Swimming Through the Dawn

by R. P. Rioux

  After roaring past downtown Phoenix, the Torino punched its way through the western suburbs. Miles of nondescript mini-malls and cookie-cutter subdivisions met them before they finally reached the untouched desert. "Full tank, cold drinks, open road. Whatta you say we crank some music?" Steve turned on the radio and encountered static. The first clear signal he landed on was a classic rock station emerging from commercial break. The crunchily distinctive opening guitar chords signaled the song that would start their road trip, AC/DC's "Highway to Hell." Steve smirked at the irony.

  "What do you suppose that means?" Heather asked.

  40

  Heather

  "Are we taking the I-10 back?"

  "Yeah, why?" Steve responded.

  "I received a text." Heather read the traffic alert on her phone. "Rollover accident reported on I-10 east of Indio. All westbound lanes closed. Expect delays."

  "East of Indio? Great."

  "Can we make it to L.A. before midnight? I have a class tomorrow morning."

  "I doubt it. Traffic will be jammed for miles. Who knows how long it'll take to clear?"

  "Isn't there another way?"

  "I-10's pretty much the one road connecting Phoenix and L.A. He considered it a moment longer. "Unless —"

  "You have an idea?"

  "Once, when I got bored of driving the same route, I took an old road north of Joshua Tree. It runs parallel to the I-10, but it's way—I mean seriously the middle of nowhere. I doubt anyone would even bother with it. We could try."

  "If it'll work," said Heather.

  "At least we wouldn't be stuck in a monster traffic jam."

  Steve's description of the route was apt. After detouring at Blythe, the only sign of civilization they encountered was tiny Moya Junction consisting of a gas station and an agricultural inspection site, both of which were closed. Beyond that point, the open road stretched into the distance. As far as the eye could see, not a single building could be seen anywhere. Along the entire stretch, they ran across one other vehicle heading in the opposite direction. The experience was such a profound contrast to Heather's time spent in densely populated Korea. She found it a marvel to behold, even if a bit intimidating.

  As the afternoon wore on, the heat became impossible to cope with, even with the windows open. The superheated air blowing in from the vents was withering. Heather fanned herself with a wadded tourist brochure she had procured from the lobby of the jet plane hangar.

  "My air conditioner doesn't work well, but it's better than this," Steve admitted.

  "Please. Oh, please."

  They closed the windows and felt the air on their face. The result was mildly more refreshing, but Heather questioned whether it was worth using at all, considering the windows had to be kept closed to feel anything.

  After 20 minutes had passed, an oily, burning smell filled the enclosed compartment. "What is that?" she asked.

  Steve didn't respond, but he too noticed something amiss.

  "It smells like—" she was unable to finish her sentence before the Gran Torino shuddered with a bone-jarring thud. The dashboard lights blinked on and off in quick succession. Smoke entered their lungs, forcing them to reopen the windows. Steve swerved into a wide spot of gravel beside the road.

  "We need to leave now!" They both fled, doors flying open as they jumped. Heather watched flames lick from the engine compartment as the car slowly rolled to a halt, yards away.

  To her horror, she watched Steve return to the car. "Be careful!"

  He reached behind the driver's seat, extracted an extinguisher, and popped open the hood. Steve ducked to avoid the flames as they shot towards him. Five long blasts from the extinguisher later, and the fire was out. Residual smoke wafted from the engine for several more minutes.

  When it looked safe to approach, Heather peeked under the hood to assess the damage. Hoses and wires were melted. The engine was pitch black. "I take it we won't be home any time soon?"

  "That's a safe bet." Steve expressed his anger by tossing the extinguisher high in the air. It landed with a dull thud in the desert soil not far away.

  It's your fault. You pushed him to turn on the AC. Good job, Heather. She searched for a map of the local area using her phone. "There's a town ahead called Gage. It doesn't look far. We could walk."

  "Gage? Don't waste your time. That's a ghost town." Steve looked exasperated. His shoulders slumped. "Let me put it this way. We're standing in a candidate site for the world's first atomic bomb test. Don't expect much in terms of civilization." He double-checked his phone but wasn't getting a signal. Heather offered hers instead.

  Steve called the two service stations he could find anywhere within 100 miles. Not surprisingly, they were closed for Easter. He texted Dalton, who responded 12 minutes later. "Dalton and Toby say they can detour at Desert Station and swing round to pick us up," said Steve.

  "How long will that take?"

  "His GPS is saying three hours, without traffic. We have some waiting to do." Heather didn't complain. She felt guilty enough as it was.

