Buffalo

Siamak Vossoughi

The hotel already looked haunted, even before he looked at the pictures in the hallway that connected the lobby to the bar. It was Buffalo, Wyoming. It was the West. It was the West that was more the west than the west he knew, which was San Francisco. The people seemed to have no choice but to celebrate it.

The pictures were of the Old West. They were meant to demonstrate the hotel’s historical status, which was real and not artificial. There was almost a relief in the honesty of it. The pictures were of Native people and white people and of the two together.

Look at me, he thought, an Iranian man in the middle of this America. Wandering through town after the thing is over and the battle lost. He felt like beating himself up for the absurdity of it, but he knew that wasn’t it either.

When he got back to the bar, he sat down at the table where his wife sat and said, “When we get to Bozeman, I’m going to call up Mike Pantilat and tell him that I couldn’t drive across the country with him today the way I did twenty years ago.”

His wife smiled because she knew something interesting had happened in the hallway. She was white, but she thought she could guess it.

“It’s unfortunate,” he said. “Because we had a great time. We liked everybody. I could try to do that now. But it would be a very sad liking.”

“Maybe it would be a sad kind of liking for him too.”

“Maybe,” he said. “It might be too sad, though.”

“When did you last see him?”

“Three years ago.”

She laughed. She had only had one drink, but she felt happy and drunk.

“You want to call him up after three years to tell him that you don’t think you could drive across the country with him today the way you did twenty years ago?”

“You think he’s going to take it hard?”

“I think he might be a little surprised.”

“I just want to tell him that I could do it, but it wouldn’t be the same. We drove across the country together when we were twenty. That is an important thing. I still remember some of the people we saw. I know that he does too. I thought that everybody we saw was new. That’s what made it wonderful. I was half-right. They are new but they are also old. Maybe he would agree that they are new but they are also old if we did it today. The problem is that if two guys driving across the country agree that the people are new but also old, I don’t know what would be left for them to talk about. And we talked about everything. The unfortunate thing is that it was a very good way to be twenty. I can’t imagine a better way. We wanted to know all about America and we did, as best we could. We didn’t miss a thing.”

“Maybe you could call him up and tell him that if you did it now, you wouldn’t need to talk about everything.”

“I hope he can understand that. I hope he can understand that it’s only because it’s a lot of work to see people as new but also old.”

“What is the work?”

“The work is to say that those guys we were at twenty weren’t wrong. They would have come into a place like this and laughed and drank and talked with everybody. They would have had a hell of a time. The other part of it is that this place isn’t just what it is today.”

“What did you see in the hallway?”

“Nothing I didn’t already know. Nothing I shouldn’t already be worried about.”

He looked at the people. The place was getting crowded. A man was setting up his guitar to sing.

“You deserved to be twenty, you know.”

“A lot of people deserved a lot of things,” he said. “I’m sorry. We can have fun. I’ll call him when we get to Bozeman. I’ll be polite about it. Who knows, maybe he’ll feel the same way. Maybe there’s a way we could have done both. That’s hard to do at twenty, but maybe we could have done it.”

The waitress came by to see if they wanted anything. “You came on a good night,” she said. She could tell they were traveling through. “Jimmy’s playing tonight.”

“It’s funny,” he said after she walked away. “You can go a long time in San Francisco without thinking about being on Native land. The places that celebrate it, you have to think about it at least.”

Then he said, “You take something like that. The waitress telling us that Jimmy’s playing tonight. Mike Pantilat and I ate that up. We loved that stuff. We were friends because I knew he cared about that sort of thing.”

“I can see how you were friends.”

“Should we have eaten that stuff up?”

“You had to eat something up. You eat it up now, don’t you?”

“I do, but it’s because I have to.”

“Why?”

“Because I’m alive. I’m alive and I’m not dead. Maybe what I’ll do is, I’ll call up Mike Pantilat and tell him that if we did it now, I’d have to eat that stuff up measuredly. It might not even look like eating it up to him.”

She laughed. “Don’t worry about that. Do you think he eats that stuff up? If he’s anything like me, he gets worried about what else he might be eating up along the way.”

“You do?”

“Yes.”

“It’s hard to tell.”

“Well, I do. I know who I am in a place like this. I know how they see me and I know how I see myself.”

He looked around. “I don’t hate Buffalo, Wyoming, you know.”

“I know.”

“Maybe I’ll tell Mike that I don’t hate any of the places we went through together.”

