Free Bear v. Shark by Chris Bachelder Page B

shredded grace.
    There are amber waves of nausea.
    There are purple billboards’ majesty, countless billboards, just imagine how the earliest settlers must have felt gazing up at such wonders. These billboards — each one large enough to contain, say, cigarettes and beach volleyball, and sexy enough to prove a correlation between the two. A
strong
correlation. These billboards perform countless miracles of conjunction: cologne and power are joined in natural and sensible union, the corner office shown to be the telos of the fresh, manly scent;
bottled water
leads inexorably, syllogistically, to quirky individualism; baked cheese snacks and Happiness become indistinguishable; Seasoning Pouches and harmonious families reprise the chicken-or-the-egg conundrum.
    A slightly sun-bleached Breakfast Link, hysterically enlarged to show texture and foregrounded against family members who clearly adore one another and who would want to get together
even if they weren’t related,
says, “And I’m 80% meat!”
    A casino promises fun for the whole family.
    A politician promises fun for the whole family.
    Gracious Native Americans selling authentic jewelry roadside at Gypsy strip malls promise to accept your check card, exit now.
    An enormous digital clock — showing days, hours, minutes, seconds, split seconds — races countdown style toward Bear v. Shark II.
    Curtis says, “I gotta pee like a
resource
.”

47
Mini-Death
    The Normans pass Exit after Exit, Food Mart after Food Mart. Mr. Norman always has the uneasy feeling that he is passing up the best Food Mart and that he will inevitably stop at one that has disappointingly few variations on the corn chip, the individually wrapped cream-filled cake, the sweet carbonated beverage. It is difficult to tell the good Food Marts from the bad ones. The dashboard is oddly reticent. And the signs are of no help. Judging by the signs — on which “Quick” invariably becomes “Kwik” and
and
becomes
n
— you are led to believe that each store has the same commitment to expediency and convenience and variety, which is clearly not the case.
    Are the Food Marts getting better,
funner,
as Las Vegas gets closer? It’s an interesting premise, but I’m not sure it’s true.
    Food Mart, Food Mart, Food Mart. At the current rate, there will be more Food Marts than people in just twenty years. A nation of snacks and gas. It’s the end of geography, the end of the road novel. Just try advancing a plot along the U.S. roadways. The Normans have traveled a distance of 302 miles (486 km), you’ll have to take my word for it.
    The Sport Utility Vehicle needs fuel and Matthew or Curtis — one of them back there — needs to pee, but it is difficult to choose a Food Mart. You feel that when you choose one, you rule out all the others. It is a loss, a mini-death. Robert Frost, a poet from New England, talks about that in one of his more well-known poems.
    Mr. Norman pulls into a Gas-n-Dash, Pump 16. While Mrs. Norman and the boys go to the rest room, Mr. Norman puts fuel in the Sport Utility Vehicle and also washes the windshield.
    A guy from Pump 22 says to Mr. Norman, “Say, where are you headed?”
    Mr. Norman says, “What?”
    The guy says, “Where are you headed?”
    Mr. Norman says, “Las Vegas.”
    A sign with a little girl’s picture on it says, “Have you seen me?”
    The guy says, “Goin’ to the big show?”
    Mr. Norman says, “What?”
    The guy says, “You going to see Bear versus Shark?” He actually says that, Bear
versus
Shark. Nobody says that. In today’s hectic world, Mr. Norman thinks, who has time to say “versus”? It’s always
vee
. Mr. Norman thinks maybe this guy is a foreigner, but he is speaking American.
    Mr. Norman, vaguely suspicious, says, “Yes.”
    The Pump 22 guy says, “You must be excited.”
    Mr. Norman says, “I guess so.”
    The guy says, “Most people headed that way are pretty darn excited.”
    Mr. Norman says, “I’m pretty darn excited.