, but he didn't. He was looking toward the sun, it was gone for her and she wondered if he could catch the sun setting past Reno toward the ocean. She missed the ocean.

"I think it's too cold for the water to boil." Wren said slowly as he stood over the propane tank that sat on the tailgate.

She took a step toward him and looked into the pot. Wren held the top in his hand and she reached above the pot to feel the heat. It seemed hot.

"Just put it in, then." She said after a long pause.

They both had on puffy down jackets. Wren had almost left his at home, south in the desert north of Vegas. They had travelled up 4,000 feet in elevation and north several hundred miles. This was their 4th night and they had one more to go. They were on the clock, working. They both had on three pairs of socks, two pairs of pants, and around seven layers on their torsos. Wren pulled the stocking cap lower around his ears as he put the lid down. She broke the long brittle strands of spaghetti between her naked fingers.

"It's not bad." She said, standing up, pacing behind the truck. It was black out now, the air was crisp and the sky was clear. The milky way raced down the centre of the sky, brighter than either had ever seen.

"No. It's not bad," Wren said as he chewed a large slice of green pepper.

He finished his plate and walked to the car, found his ipod and plugged it in. Dialled to a song and turned the volume up, leaving the door open. The familiar song made them more comfortable.

"It's gorgeous out here," he said as he walked and stood next to her. He shivered his shoulders and she removed the fork from her mouth.

"I wish we had a telescope."

"That'd be cool� do you know any constellations?"

"No� not really." She said as they both looked to the sky, wearing their headlamps, which were now turned off.

"Me neither�" He mused with neck fully extended. "My old girlfriend knew them all."

"Huh� she said simply with Pink Floyd in the background.

"She lives in New Hampshire, in the northern part. But even she wouldn't be able to name all these. Especially with all the extra stars."

"Extra�"she mused, then walked a pace on the soft ground. They called it moon mud, the way it was coloured and the soft feel of it. It would collect on your boots and the thick layer around the rubber would give the appearance of space boots.

"Not really extra, is it?" he said and looked to her with a smile.

He walked away from her and reached for his tarp from the back of the truck; then laid it out on a flat, barren stretch between two dark brushes. He put his tent together and threw in his sleeping bag and pad; she watched him and did nothing.

On her first day of work, he remembered, they were mean to her. He felt bad when he thought about it. She was a cool girl and one of the most fun people to work with. She made the time go by smother. The crew was all males before she arrived and they dreamed of her dimensions and characteristics, hoping for their ideals. Then when she arrived and she was anything but perfect, they ignored her as the station leader introduced her.

"This is Ashley," he said as she stood by the front door and they nodded and walked away.

Wren went to his bag and got out a small flask and took a nip. Then handed it to her. On their first day a nasty storm had rolled through and they crashed in a cabin 90 miles north - near the southern boundary of the sprawling experimental military testing range. That night he pulled out a bottle of red wine and they laughed together, sharing stories of their fellow co-workers. They had chicken and chocolate chip cookies and Starbursts. All that was gone. They still, however, had a few apples and plenty of granola bars.

"You mind if we share a tent tonight?" Ashley said to the ground as she handed the bottle back to him.

"No� I was actually wondering if you'd mind�" he answered. "It's gonna be colder tonight," he said in long pauses.

"Yeah, the clouds are gone."

"Yeah�" he took a drink. "And last night it was well into freezing.�

"Yeah."

The bottle came down from his lips and he looked around into the emptiness. He felt an emptiness among them and in him and he thought for a moment and said, "before I came out here I was camping with my brother and his friend in Maine. In this real kick-ass spot along a river that flows into the ocean, just north of Bath. But we had this little aluminum boat and we were fishing all day. Drinking and what not. And we get done and we're getting the boat back on the trailer. I'd been driving so I was on the boat and it started raining. They were getting the truck and neither of them were any good at trailering, you know, but they weren't very good at boating either. But I figured they could manage, right?"

"Sure." She said.