“That’s nice. He’ll like to know that.”

“It’s the truth.”

He was quiet for a while, and then he said, “It’s the most respectful thing to do, to tell him, if you think about it. It’s the most respectful thing to do, to be honest about it. He’s my friend. I haven’t seen him in a while, but that was us back there, driving across the country. It was a hell of a thing. He remembers it. He remembers it like I do. If you think about it, the best way to keep that trip going is to be honest about it with him now. Those guys we were back there would have wanted us to be honest. They wouldn’t have expected anything else.”

“I think you could do it. I’d be interested to hear what he has to say.”

“You would, wouldn’t you?”

“Yes. If I had a friend call me up like that about something from twenty years ago, I’d know our friendship matters to them.”

“It matters all right. I just have to do it in the right way. I suppose there is a chance he might say, well, we weren’t planning to drive across the country together again anyway. But that’s not the kind of friends we were. We weren’t the kind of friends who thought that getting older meant we would stop wondering about everything together.”

It all seemed very reasonable. When they got to Bozeman, to her aunt’s house, he could call up Mike Pantilat and they would catch up a little and then he would tell him, out of respect, out of respectful honesty, that it wouldn’t be the same now if they drove across the country together, as good of friends as they were. He wouldn’t be able to eat everything up wildly along the way the way they had, and he wouldn’t be able to eat everything up with Mike the way they had. They would be two good friends who would be talking, but they wouldn’t be trying to get at the same thing in their talking the way they had then, and it was because a man’s relationship with America had to be a solitary thing. That’s how it looked in Buffalo, Wyoming, at least. And then it suddenly felt so sad to think of a whole big country that was unshareable by anyone, which was unshareable even by himself and his wife—which they knew, and in that knowledge there was love—that he thought that maybe for Mike’s sake, he wouldn’t tell him. Maybe it would do more to the memory of their old drive across the country than he knew. It was hard to have any America that was shareable even for a little while, and it didn’t matter if the America they’d shared back then had been true, the important thing was that their friendship had been true, and he knew then it was enough for the subject to at least come up naturally between him and Mike Pantilat, that he wouldn’t call him up to tell him from Bozeman or from anywhere else, and he got ready to listen to the man named Jimmy onstage.

The hotel already looked haunted, even before he looked at the pictures in the hallway that connected the lobby to the bar. It was Buffalo, Wyoming. It was the West. It was the West that was more the west than the west he knew, which was San Francisco. The people seemed to have no choice but to celebrate it.

The pictures were of the Old West. They were meant to demonstrate the hotel’s historical status, which was real and not artificial. There was almost a relief in the honesty of it. The pictures were of Native people and white people and of the two together.

Look at me, he thought, an Iranian man in the middle of this America. Wandering through town after the thing is over and the battle lost. He felt like beating himself up for the absurdity of it, but he knew that wasn’t it either.

When he got back to the bar, he sat down at the table where his wife sat and said, “When we get to Bozeman, I’m going to call up Mike Pantilat and tell him that I couldn’t drive across the country with him today the way I did twenty years ago.”

“We weren’t the kind of friends who thought that getting older meant we would stop wondering about everything together.”

His wife smiled because she knew something interesting had happened in the hallway. She was white, but she thought she could guess it.

“It’s unfortunate,” he said. “Because we had a great time. We liked everybody. I could try to do that now. But it would be a very sad liking.”

“Maybe it would be a sad kind of liking for him too.”

“Maybe,” he said. “It might be too sad, though.”

“When did you last see him?”

“Three years ago.”

She laughed. She had only had one drink, but she felt happy and drunk.

“You want to call him up after three years to tell him that you don’t think you could drive across the country with him today the way you did twenty years ago?”

“You think he’s going to take it hard?”

“I think he might be a little surprised.”

“I just want to tell him that I could do it, but it wouldn’t be the same. We drove across the country together when we were twenty. That is an important thing. I still remember some of the people we saw. I know that he does too. I thought that everybody we saw was new. That’s what made it wonderful. I was half-right. They are new but they are also old. Maybe he would agree that they are new but they are also old if we did it today. The problem is that if two guys driving across the country agree that the people are new but also old, I don’t know what would be left for them to talk about. And we talked about everything. The unfortunate thing is that it was a very good way to be twenty. I can’t imagine a better way. We wanted to know all about America and we did, as best we could. We didn’t miss a thing.”

“Maybe you could call him up and tell him that if you did it now, you wouldn’t need to talk about everything.”

