Someone Else's Fairytale

Chapter Seven: Sandia Peak

The Sandia Tram parking lot had a few cars in it when I pulled up. I got out of my car, wearing a long sleeved shirt, jeans, and sneakers, my warm jacket draped over my arm. It was chilly at the base of the mountain and sure to be frigid at the top. The sky was overcast and shone a light peach, but the sun wasn't quite up yet. The air was so still, that it was almost like being indoors, except for the scent of sage and pine.

A blue Prius pulled up beside my car and Jason hopped out, wearing jeans and a t-shirt, a sweatshirt tied around his neck. “Hey!” he said.

“Hey,” I replied.

“Yes! No fans. No photographers. I feel almost normal.” He started in the direction of the tram terminal.

I jogged to keep up.

“Sorry,” he said. “I know this is stupid. I just feel really exposed out in the open.”

“No, it's fine.” The terminal was dark and I wondered if the doors would be locked, but no, the first one opened when Jason grabbed the handle. We ducked inside, past the gift shop and up the steps to where the trams left. It was odd to be traipsing through while the lights were off.

At the tram dock, there was a small crowd of people, most of whom were in some kind of work uniform, either for the tram company or the restaurant or the Park Service. Jason waved at one guy who waved back and just called out, “We'll take off in about ten minutes.” The tram car was in the dock; it looked like an enclosed ski lift, and some people used it as such, to reach Sandia Ski Area on the other side of the mountain.

“Cool!” said Jason. I noticed he kept his distance. In the dim light, no one seemed to notice who he was.

He turned to me. “So how've you been? How's school?”

“School's good. You?”

“Been doing more press stuff for Danger Fields. I was on Letterman the other night.”

“Oh, I don't watch him.”

“You didn't miss much. I made up a story about how hard it was to learn to fire a gun without flinching. You ever seen how some actors do that? They're in a big action movie or something and they fire a gun and flinch?”

I shook my head. “Not into action movies.”

“Looks pretty stupid, and I figure if I'm running around shirtless and pretending like I know something about war strategy and how to live in military barracks, I should at least look like I can shoot my fake gun with blanks and totally fake sound effects they put in later, you know? I can only ask so much of the audience.”

The tram door opened with a clunk and he fell silent. I watched as he put on some shades and a baseball cap. His whole demeanor shifted from confident and outgoing to quiet. He shuffled his feet and glanced around like he was shy as we made our way to join the others.

We got on with everyone else and he turned to look out the window. The tram had panes of glass that went all the way around, so we had three hundred and sixty degree views.

Everyone craned their necks to get a good look at him. I could tell they knew he'd be there, and they were trying to be polite and leave him alone, but they each had to get an eyeful. It was like they were observing an exotic animal that would take off into the underbrush at any moment. The tram was big enough to hold the twenty, or so, people who were on it, with room to spare. I positioned myself between Jason and the rest and joined him to look out the window, while they shut the door.

The motors buzzed to life and the tram lurched, swayed a moment, then pulled away from its dock. The view, once we were clear, was spectacular. We were hoisted up towards the first tower and got to see the entire city of Albuquerque laid out on the desert plain. The streetlights were still on, and car headlights cruised up and down the tiny streets. A tiny cluster of highrises marked downtown, off in the distance, by the snaking strip of moisture that was the Rio Grande. Not much standing water in it this time of year, and definitely not enough for it to flow.