4.3.2002

After two weeks of discussion about driving to Santa Monica to see Viggo's show (Sign Language), Germany writes to tell me that she can not go. We have never met before, and her family is worried about me or, more specifically, worried that I will kill her en route and leave her bones to dry in the desert sun. I send more personal information to them than my doctor has, in hopes of winning them over, and begin to look at air fares for the end of March. My kids line up requesting to go. I remember my summer drive to Boston with a shudder, and remind them that they don’t have Spring Break until April…

8.3.2002

At a noon staff meeting I tell my manager that I will not need the 16th off. Germany calls around 4 PM to tell me that she can go after all. I make calls and rearrange work, agreeing to an enslavement of Friday nights in exchange for the 16th off. I ask my ten-year-old daughter to come with me for company to and from Dallas.

9.3.2002

Germany calls in the early afternoon to tell me that she is not coming. Later that evening we talk, and though she still thinks that she will not come she asks me to give her until the morning. She also asks that I promise to go regardless of her answer. I agree, and ponder the long drive out alone with my daughter. I spend the night in half-sleep, worrying about driving through the desert alone.

10.3.2002

Germany and I speak in the morning. She tells me that she has decided to go. I turn my cell phone off so she can’t change her mind again, throw kid and bags in the car, and set out for a long, long drive… As I drive farther south god becomes a larger presence. So too do XXX “gentleman’s clubs.” I pass tall neon crosses glowing in the night. Not once do I see a “last chance” gas station. I do, however, see a “last chance” adult bookstore… At 10:30 PM I enter the Dallas area. At the top of the off-ramp for !-30 I encounter an accident and have to drive ¼ mile back down the ramp in reverse. At 11:30 I finally reach the hotel near Germany’s in-laws.