Lovelock, May 22, 2009

Pulling into the arid town of Lovelock, Nevada, fifty long and dry miles from the previous town, felt surreal and almost tenuous.  1940's architecture and one gas station with two pumps...a six foot something cowboy, as slim as a rail; sun and dust weathered making him look more like something you would expect to see in a small western town, than being a reality, a person with a story and a life.

My sister and I stumbled upon the town park, hoping to grab some shade and a respite from the 100 degree heat, we peeled ourselves from the seats.  In my immediate haste for a break, I consciously overlooked the group of teenage boys forming a circle near our car, figuring, "We're in Lovelock, there is nothing going on here, what could possibly happen."

Jen was already nervous to begin with, just the anticipation of traveling...she was quick to pick up on the energy, practically begging me to get back in the car.  A full on brawl broke out in front of us.  Boys wildly swinging their arms, jeers and shouts, bored looking girls, feigning allegiance.  It made me think how glad I was to no longer be a teenager, to be out of the fishbowl that is one's hometown.  It was frustrating.  It was depressing.  It was freeing.  We pulled out of that town and didn't look back, we could go anywhere.

Image By: Stephen Michaels

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