"So I'm hiding under this tree on the opposite bank and see these birders come by in some kayaks, and then stop at the ramp and they're waiting while my brother's driving and his friend is directing him, standing outside the window. And they suck, you know, and it's raining and they're on this shitty narrow ramp backing up and pulling forward, straightening it out, up and down the ramp, up and down. And finally they get the thing in and by now there's this old Maine fisherman's talking to my brother's friend as I'm trying to tell them to put the thing in straighter. But he's distracted and I get a good run at it and get the boat on the trailer. Then the buddy grabs the rope and he's clipping it and wrenching it tight. I tell my brother to back down a foot into the river so I can get the boat on straighter and he does. Then I give him the signal forward and he takes off up the ramp."

Wren looked at her in the darkness; pausing while he swallowed and cleared his throat.

"Yeah." She said.

"Yeah, so the next thing I know, I'm falling backwards and the boat's on the ground. The front high in the air, and the old birders are screaming and I roll off the back and hit my head and slide in the water."

"No way!" She dropped her mouth and laughed cursory. He could see her silhouette. "Did the tie break?"

"No, the buddy never latched the tooth on the wench, so when he pulled up the trailer, the boat stayed, it had a little tension and it pulled it out the water, but� fuck. It sucked� I got wet and some bird-fucks were there, you know. The boat was fine... Those things are tough."

"That's funny," she said and the silence encroached them again. They became aware of it as the story dissipated and they looked away. Pink Floyd became obvious and anachronistic in the emptiness.

"Uh..." Ashley began to say, feeling obligated and tired. "Before I came I was in New York City. I was unemployed at the time, living with my parents in Pennsylvania. And we drove to Allentown and took a bus to Penn Station and we stayed in some fancy, ultra modern, chic European-like hotel, you know, with nothing on the front of the building except this one thin layer of neon green. I think it was called the Hudson, or something, a nice place, just outside Central Park. But my mom got the place on Priceline. And they're cheap, my parents, and we get there and the room's about the size a bed and little more. A small bathroom to turn around in� I had to sleep at the foot of the bed. 25 years old� sleeping like a dog at the foot of my parents� bed. It was so awkward. My dad in his old underwear, his belly hanging out and his package�" She finished and they shared a subtle laugh.

"That's funny. You know� because you didn't have to tell me that." He chucked softly again. "But I admire you because you did."

"A-huh." She said and he walked to the truck and turned off the music. He walked back.

"It's cold." She said as the silence opened their ears and became deafening.

"Yeah� and it's not even 9 yet."

"It was so cold last night� at 6 in the morning I woke up from the cold, shivering in my sleeping bag," she said to him.

"Yeah and it sucks because you know you can do nothing about it. You just have to wait. You're in all your clothes."

"Why the hell are we even out here?" she said, not asking.

"I don't know. They'd probably send us out even if they knew we'd freeze to death."

"Cause we're supposed to like this sort of thing."

"Life's funny." Wren shrugged off the conversation and looked away into the empty landscape.

*

That night they tentatively crawled in together, then into their separate sleeping bags, each wearing everything they brought on the trip. Their bags empty apart from the random Sudafed pill or map or hacky sack now remembered in embarrassment in the completely serious and intimidating environment.

"So, what are you going to do after this?" Ashley asked as she settled on her side, looking at him in the darkness.

"I don't know." was the most profound truth spoken that night.

They bonded this way. Neither honestly knew what they wanted or where they were going. Each found a certain pleasure in this aimlessness; yet each was equally repulsed by it. This was similar to the environment they now shared, evoking such disparate feelings as bliss and agony.

That night they talked long into the darkness. Each sharing what truly got them excited and what made them feel joy. Sharing this knowledge opened the idea of love. Hearing the words in each other gained a mutual respect. Finding each other's dreams worthwhile made them attractive.

