At the point we made our exit from Houston, we took nothing. Dad, Mom, a Ranchero, my sister, my step-sister and I. My sisters and I rode in the back of the Ranchero for a full two days. I've wiped all memory of this from my head. Vegas was in a weird place in it's legacy... it's mob-history was on life-support; but the toxins of it's prevalence throughout Greater Las Vegas were still evident everywhere. Being exposed to the idea of winning any sum of money with a simple quarter was an intoxicating thought to me, but my parents were careful to not allow me to indulge. Primarily because the fines for doing so were ridiculous even for the early 80s. So many dark alleys, and nefarious edifices once you strayed from either the Downtown or City Strip. It felt like almost anything could happen, and it felt very haunted. I was only beginning to learn about the city's history, piecing together why anyone right-minded person would pick the middle of a forbidding desert to birth a tourist haven. In a way, it seemed almost appropriate that my parents had settled on this corner of decadence and sin; my mom took a job in a casino, and my dad worked for an exotic car repair shop. It was there that I saw the most incredible cars - the types that adorned posters sold at Spencers Gifts. My parents went to championship boxing events regularly, and I was being left alone for the first time; mostly because I had made their excursions so expensive. The only casino that welcomed kids was Circus Circus and I'd burn through cup after cup of quarters. Interesting fact: I suck as video games.
From the outset, I was already exploring my own path. We arrived about midway through 5th Grade as I recall. The only road to the school was cut through the desert. Kids in Vegas were an interesting cast - mostly what had bled over from Los Angeles (a 5-Hour Drive West). Mods, Punks, Skaters, Stoners, unsure of anything and/or geek/nerd/dweeb (raises hand). One of my Dad's coworkers was aware that when my parents went out, I was home alone. He had an incredible 60's Ford Van that was metallic blue with blue shag interior. Based on me setting fire to all the ping pong balls (previous owner left a ping pong table in the house) - my dad asked this friend to check in on me at some point, and my parents made sure that I was aware of this. There's an aspect of gambling in Vegas that most aren't aware of until they've been there. You are intentionally desensitized to time when you are on the casino floor - no windows, constant sound and stimulation. My parents would go have the breakfast buffet and be gone until dawn the next day. They'd leave me enough money for a pizza or not depending on my behavior, and that was that. My dad's friend did indeed check in on me, and he'd root around for my dad's pot stash and leave. Sometimes he'd take me on a journey (not in a psychedelic way) - convenience store, or out into the desert to stare off in the direction of Area 51.
My taste in music was Motley Crue, Quiet Riot... I had one of those fake wood grain alarm clock radios. I would listen to the Top 5 at 10 PM every night and it informed my taste in music. My parents weren't keen on my metal leanings, but full endorsed my appreciation for new wave. For Christmas, they bought me a boom box, Michael Jackson's "Thriller" and Duran Duran's "Arena" on cassette. One guy that used to pick on me quite a bit also could be decent when no one else was around. He ran away from home a lot, I'd say he was 15 or 16... and I'd usually find him in a half destroyed concrete structure that sat on an undeveloped strip of desert. Adorning it's walls were anarchy symbols (didn't know what that was), the DK logo, and Skate or Die... he would force on me records from Agent Orange, Circle Jerks, Black Flag - that I could only play when my parents were losing the rent money. In the three years we spent in Las Vegas, everything I was when we arrived had evolved into a facet that exists today. This span of time was also my introduction to Christian Death... specifically, "Ashes". I bought this based solely on it's simple cover and song titles. It would however be a few more years before I began my love affair with Rozz.
Another interesting aspect of Las Vegas was the way in which they promoted "desegregation" - I'm not sure what it would be coined. Before moving on to Junior High School, and after leaving Elementary - one would go to a Sixth Grade Center. But you couldn't go to the one close to your house. No, you had to go to the one at the opposite end of the city. So, a bunch of white kids got bussed to North Las Vegas which was primarily African American, and they were bussed to the white neighborhoods. I'm really unclear what this was supposed to accomplish, but our school was enclosed in a 20 foot high fence with barbed wire. We were forbade from being within 50 feet of the fence, but that rarely was enforced. Many of the kids would antagonize and taunt the teenagers on the other side of the fence until a knife or gun was flashed. There was an "older" (probably in his twenties) that suffered from albinism, and the kids were especially cruel to him. It was not out of character for him to start climbing the fence and verbally attack kids with a ferocity I had never been exposed to before. He established a new bar from what my parents had established during their fights. I made a lot of friends that year, I saw maybe three of them when I went to 7th Grade. More than anything, my time at the CVT Gilbert Sixth Grade Center exposed me to wealth disparity, that racism was greater than just my family, and the realization that somehow this was the result of systemic efforts.
