Dear YCWTS readers,
the second I saw the trailer for the latest (17th!) season of The Real Housewives of Orange County I knew I wanted to try out the style of The Road by Cormac McCarthy. For those of you who haven’t read The Road, it’s about a father and son who walk through a post-apocalyptic America, an America covered in ash with barely anything left to eat and danger around every corner. It is slow and thoughtful and anxiety-inducing. The language is also deceptively simple and, now I know, hard to nail down. There are barely any commas.
And then there is RHOC. The first episode of this latest season starts with Tamra driving down the highway on her motorcycle, metaphorically returning to the show after a “pause”. She is hopeful but cautious. Past memories of her time on the show flash before her eyes (of course she is yelling in most of them).
The literal road was what initially inspired me here but there’s also something so apocalyptic about the OC franchise that I thought fit really well. Maybe it’s the heat, the fires, the fluctuating wealth, the MAGA energy. Maybe it’s the fact that I was following Tamra on Instagram when the pandemic hit and I got to see her buy a bidet when she ran out of toilet paper. Who knows.
I started writing this post on June 11th, and on June 14th McCarthy passed away. It feels very strange and I’m not sure what to say about it. To be honest I’ve only read The Road and I only read it recently so I don’t feel like I can speak to his writing or his life with much authority. All I can say is that I have been re-reading his work over the last week or so to get the tone of this piece right and his writing style is beautiful, unique and eerie. He wavers between hope and despair in a way that is inspiring and uncomfortable. I hope to read more of his work in the future and I of course have no idea on his thoughts about reality TV but I like to think he would have gotten a kick out of this bizarre mash-up.
I hope you do too.
This is a literary retelling of a real scene from RHOC. It can be found at the very beginning.
approx 600 words
The woman sped down the road on her black motorcycle. The words on the slick tank said LiveWire and the machine beneath her roared with every flick of her wrist like a broad-chested beast. She wore leather head to toe. Aviator glasses and a helmet that shimmered with the glare of the sun. Her face was completely covered. She'd come a long way from wanting everything to be pink although she still liked things to be pink. Her nails for example. Her shoes. Her lips. Long blond hair flew behind her like a lion's mane. A Medusa's head. The rev of the motorcycle's engine broke the silence of the empty road that spread out in front of her. The hills were green and rolling but the shoulders of the road were dust. The asphalt hot to the touch. It could be July or it could be December there was no way to know. Somewhere out there there was likely a fire burning. It was inevitable.
She was heading home but home wasn't what it used to be. Home had changed in the few years she'd been gone and she knew that not everyone would be happy to see her. She counted on it. Past friendships flashed in front of her as she wove the motorcycle around a corner. Memories of finger-pointing and yelling and throwing her hands in the air and then storming off. Pushing people out of the way and screaming at them to stop screaming. One memory in particular where she was sitting on the floor at a wellness retreat and Emily said I feel like you don't like me. You always have something against me. Her voice shaking. Everyone in yoga pants and athleisure tank tops and their skin puffy from late-night tequila shots and early-morning meditation rituals. Cheeks glistening from sweat and anxiety and tears as the woman sat stone-faced because some relationships were more important to her than others.
But there were good memories too. Eddie proposing with a giant diamond ring presented in a clam shell. The birth of her granddaughter. A tiny little human with a pink face and all wrapped up like a worm. Her wedding where she cried and Eddie cried and her diamond encrusted armband glistened like the strings of the harps that lined the aisle. Shannon coming in for a hug and apologies mumbled into identical strands of blond hair. As the woman steered the motorcycle around a bend she remembered Shannon saying I love you but also can Tamra change? And whether or not the woman had changed or even wanted to change she at least had a new outlook this time around. This time she didn't have to call everybody out. Whether she'd stick to that or not was hard to say but at least she had hope.
The road made way for block houses. Manicured green lawns and SUVs parked on the street. Spindly trees with no leaves just claws reaching up into the hazy sky like a creature trapped beneath the earth. The woman slowed the machine and steered it up onto the driveway. Between the two black garage doors there was a potted fern and on the lawn by the front door there was a stagnant fountain. It was very hot out. She lowered her foot to the pavement and turned off the engine. She reached for her helmet. A cloud of blond hair exploded from underneath as she pulled herself free and tossed her head back. Her face was a dark silhouette against the blinding sun.