#6: The Drive

It wasn't long before we crossed into the desert; one minute, hills and trees, the next, expanses of sand, dirt, faded colors, small shadows. There was a quiet rejoicing for the change of scenery, for the distance between us and where we were.

At our first stop, she finally said something. "Let's go back."

I didn't answer. I smiled at her, a kind of pitiful smile, an "I'm sorry" smile.

She nodded.

The restrooms smelled like cigarettes. The truck stop was full of curios to take home to your loved ones. I had the strange thought that this was my home now--wherever I was--from now on.

Standing in line to buy the coffee, chips, and a magazine, her hand reached out and her fingers hooked into my palm. After the woman missing a front tooth bagged our purchase, we walked out the door holding hands in earnest.

"I really do love you," I said at last. "I know this is all, you know, the circumstances and all, but I do love you."

She nodded again. She took a sip of her coffee.

We didn't talk a lot. We listened to a burned CD that we found in the car, the singer was a woman with a very lonesome voice; pretty. When the sun was setting over the painted desert, the moon was out behind us. "This is good," she said. I didn't know what she meant; our being together or the music. I had my preference.


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