Sunrise at Las Vegas

art by Isabelle Carasso

by Rob Rogers

On the morning of my fiftieth birthday, after a blissfully boozy night spent drinking red wine under the stars and skinny dipping alone in my pool, I awoke shortly before six in the morning, fresh from a vision in which I met myself exactly ten years earlier. It took me more than a minute to realize I had been dreaming, and even now it feels more like a memory.

Like all the best dreams, this one was set in Las Vegas, at the pool deck of the Aria Resort and Casino, early on the first morning of the trip I had taken in 2016 to celebrate my fortieth birthday.

My newly minted 40-year-old self had just returned from the first night out on a three-day party weekend, and as usual, I was the last one to end the night. Although my days of cutting loose at bars at home were mostly behind me, Vegas had become my go-to destination for the extended weekend trips I took at least once a year in my thirties to stay young and recuperate from work. So it was only natural that I returned there to celebrate my milestone with my wife and four other friends.

The summer sun had just started to creep above the Spring Mountains west of the Strip as the taxi dropped me off at the porte-cochere by the casino, just six hours into my next decade. Soon it would be time to return upstairs to steal an hour or two of shut eye on the couch in our suite before the others woke up. But not until after the first night in Vegas was sealed with one final nightcap and a few minutes spent watching the sun rising over the mountains.

My younger self had been relaxing on a chaise lounge by the far pool sipping his final Grey Goose and cranberry when I approached from the shadows, wondering if he’d recognize me. He looked up with drowsy eyes, possibly wondering if he had already dozed off and was imagining me. He then glanced at the glass and chuckled an unspoken quip about the potency of liquor in the desert, but he seemed to understand who I was and where I had come from.

“You’re who I think you are, right?”

“In the flesh. Enjoying your fortieth?”

“It’s Vegas, man. I love every second I spend here.”

I took a seat on the lounger beside him and pondered what I’d share and what I’d have to hold back. He smacked himself on the cheek, stretching the muscles on his face to confirm he wasn’t hallucinating. After a moment’s pause, he leaned back on the chair and lit a Newport Light, and I pulled out my vape to join him.

“Dude, what are you, a fifth grader?” Blue raspberry kindersmoke struck him as a pathetic substitute for pure nicotine, and his instinct was to shame me.

“Yeah, man, I’m done with cigarettes. This is close enough, except you don’t walk around smelling like an ash tray. It’s a surprisingly good buzz, too. I actually discovered these in Vegas a few years ago when I traded one at the pai gow table for a pack of Newports.”

“Well, at least you’re still coming to Vegas. That’s good.”

“Not as often I’d like. But yeah, I still love Vegas.”

We both took a moment to stare at the mountains in the distance. My companion then took a long drag from his cigarette as he searched for his next words. Something about him had changed without warning, and I could feel the air grow heavy.

“Please tell me Claire is still alive.”

“Yeah, man, she’s fine.”

“Kara hasn’t left me yet?”

I had forgotten how much the birth of my daughter had sparked recurring spasms of dread about how hard it would be if she were ever taken from me, whether by tragedy or divorce. The strain in his voice and the loss of color in his cheeks made me realize that prompt reassurance was needed.

“Hey, man, seriously, they’re fine. The three of you still live in the same house. You and Kara just had your twentieth anniversary, and Claire starts high school in two weeks. She’s even an honor student. She’s never been kidnapped or raped or shot in school. You and Kara will even start taking summer trips to Europe again soon, and you’ll take her with you every time. She loves to travel just as much as you and Kara do. You even have a pool now. None of you have cancer, at least as far as I know.”

He tried to hide a falling tear with a muffled sigh. I knew his concerns about Claire went deeper than just fear for her safety. He was haunted by fear that the mistakes of his childhood would be repeated.

“Look at me. It’s not like it was with your parents. You guys talk, and she doesn’t hate you. Really.”

The unsettled look in his eyes could have been just a byproduct of the booze and sleep deprivation. But it reminded me of just how difficult the months before that trip to Vegas had been.

The ramparts I had built to protect me since my collapse in law school seventeen years earlier were beginning to crumble. Back then, before I met Kara, I had distanced myself from my parents for my own good and rebuilt a new life around the relationships I had forged in my last year of college with my sister and the five guys who had been my first real friends. Despite leaving the rest of my past behind, I’d used those surviving friendships as the foundation for what became a happier second life and eventually found my wife. But two decades later, it was a foregone conclusion that none of them would be coming to Vegas for my fortieth. I’d indefinitely cut off contact less than a year earlier with my sister and one of the other guys after painful fights, and my disconnection from my sister had put my relationship with the friend she’d married on indefinite hiatus. I’d grown apart from the other guys less dramatically, whether because of distance or the heightened priorities of work and family.

In the years since law school, I’d hesitated to get too close to any new friends. I’m sure part of it was because of the self-doubt and disillusionment of the world around me that had been at the heart of the mental health struggles that almost cost me my life seventeen years earlier. Above all, the burden of concealing my past prevented me from getting too close to anyone new. There was only my wife and daughter, and they had become the center of my universe and my primary source of happiness and security.

It was therefore critical to the little boy nursing the Newport Light that our wife and daughter still be around for at least ten more years. It didn’t surprise me that he didn’t ask about the others. He’d already grieved their loss and accepted they may never be a meaningful part of his life again, even though I knew that was not to be the case. Treating wounds with amputation had been a survival tactic he’d honed all his life.