Seventh grade was not spectacular. I was able to walk to school, and it was an oddity. There were no windows, and you were required to pass from class to class outside of the building, and no student was allowed to use the inner hallways. The building was a series of circles, similar to maximum security prisons. I was still pretty awkward by 7th Grade standards and if I wasn't teased, I was ignored. Not proficient in sports, but academically, I was above par. In the summer between 7th and 8th Grade, my parents obviously had a stroke, because they concocted an idea to fly me to Virginia to meet my real dad... a man I hadn't seen since I was six months old; had denied I was his seed... and had stolen money that was supposed to be in a trust for me. He also was an alcoholic and spousal abuser - so - great!
While on this vacation, something inside me broke. I couldn't tell you with any sincerity where I was mentally before this trip, but surely, things must have been going off the rails. I stayed with my brother, and I stole several models he had done in his younger years. I then went to meet Dad and stay with him, his new wife and step-daughter, Crystal (maybe 17?). She was forced to entertain me, so I met her bf Tony and her best friend Danielle. All of them is what I would have called Stoners - but they somehow were stuck in 1974... there cassettes consisted of Queen, Aerosmith, Boston - and I was truly confused. To their credit, they entertained me, and took me to the mall, and into the woods to go skinny dipping in an old quarry where a bunch of kids had drowned. Neat. I didn't get naked, but I saw Danielle's ass and I was hooked. My brother picked me up and I returned to their home for my final night. He had packed my bag for me and found all of the stolen models. Some years later he told me that it was because of who raised me and that has never left me. It's an infuriating statement that I can't argue with - but I think it makes me mad because it implies that I turned out like someone I didn't respect (at this time in my life).
My big lesson from this journey was that being meek was not attractive. When I arrived home, my mom had thrown away all of my Dungeons and Dragons stuff, taken down all my posters, and found my Playboys. Did my brother tell her what happened? She said it was Satan. I've never forgiven her for this violation. I started shoplifting; got caught stealing a Heart cassette and lighters from K-Mart. For months, I would arrive at school right when they unlocked the doors and start checking lockers. All of my grades tanked, and had we remained in Vegas, I would have repeated 8th Grade. Skipping school was my favorite thing to do, and I traded some Motley Crue posters for a BB-Gun. One day, while skipping school, a friend and I climbed on to the roof and began shooting at signs. At least until a police officer arrived and busted us. Mom, not so happy. I wrote lengthy letters to Danielle filled with insane lies about being stabbed, and in trouble all the time - I went full bore on the bad boy thing. Her mom called my mom. I can't begin to imagine what my parents were thinking? They didn't have the skills to right my path, and I had every desire and reason to unload on them, and I think they feared that more than my step off the cliff. During my school day, I pursued the bad girl at school, Debbie. She had cigarettes, and we would play Super Mario Bros at the 7-11 instead of going to first period. I was really into Debbie... but then I met Neal's (BB Gun Seller) girlfriend Tammy. Neal was red-headed, tall, pale, freckled, and listened to metal. Tammy wore pastels, sweaters (lots of layers), and loved Duran Duran. There was no conceivable reason these two should be together, and when that imploded, I became Tammy's friend. Besides, Neal, as he was, in Las Vegas - the kid was doomed to turn bright red and explode. Just as I believed Tammy and I were developing a close friendship, off we were to Virginia. Who's to say what happened, but I'm sure it was well below par. Tammy Macedo - if you are out there, I still have your letters. But I still wasn't well. I made up stories to Tammy as well, because I couldn't face how bad everything had become for me.
Affections for the fair ladies aside, I was smoking; I discovered cutting; and I had lost all concept and value of friendship. People were an avenue to things I wanted, and I stole comic books from my friends. I've been in a lot of darkness, I've had very selfish tendencies following failures - but never at any point in my life did I go to war with everything of value in such an unrelenting fashion. Obviously, it's not uncommon for a pre-teen or young teen to be a fatalist, but my toxicity was boiling over and had we not left Vegas, I don't know where I would have been - honestly, I was probably headed for juvenile detention. There is so little of my life in Vegas that I recall with fondness... it's reels like an after-school special. I crawl from this broken land, leaving this one beacon of honesty and light that discarded my failures and touched my heart... and for 37 years, I've kept her every word in a box. It the shred of evidence I have that I mattered to someone.
From this point forward, my story seems cyclical; at least in my effort to find affection. I pursue, I fail. I don't know that I want to take this story from here forward. My memories are crystalized from here on, and it is layer after layer of scar tissue and chasing hearts that can't reciprocate. Somehow, it seems so easy for others... so many people meeting people, making people, who meet people. A pattern I'm unable to discern.
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