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Over
the Hill
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by
James Look |
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It was nothing really, just another forsaken chapter from my poor
downtrodden past. It is such an amazing part of life, that often
times when we are about to partake in something, or some task,
and feeling good about it as though we are walking on air, we
are actually headed towards a fall. What happened back then on
that fateful road trip was something I never would have expected.
We happened on an opportunity- seeking a new experience, looking
for open spaces, and a liberating adventure, but we came into
contact with all-too-familiar oppressors in a barren, hollow,
captive encounter.
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When young people with low economic means come to realize, in
their situation of limited resources, that they will not be participating
in the enjoyment, pleasures, and status of the affluent society,
they become quite downhearted. We were just a bunch of punk kids
in the ghetto. That night it was the four of us, and it was getting
late. It was about time to go home. We had been doing nothing
as usual, sitting there in Wayne's sky blue '65 Impala, a large
wide tank of a car. Our boring lives were nothing, meant nothing,
and there was nothing positive in sight for our futures; it was
our lot in life and we had a lot of that to look forward to. Each
of us slouched in to the corners of the enormous blue vinyl bench
seats, as if hiding from the enormity of the large overwhelming
outside society of the world, of America. We knew what was out
there, but were growing up too fast to want to face it, without
"something".
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"What
you want to do now?, where you want-a go?"
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Nobody
said nothing.
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"Where
you want-a go?, … "Where you want-a go?"…
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There
was a long pause...
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"Let's
go to L.A."
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Out
of frustration of a lack of a real suggestion, a couple of us
groaned.
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"What
the hell you talking about?" "Quit talking shit."
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It was such an off-the-wall remark. But then there was a long
pause- a profound silence followed, then hanging in the moment
there was a revelation. Such an improbable, senseless suggestion,
it was filled with possibility and seemed to make perfect sense.
It was so crazy an idea and we were completely unprepared. But
we each knew we were ready, our lives, our dire situation, called
for it. It hit each of us hard, and all at once- we knew we had
to go. We never had thought of traveling so far to another place.
It was a world away. For us, a trip to LA would equate to a rite
of passage.
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When we sat back straight up in the car, we were surprised, still
not sure about planning such a trip because of it's spontaneity.
We were tired at the late hour, but were excited about going. We
remembered then, the gas tank was on empty and each of us had nothing.
There was no money in our bare pockets. This would be the hard part,
sneaking into the house just to go right back out again in the middle
of the night. By the time Wayne came back to the car with his things
(we were parked near his house), we all had a determined attitude.
We were going to do this big trip, out of the blue. |
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Many events happen which mark positive steps in our lives. We forget
that emotions of fear wrap our experience at the moment. These happen
outside our consciousness. Dark, gloomy atmospheres become bright
and airy. A storm passes by, and the sun also shines for the parting
clouds. |
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We didn't think about it because we were apprehensive; hope wasn't
on our minds. We wanted to do something good, to see something interesting. |
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was way past midnight and I woke my parents. They were in shock,
but somehow they knew. I didn't even ask, I was so afraid of rejection
- it was like a pronouncement - "I'm going to Los Angeles with some
of the guys and I need some money." Because it was so immediate,
they seemed to understand the seriousness of my "request" and the
necessity for me to do this trip. They were very concerned, of course,
but they more or less agreed. It was as though their son had grown
up all of a sudden- 18 years old and ready to take on the world.
Quietly, seeing me off at the door, they seemed proud. |
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Similarities within physical realities and human imaginations are
unaffected by geographical distances. Transported from one point
to another, form and content are common and at the same time dissimilar.
While priorities and processes abound with parallels, they also
co-inhabit a realm where truth become lies and opposites change
into one another. The world is full of contradictions. Hope may
turn to fear, and enlightenment can become disillusionment. What
is full becomes emptied. What is empty does not necessarily get
filled. |
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While I started out searching and holding my head up high, I was
soon to be forced into abandonment and ended up beating my head
against a wall. |
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We were flying. It was smooth going. 80 or 90 miles per hour and
before we knew it, we were almost there. Interstate 5 was a straight
shot from the San Francisco Bay Area. We came to the "grapevine",
the big hill before the San Bernardino Valley- the door to LA. I
was elated, I thought. I assumed that a feeling of accomplishment
was soon to come. Once we were there, we could sigh, and say we
traveled. Yeah, we drove 8 hours to Los Angeles, the great city
of Southern California. Yet we put out no effort. We didn't do anything.
Suddenly, for a second, my thoughts went blank. I felt a discrepancy
somewhere, like something was amiss. The scenery went gray. We were
in the middle of nowhere. It shuddered at the denial of my elevated
emotional position. |
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We were headed south, but were going up hill. It seemed to be an
inverted circumstance, a contradiction of conditions. Otherwise,
we were well on the road, gliding towards our destination, continuing
on, seeking a challenging experience. There was nothing on the radio.
Walter spun the dial and found a station playing the blues. Then…BLAM!
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One of the tires blew out. We were on the side of the road, with
traffic whizzing by at arm's length, trucks straining and roaring
past, their chrome sparkling, blinding us. A few minutes prior,
I felt peaceful and serene as on an oscillating cloud. Now we were
in the midst of tremendous danger, shaking in the terror of potential
disaster, of high impact collision and carnage. We were struggling,
fumbling in the trunk and crawling on the ground to attempt change
to the spare. We were totally unprepared for such an occurrence.
