The Illusionist
By: John Wolf
I was beginning to feel the dull, drumming rhythm of the highway in my bones. The aim was to reach Las Vegas by the end of the day. I had plenty of time, so I decided to leave the big concrete strip and take a byway instead. I’d be coming out of the Rockies soon, going west where the landscape turns to sand.
The road closed in tighter. The trees moved up to watch my car pass under their taunting gaze. Rocky crags leered from a safe distance. Familiar old rattles in the glove compartment replaced the hum of highway. The syncopated bumpy-bump of the road less traveled eased my mind.
Through the windshield I saw an arch of flashing, colored lights pass over me. A quick look around made me put a foot on the brakes. I rolled to a stop in front of a circus tent. People were everywhere. A brass band was playing. Some guy was walking a tiger on a leash and a clown on stilts was handing out balloons.
I man in a top hat threw open a flap in the tent and started yelling for me to come in and see the big show. I’m sure my mouth had dropped open as I was gasping for air. What the hell was going on?
Reaching for the door handle, I looked out the side window to see a State Trooper standing outside with a disagreeable look on his face. I rolled down the window.
“What are you doing parked in the middle of the road, sir?”
“Oh.", I said, “I meant to pull off the road further.” I looked around dismayed. The circus tent was gone along with the noise and people. Only forest sounds of distant birds and my heavy breathing could I sense, and I was situated in the middle of the road! After a check of my essential papers, the officer sent me on my way.
“Sight see in the parks, not on the road.” He wagged a finger at me.
“Right.” I continued on my way a little leery of my surroundings. I didn’t dream this circus bit. What was going on? The new plan was to find a place to get coffee. The next ten miles or so went by uneventfully. I saw a sign saying I was entering the Vista Reserve and not to start any fires. That was the last thing on my mind. I was en route to Vegas where one could sleep on clean sheets not camp in the wilderness. This is where the second encounter took place.
I stopped to use the restroom at this snappy looking diner. It was a little out of place being chrome from bumper to bumper. It looked like something you’d find in the center of a New Jersey round-about. I could see a few people inside through the big plate glass windows. I’d make this quick. Use the restroom, get some coffee, and high tail it back to the main highway. This back road was starting to feel kind of slow and a little daunting.
The bathroom stall was a bright white for a while. I was sitting there and I thought the lights went out. The walls turned to a rustic rough lumber look and a large grand-daddy long-legs spider was walking down the wall. Startled, I finish up and popped open the squeaking door to be standing in the forest at the edge of a gravel turn out from the main road. I spun around—no diner, just a modest out-house. Okay, this is getting spooky.
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I was convinced my mind was failing me. I reflected on events of my recent past. There’s been a little stress at the office, but nothing that would cause a medical problem. I got back in the car and drove away. The roadway was opening up. I was out of the foothills of Utah and feeling the heat of the Nevada desert getting closer. I decided to stop and drop the top on my convertible. It felt great cruising in the delightful breeze. Then I realized I was in a motor boat with sea spray hitting my arm that was resting on the window sill. All I saw was water in all directions to the horizon. Okay, I’m going with this. I give in. Day-sailing in the desert. What’s wrong with that? The ride suddenly became rough. The boat was pitching up and down. I pulled back the throttle and the convertible boat came to a lumpy stop. At that point the sound of wind, the smell of blooming cactus, and the rocky landscape faded back into view.
“Oh no, I’m going nuts for sure,” I belted out in desperation. I got out of the car to find a flat rear tire.
After I changed the flat and buttoned up the convertible top, I set my jaw with determination that I had to get out of here. I floored the gas pedal and zoomed back toward civilization. I saw the highway up ahead, and the glow of the lights from Las Vegas in the distance. There was a truck stop on the highway. I pulled in and walked inside the café and sat down at the counter. I was afraid the whole place would disappear any second. I was a nervous wreck when the waitress came over, dropped a menu in front of me, and gave me an odd look.
“You just come off state highway 63?”
“Yeah. Strange road, if you know what I mean.”
“Oh, people are always seeing funny stuff on that road. They say a crazy illusionist that had a Las Vegas show retired up there. His type of show lost popularity. He got fired or was laid off. He went up in those hills to sulk.”
“Okay.” I order a sandwich and a large coffee. Once back on the highway, the familiar hum and the dull drumming rhythm of the highway felt good now. I could see the outskirts of Vegas coming up.
I almost ran off the road as I past a huge billboard. Pictured on the sign was an old baldheaded guy in a faded yellow and black checkered sports jacket, waving a hand with a big toothy smile. The sign said, "Thanks for participating, John—The Illusionist."
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John is a writer in progress. Word by word the trail of communications gets clearer. Maybe someday the message will be picked up by a distant ear and the effort to be heard will have been reached. Until that day, the keyboard clatters endlessly into the night. |
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