Driving in the Desert (excerpt)

“Do you wanna go for a drive?”

It’s an honest question, but it makes no sense to me. Why would I go drive if I’m not going anywhere? I catch myself thinking about it too much, and then I think that’s the point, you’re supposed to do things for the experience and not for the destination. But even that is painful to think, too much of a stock phrase to make my brain happy.

“Sure. If you wanna.”

She groans and tells me if one of us isn’t decisive our friendship won’t go anywhere. I laugh because it’s funny- I have always been the neutral party in my family. I will never commit to either side, too eager to please.

I wait her out, because I know Katelyn will ask again and this time I’ll have the right answer.

“So…you wanna go?”

“Yeah. Let’s do it.”

I say something as we’re heading out the door but she doesn’t hear because she’s already talking again. That’s fine with me, because I can let myself fade out, rethink and reword whatever it was I was saying for when she inevitably tells me to repeat myself.

“Sorry, you were saying something,” she says, waving a hand back at me as she walks ahead towards the car.

“So what happened with the guy you were talking to-,” I start, but I don’t get to finish because she interrupts me to complete my sentence and start ranting about the loser in question.

I’m a listener. I love stories- maybe because I’m an English Major, or an actor, or maybe just because. Whatever the reason, I enjoy a good story- and Katelyn is a very animated storyteller.

We only get a mile from campus before she turns into a 7-11, keeping the radio turned on.

“You want something? Anything? A drink?”

“No, I’m good,” I say, truthfully, because I’m relaxing in the passenger’s seat, completely at ease with not having to drive for once.

“You sure? Water? Something?”

“No. I’m good,” I repeat, smiling and adjusting my heart-shaped sunglasses.

“Okay. Be right back,” she says, hauling herself out of the car to buy something to smoke.

I turn the radio up louder because I noticed her turn it down when I got in the car- an unusual display of concern about someone else. It made me smile, though, and it makes me smile again to start blasting the music. It’s easy for me to relax in her car; it’s a model maybe a year newer than mine, so it feels like home but a bit nicer. Except maybe not, because it’s way messier than my car and perpetually smells like smoke.

“You’re in charge of my music,” she says once she returns, settling into the seat.

“Okay,” I say, accepting the offered phone, and I look at the screen. “It’s locked.”

“Yeah. The password is 3-2-1-7.”

“M’kay.”

“Do you mind?”

I watch her open the pack.

“No, ’course not. I actually like the smell of smoke. Cigarettes, fires.”

Her first breath out, and then she turns the wheel and we’re leaving the parking lot, an unpaved incline that’s dangerous for the low car. She turns onto a street I recognize, in a direction I don’t, and then we’re on our way.

I don’t think about gas. I don’t think about where we’re headed. I don’t think about much, to be honest, except for scrolling lazily down her music library, looking for something that catches my attention.

The landscape seems a little nicer, as a passenger. It’s no longer dangerous, the flat plane at risk for lulling me to sleep. Now it’s interesting- the rough brush, tumbleweeds in the wind, falcons perching on claw-like trees. I wonder if I would ever have the chance to notice this- enjoy it the way I am in the moment.

The windows are rolled down, so there’s no pressure to talk. Katelyn sings along to the music in between breathing smoke, the hand-dryer noise of the wind carrying her voice out and away like an invisible trail.

“Hey, can you play Northern Downpour next?”

“Yeah.”

I settle back in my seat, tempted to close my eyes and drift, so I do. I wonder if this is what it is like to be Katelyn, and I think that maybe it is. Just driving. Smoking and driving and listening to the voice of someone far away and very talented, and remembering everything else you’ve ever done while listening to the same song.