“I hope he can understand that. I hope he can understand that it’s only because it’s a lot of work to see people as new but also old.”

“What is the work?”

“The work is to say that those guys we were at twenty weren’t wrong. They would have come into a place like this and laughed and drank and talked with everybody. They would have had a hell of a time. The other part of it is that this place isn’t just what it is today.”

“What did you see in the hallway?”

“Nothing I didn’t already know. Nothing I shouldn’t already be worried about.”

He looked at the people. The place was getting crowded. A man was setting up his guitar to sing.

“You deserved to be twenty, you know.”

“A lot of people deserved a lot of things,” he said. “I’m sorry. We can have fun. I’ll call him when we get to Bozeman. I’ll be polite about it. Who knows, maybe he’ll feel the same way. Maybe there’s a way we could have done both. That’s hard to do at twenty, but maybe we could have done it.”

The waitress came by to see if they wanted anything. “You came on a good night,” she said. She could tell they were traveling through. “Jimmy’s playing tonight.”

“It’s funny,” he said after she walked away. “You can go a long time in San Francisco without thinking about being on Native land. The places that celebrate it, you have to think about it at least.”

Then he said, “You take something like that. The waitress telling us that Jimmy’s playing tonight. Mike Pantilat and I ate that up. We loved that stuff. We were friends because I knew he cared about that sort of thing.”

“I can see how you were friends.”

“Should we have eaten that stuff up?”

“You had to eat something up. You eat it up now, don’t you?”

“I do, but it’s because I have to.”

“Why?”

“Because I’m alive. I’m alive and I’m not dead. Maybe what I’ll do is, I’ll call up Mike Pantilat and tell him that if we did it now, I’d have to eat that stuff up measuredly. It might not even look like eating it up to him.”

She laughed. “Don’t worry about that. Do you think he eats that stuff up? If he’s anything like me, he gets worried about what else he might be eating up along the way.”

“You do?”

“Yes.”

“It’s hard to tell.”

“Well, I do. I know who I am in a place like this. I know how they see me and I know how I see myself.”

He looked around. “I don’t hate Buffalo, Wyoming, you know.”

“I know.”

“Maybe I’ll tell Mike that I don’t hate any of the places we went through together.”

“That’s nice. He’ll like to know that.”

“It’s the truth.”

He was quiet for a while, and then he said, “It’s the most respectful thing to do, to tell him, if you think about it. It’s the most respectful thing to do, to be honest about it. He’s my friend. I haven’t seen him in a while, but that was us back there, driving across the country. It was a hell of a thing. He remembers it. He remembers it like I do. If you think about it, the best way to keep that trip going is to be honest about it with him now. Those guys we were back there would have wanted us to be honest. They wouldn’t have expected anything else.”

“I think you could do it. I’d be interested to hear what he has to say.”

“You would, wouldn’t you?”

“Yes. If I had a friend call me up like that about something from twenty years ago, I’d know our friendship matters to them.”

“It matters all right. I just have to do it in the right way. I suppose there is a chance he might say, well, we weren’t planning to drive across the country together again anyway. But that’s not the kind of friends we were. We weren’t the kind of friends who thought that getting older meant we would stop wondering about everything together.”

It all seemed very reasonable. When they got to Bozeman, to her aunt’s house, he could call up Mike Pantilat and they would catch up a little and then he would tell him, out of respect, out of respectful honesty, that it wouldn’t be the same now if they drove across the country together, as good of friends as they were. He wouldn’t be able to eat everything up wildly along the way the way they had, and he wouldn’t be able to eat everything up with Mike the way they had. They would be two good friends who would be talking, but they wouldn’t be trying to get at the same thing in their talking the way they had then, and it was because a man’s relationship with America had to be a solitary thing. That’s how it looked in Buffalo, Wyoming, at least. And then it suddenly felt so sad to think of a whole big country that was unshareable by anyone, which was unshareable even by himself and his wife—which they knew, and in that knowledge there was love—that he thought that maybe for Mike’s sake, he wouldn’t tell him. Maybe it would do more to the memory of their old drive across the country than he knew. It was hard to have any America that was shareable even for a little while, and it didn’t matter if the America they’d shared back then had been true, the important thing was that their friendship had been true, and he knew then it was enough for the subject to at least come up naturally between him and Mike Pantilat, that he wouldn’t call him up to tell him from Bozeman or from anywhere else, and he got ready to listen to the man named Jimmy onstage.