  To avoid heatstroke, Steve rigged a flimsy sunshade using an old blanket he had in the trunk. The contraption was held in place by some c-stands from the video shoot. He encouraged Heather to drink lots of water for hydration. They huddled together in the meager shade, awaiting rescue.

  "I have enough battery left on my phone to play one song. What would you pick?"

  Heather pondered his question for a moment. "That's impossible for me to answer," she said. "I love so many; I couldn't settle on one. How about you?"

  "For me, it's easy." He pressed play. The song itself was deceptively simple. The performance aged like a fine wine. The musicianship unparalleled. She didn't understand the Spanish lyrics but understood the singer's intent. The song was a hauntingly beautiful expression of desire, yet one that reflected a lifetime of struggle and pain. Set against the stark landscape she found herself in, the experience created a visceral image that stuck with her long after. When the song ended, Steve's phone beeped its warning of a depleted battery.

  "What was that?" asked Heather.

  "It's a Cuban song called 'Chan Chan' by the Buena Vista Social Club. To me, that single piece encapsulates the experience of living life like no other. Music in its purest form. The trumpet part kills me every time."

  Heather smiled as she contemplated Steve's ability to appreciate beauty. "I can see why you'd pick that. Thanks for sharing." Steve looked pleased. Without saying another word, he leaned against the car and within minutes was fast asleep. The experience of the weekend had pushed him to the edge of exhaustion.

  The highway was deserted. Heather was left in solitude.

  Now at rest, she was able to assess the desert as never before. The sweet fragrance in the air drew attention to the abundance and variety of wildflowers nearby. From the vantage point of a speeding car, and set against the grand terrain, the tiny blossoms were lost in a blur of passing foliage. What she had so recently dismissed as desolate and bleak, literally teemed with life.

  The pervasive silence of the desert, too, struck her as profound. It was at once ominous yet comforting. City life was positively cacophonous in comparison. She spent long moments intentionally listening for a single sound, any sound at all, but heard little more than Steve's irregular breathing and the beat of her own heart. The peace she felt was cathartic.

  Her long reverie was interrupted by the distant rumbling of an approaching freight. As it drew closer, the roar of its four linked locomotives woke Steve. The rail line it traversed lay yards away, allowing them to feel the vibrations of the diesel engines as much as hear them. On and on, it passed, at one point stretching so far in either direction they could see neither end. A train hopper in a flaxen-hued bucket hat rode in the well of an intermodal railcar. Both Heather and Steve waved as he passed, but the traveler seemed preoccupied with his beer.

  As the clickity-clack of the eastbound freight faded into the distance, the desert's tranquilit
y returned. She had experienced enough of it. With knees tucked under her chin, and arms wrapped around her legs, Heather spoke. "Remember at the Christmas party when you asked me why I didn't become an idol?"

  Steve immediately aborted his attempt to return to sleep and sat upright. "Yeah."

  "The first time I met him, the executive, was the evening of our investor meeting. I'll refer to him as Mr. Park. That's not his real name."

  41

  Steve

  "My God, what happened?" a shocked Steve asked when Heather told him of being drugged.

  "I woke the next morning alone in the most luxurious bed I'd ever been in. The sunlight was pouring through the windows of this magnificent bedroom with a lovely garden right outside the glass walls. It felt like a dream at first."

  Heather was silent for a long moment. Steve was anxious to learn more but knew he couldn't rush her.

  "From the sun's position, it must've been early afternoon. I found myself completely naked under the covers. Mentally, I felt exhausted, not like I would have after a full night's sleep. I was dizzy. Sounds echoed. The garden flowers were blooming, but I was emotionally detached like I was viewing a painting on a wall. It's hard to explain, Steve, but my entire body felt gone, like my head was floating in space."

  "How did you escape?"

  "Eventually, I forced myself up. It took every ounce of strength I had. I wanted to stay in that bed but was terrified of what could happen. I couldn't find my clothes anywhere. A terrycloth robe had been placed on a nearby chair, and it fit perfectly, I remember that. The agency didn't allow us phones, and there wasn't one in the room, so I had no choice but to venture out. When I saw a maid in the hallway, I called to her. 'Do you know where my clothes are?' She left without saying a word but returned a moment later with her supervisor, the woman who had greeted me at the door the previous evening. She asked if there was anything wrong. Can you believe that? Anything wrong?"

  "What did you say?"

  "I demanded the return of my clothes and a ride to the dorm. The woman told me the closet was full of garments my size; to take what I wanted. She also said my belongings could be transported to the house whenever I wished."