It was a miracle that the spare-tire and tools we needed- lug wrench,
jack, and jack handle- were there. Lucky for us, Greg could handle
it; he was the mechanically able one. The other three of us lugs
were just jack-offs. |
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It was slow going from here on out, or actually up and down, as
we were going over the hill. The spare was in bad shape, the tread
was almost gone, and the sidewalls were worn and dried out. So we
went along at a slow 60 miles per hour from then on and it was just
as well, for as we came off the hill, we hit jammed packed traffic.
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It was unusual for us, breathing thick and humid dirty air. Centered
in a broad expanse of confusing freeway structure, we were lost
in the scramble and maze of a huge metropolis. We were in a strange
place, among the bumper to bumper highway traffic, enveloped in
an oppressive smog layered dirty blue sky. It was a gift , a godsend,
seeing that freeway sign- "To Chinatown". It was a wondrous coincidence,
coming across that sign. We became found and felt welcome. |
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While in the motel room, we happened to glance at a newspaper on
the way out. The headline read, "Gangland Style Murder- Two Dead".
It was just a flash and I didn't think anything of it at the time.
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Under pale, flickering neon lights and pagoda facades of the restaurants
and gift shop signs, we basked in the glow and glanced at the colors
of the little figurines in the windows, and it reminded us of home.
Some differences we noticed were the wide streets and large open
areas, even around the industrial and developed sections. Part of
"Chinatown" itself, was a large wide pedestrian mall, unlike the
narrow dark alleyways and crowded streets in San Francisco's Chinatown.
At any rate, it was a nice late night supper, and we were content
to finally arrive and have our stomachs filled. |
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walked several blocks back to the room. Greg and Walter was a half
a block ahead of us. Wayne and I were lagging behind, at the moment
happening to be checking out a nice new BMW with a couple of pretty
Chinese girls in it driving by. |
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then, it happened- Baa-whomm! |
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recognized the sound. It was a distinct sound. It was the unmistakable
blast from a 357 magnum. |
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Wayne and I looked up to the street corner and saw Greg and Walter
flat on their stomachs on the sidewalk. My first thought was "Holy
shit! They were shot!". Several cops were rushing all over them.
We freaked out and ducked into the motel parking lot. A cop came
around the corner of the building with his cap off and gun held
up high with both hands. He seemed to come from nowhere. He was
pointing his gun directly at us and I thought to myself , "Don't
shoot!". |
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"Freeze!" "Police!" "Put your hands up in the air - over your heads!".
The next thing you know, we were flat on our stomachs lying together
there, the four of us, on the sidewalk near the intersection. |
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Life crosses against itself. We know that at times you might think
you know something or someone, and you get completely fooled. You
think you know their character, but they do something unpredictable
or fail your confidence in them. You are made a fool of, and it
may be a result of oneself. Another truth is that a complete stranger
would act in a totally expected manner. You hope they might act
in your favor, that they should, but think not. Then they come through
to assist you at the exact moment you expect to be disregarded by
them. Friends become strangers and strangers become friends. Knowledge,
faith, conviction and reliance- these concepts are full of holes. |
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Later we found out the shot was accidental. The cops in plain clothes
were searching all over, even in the backyards down the block, trying
to locate where it went. (The "discharged round" could have gone
into someone's house!) The dark blue uniformed Sargent's gun had
a customized light-pull trigger and it went off inadvertently. He
unholstered and pointed it up in reaction to patting down Walter,
finding his snub-nose 38 Caliber revolver concealed in his pocket.
The Sargent panicked and discharged the round, which went directly
past Greg's head. (Later, Greg said he felt the rush of the air
from the bullet graze his ear! Also later, the Sargent came up to
him to apologize for the mishap!) |
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the station, we were questioned and obviously we were not the "Hitmen"
the police were "on the look out" for. Still, they did not end their
day empty-handed. Unfortunately for Walter, he was being charged
for possession of a concealed weapon. (He didn't even mention to
any of us, the fact that he was packing a gun on him. Since we were
on a distant foray to a strange town, of course, we understood his
reasoning for that measure of self-defense.) |
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In addition, unfortunately for me, the cops found a joint on me
while searching my pockets during our "interrogation". I was being
charged with possession of marijuana. What a fool I was. |
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Walter and I were in jail, in the holding tank. Strange that no
one else was there. Luckily, Wayne and Greg walked away, free and
clear. The next day, after several phone calls, they got several
other friends from San Francisco to help and arrange bail. Patsy,
Darryl and Alfred were older than us and had resources both legal
and financial. They flew all the way down to help us. I was amazed. |
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I was told I had a visitor, I don't know what it was that gave me
that weird, displaced, contradictory feeling. I felt it once again.
There was something amiss. Maybe I was hungry. |
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Looking out at her through the blue-tinted glass, Patsy gave me
the news. The good news was that the charges against us would be
dropped at the preliminary hearing, because of "illegal search and
seizure". Walter was already going to be released, already having
had his hearing. (His charge for concealing a loaded handgun was
only a misdemeanor.) The bad news was that possession of marijuana
was a felony and superior court wouldn't convene until Monday. They
decided I should "volunteer" to stay in jail over the weekend. It
was otherwise going to cost $500 to bail me out. Instead, they could
take the money and all go to Disneyland over the weekend while "waiting"
for me. What great friends I had. I was no longer surprised they
came. |
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What a bummer! I felt like the trip was supposed to be an effort
to expand my horizons. I was locked up in jail. Turns out it was
a real antithesis, especially for me. Were we seeking a rite of
passage? We were ready to take on the world? Yeah, right! I was
truly wrong. |
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As usual, my life revolved around an endurable nothing. I could
barely resolve to make it become something, in my movement towards
a hidden future. |
"What?";
"Where you want-a go?"; "Where you want-a go?"
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knew where I was not going to go. I was not going to Disneyland.
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