Arms embraced bodies that night in the freezing desert. The alpine air crisp and void of moisture and human impurities like smog. Inch by inch they crept to each other until it was obvious and they accepted. Him putting his arm around her and she nuzzling closer, her chin on his chest. This posture was endured as long as it could have been, until urges pulled too hard and he leaned forward and found his lips on hers. She didn't pull away, no, she leaned in. Her lips were lush. She was a good woman. He thought. She wasn't his ideal but she had a great body, flat stomach and large breasts. He found them through her winter coat and this wasn't enough. She pulled her sleeping bag down and took off her coat. He unzipped his bag and tried to pull it under them both. She hoisted herself up upon her darken realization of this gesture. They leaned back down and their lips met again. His cold hand found her belly and her chest. He grew in his pants and she found this as they pressed bodies. They tangled most of their clothes off. Socks remained as they tried to maximize skin contact and warmth. They made a slow passionate love in the cold tent in the middle of nowhere. At the desolate border between the desolate states of Utah and Nevada.

*

They were back in their south Utah desert town, where the earth was a sun drenched red and the sky was a deep blue, the opposite of the yellow and white earth north and west from where they were. In the north desert they didn't ignore their incident. They woke and she was freezing, huddled close to him. One leg draped between his legs, his right leg on top of her left. Her naked breasts were touching his skin and both wore their fleece pants. They woke together in this intimacy and it was impossible to ignore. Neither had had the opportunity to shower in 5 days but that was not on their mind.

He warmed instant coffee and walked behind the hill of earth he climbed to take pictures from the previous day; then shit on the ground, buried the steaming pile and pissed on the toilet paper. He walked back, obvious with the shovel in his hand, and it was normal there in the shadow of the mountain range called Isolation.

That day they worked, collected their data and talked freely. He took more pictures and he touched her elbow and she smiled at him. They took article after article of clothes off as the alpine sun roasted them as the temperature reached above 60.

On the drive back they stopped at a restaurant on the border. The shop claimed to be half on the Utah side and half on the Nevada side. The Nevada side served alcohol and lined up slot machines. The Utah side sold cheap trinkets.

After their first hot meal in days they drove back. Again in the dark. She fell asleep and he listed to urban music on his ipod. Thinking of the 30 something herd of antelope they saw, racing their truck; about the badger that scurried off the road and the score of golden eagles and great horned owls. This was an experience he wouldn't soon forget. It was exhilarating and he had stories upon stories to share with people in Maryland, Ohio, and Connecticut.

That Friday night passed and Wren slept alone in his bed. Feeling a different loneliness in the neon of the city. Ashley slept with her boyfriend that night who took no precautions with foreplay. It'd been months upon months since he'd gone down on her and he expected nothing less from her. She sighed and felt a similar loneliness as Wren.

Saturday Wren called Ashley during the day, wondering about a hike or bike ride. She didn't answer but called back at night, wondering if he wanted to go to a movie with her and Tom. Work friends were all Wren had in the city and his other friends were gone that weekend.

He obliged and sat in their messy apartment. They only had two chairs and nothing for him to sit on. She was dressed in bright lipstick and wore goth or punk clothes. He couldn't tell. It was an ambiguous match. Tom was a bricklayer and Wren found little to talk to him about. Besides pay and benefits and simple realities of life.

Awkward glances were shared between the three. She looked at him and he looked at her to only feel a hot stare from him. They went to a movie and Wren thought Ashley was acting strange; acting out like a young girl looking for attention. Ashley felt Wren was weird: quiet and subdued. The movie ended and she drove them all back. Wren sat in the backseat. They smoked pot and Wren's mind began to race. He felt awful. In his mind swam the idea of her trying to start a threesome with them. The idea repulsed him physically and spiritually.

Wren began to laugh with a delay at all the jokes and soon he left. Driving home around the giant mesa that separated the town, he hooked around this monument and then away from it. His roommate was home and pacing their common space. Talking loud into a telephone, to his brother, discussing details of some disreputable action a common friend of theirs took.

Wren waved a hello to this roommate and made it up the steps. He unlocked his room and turned on the light. To his left was his bed and to his right was his closet. He turned to his closet and looked at himself in the mirror, wearing the tight, stripped, sweater he bought in Boston. It was the last thing in his closet he would have brought out there camping in the desolation.

� Joel Van Noord
Reproduced with permission

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