“Am I still practicing law?” His change of subject relaxed both of us.

“Yeah, but your days at Holland & Knight are numbered.”

The last earthquake of that year would come less than three months after I returned from Vegas, in the form of an abrupt career change. But it was hardly surprising. I had long given up any hope of partnership at the big firm I’d been with since my thirtieth birthday, and I knew it was only a matter of time before they’d be ready to trade me in for a cheaper, younger model. Before year’s end, I’d be working at a smaller firm making less money, but it wouldn’t be long before I’d find considerably more satisfaction and success. I’d eventually even make partner there, before life’s twists and turns eventually forced me to make another move eight years later.

But I didn’t want to cheat him out of any of those revelations, and I knew he wouldn’t lose any sleep over questions about his professional future. So I stuck to generalities.

“Let’s just say that you’re going to find your place, and you’ll find people who appreciate you for what you do well. And Kara won’t mind when you bring home compensation than doesn’t show up on a paystub.” 

He shrugged with apparent satisfaction, then turned to look at me for the first time and began to study what he was seeing.

“Nice that you still have your hair. Looks like you’ve gained a little weight. No wonder you’re not going to Vegas as much.”

“I still tend to go up and down a bit, depending on how much I exercise. You’re catching me in an off season.” I left out the part about how I’d lost more than 100 pounds three years ago, as I knew I couldn’t get into what caused it, or why I didn’t mind that I’d already gained most of it back.

“Yeah man, you still look pretty young for fifty. Despite the extra padding.”

“I still feel like the youngest guy in the room everywhere I go. You’ll be disappointed when you see how dull people get when they start sniffing their fifties. For years you’ll spend weekends hanging out with friends of friends at pools getting buzzed and laughing at each other’s social blunders, then a few weeks later, you’ll all be sitting at couples’ brunches talking about health problems and how bad you all look in bathing suits. Most people seem to turn into their parents. I guess that’s why I sometimes identify more with Claire’s friends than their parents. But Kara’s still young.” 

We both leaned back in our chairs and watched the shadows of the palm trees creep closer to the mountains, occasionally turning behind us to check on whether any all-night clubbers still rolling on Molly had come out for an after-party dip.

“So I’ll actually still be alive at fifty.” He threw a wry smile at me as smoke from his Newport floated across the pool. “Who’d have thought.”

It wasn’t long ago that I would have felt the same way. He and I had been living on bonus time ever since the breakdown at twenty-three, and we knew the day may come when it would be time to cash in our chips and leave the table while we were still ahead. That was the silver lining of being so honest about why I had wanted to die back then. I knew I’d always have a backup plan if life ever became unbearable again. Claire’s birth changed things a bit; I suppose so did marrying Kara. I’d never want to inflict such pain on them if it wasn’t absolutely necessary. But until recently, I’d always thought pragmatically about suicide and chose not to tear it from the last page of my emergency plan.

That would finally change seven years after our conversation beside the pool in Vegas. The second earth-shattering crisis of my life would hit at forty-seven, and it would cost me six months of work and eventually the job at the small firm. I’d endure the hardest year of my life, and I’d go back on meds and back to therapy and hospitalization. All the despair and hopelessness and insomnia would return, and even with Kara and Claire in the picture this time, I’d once again question why I had been born and what was to be gained by living any longer.

As before, I would recover and rebuild yet another new life. But this time around, true, lasting changes seem to have taken hold. When I was twenty-three, my only objective was to survive and become strong enough to chase after the life I had dreamed of since childhood. Somehow, I hoped that the rest would work itself out as I found more to live for. This time, by harnessing my intellectual curiosity and my wife’s love and all I had learned over the years, I was finally able to dig out the cancerous core beliefs that had led me astray for so many years. Physicians once again helped me retrain my mind, but this time I unmasked most of the warped perceptions that prevented me from becoming comfortable in my own skin.

It’s taken more than a year to heal, but I’m now more content than I ever was at forty. I no longer hide my mental health struggles and, as a result, I’m past the shame inflicted by the years I spent keeping it secret. Although I’ve learned to embrace my solitary, self-reflective nature, I no longer feel unwanted or alone. I’ve healed old wounds with my sister, and although I don’t have too many close friends, I’ve found deeper intimacy with those I allow into my life. My wife and daughter and I are closer than ever, and I’ve found more professional satisfaction than ever at my new job.

Of course, I couldn’t tell any of this to my companion sitting beside me by the pool. He wouldn’t pass the tests that lay ahead if he received the answers in advance. And words couldn’t explain what awaited him anyway. He was just going to have to experience it all for himself.

So I just told him what he needed to know.

“The next ten years won’t all be bikinis and bottle service. There will be more brutal days when the pain won’t let up and more nights when you won’t be able to drink enough to sleep. But eventually you’re going to figure it all out. So many things will finally make sense, and in time, that feeling of pending doom always lingering in the back of your mind will vanish without you even noticing.”

For a moment we sat in silence.

“And Kara will be with you through all of it.” 

The look in his eyes told me he’d feel more hopeful when the weekend in Vegas was over. That he’d be less afraid the next time he turned off the lights. He didn’t need to know more. He just wanted to enjoy the rest of the sunrise. He looked at me and smiled, then rubbed out the last of his Newport in the ashtray between us and leaned back with his eyes closed.

We sat together for several minutes more, before I rose and crept back into the shadows. And then I watched him succumb to sleep as I disappeared and floated away with the morning breeze.

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