  "They expected you to stay there after that?"

  "I didn't see Mr. Park that day. After much insisting, I finally convinced the woman to call a taxi. When I returned to the dorm, the girls burst into tears. They were worried sick. I was given permission to skip the evening rehearsals, but the CEO insisted I meet him in the morning."

  "What did he say? What did you say?"

  "The first words from his mouth were, 'You, stupid, stupid girl. Do you want to bring this company to ruin?'"

  "'Sir, I'm not ruining anything,' I responded. 'I was assaulted.'"

  "Then he goes, 'What proof do you have any of that happened? Nobody will believe a word you say. Mr. Park has been a godsend to this company. You're nothing more than an overrated trainee who thinks too highly of herself. If you dare press this, your family will pay the price.'"

  "What did he mean?" asked Steve.

  "I assumed he meant Mr. Park would use his connections to ruin my father's career somehow."

  "Brutal. How did you respond?"

  "I didn't. I knew I was beat. My spirit was destroyed. I felt beyond worthless. Besides, I was in no physical condition to resist. My body was suffering from the effects of the drug, aching like the flu, only worse. The whole first day, I vomited and was nauseous for a week. Sleep was my one remedy. After missing several rehearsals, they cut me, glad to be rid of a nuisance, no doubt. Grace left in solidarity. Since I was effectively banished from the industry, I returned home. We lived with our parents until college started."

  "That's a shocking story, Heather. I honestly don't know what to say, other than I'm sorry."

  Heather unexpectedly laughed. "You had nothing to do with it. Why be sorry?"

  "That terrible things happen to good people."

  "That's life, Steve," Heather concluded. "That's life."

  "Did he, you know—"

  "Rape me?"

  Steve nodded.

  "At first, I thought so. I still can't remember anything after that drink. The next day, Grace and a non-industry friend snuck me to a clinic under a false name. They found no physical evidence of sexual assault but gave me an HIV prophylaxis and the morning-after pill to be sure. I didn't report it to the police. I wanted to remain anonymous."

  "You must've been scared," Steve said.

  "I was terrified. Mr. Park is connected. A nobody like me would have no chance against him. Plus, there's the victim-blaming."

  "You mean people saying you deserved it?"

  "Exactly. 'Why did you go to his house?' 'Why were you dressed that way?' 'You knew what you were doing.' Or worst of all, 'You were trying to get money out of him.' There'd be no gain from reporting it."

  "If he didn't rape you, what was that about?"

  "I've spent many weeks contemplating that. My conclusion is Mr. Park was after power, not sex. Men like him aren't used to the word no and don't react well when they do hear it. They prefer to keep their play toys complicit. Making me believe I was raped was a power-play move. He'd have the final say regardless of my response."

  "That sounds plausible."

  "And in a perverted way, maybe he thought I'd be more receptive to a sponsorship arrangement if he could convince me I already paid the price. I don't plan on asking him for details."

  "What do you mean, sponsorship arrangement?"

  "Rumors abound that less reputable agencies float secret lists containing the names and asking prices of idols who are amenable to sponsorships. The more popular the idol, the higher the price."

  "God."

  "Dark stuff. See why I didn't want to discuss it at the Christmas party?" She found a rock the size of a quarter and carved a circle in the dirt by her side. "I wanted to hate my old group when they debuted, but I didn't. Why do you think that is?"

  Steve shrugged his shoulders. "Your influence had a lasting effect even after you were gone."

  "If you say so."

  "Seriously, Heather, think about it. Grace specifically mentioned how you created a nurturing environment for the other trainees when most times, it's a cutthroat experience."

  "But I lost."

  "Did you though? You did what you thought was right. You have nothing to be ashamed of. If that's not winning, what is?"

  "That's not how the world usually views it."

  "It's how it should be. And look at the big picture. Those gestures ripple far and wide. I, for one, will never forget you standing up for me when you didn't have to."

  Heather smiled. "I'm glad I did."

  Steve placed a hand on Heather's shoulder. "It wasn't long ago this happened. How are you doing now?"

  "Some days are okay; others are a struggle. Pouring myself into music staves off the worst. Grace doesn't like leaving me alone with my thoughts."

  Steve pondered the meaning of that statement as he waited for Heather to elaborate. She didn't. "To be honest, I wouldn't have known," he said. "You're so positive."

  "An idol's job is to make people happy. I take that role seriously."

  "I couldn't do that."

  "Laugh on the outside; cry on the inside." She paused, then lifted her head. "That didn't come out right. It makes me sounds disingenuous. Truth is, I feel both at the same time." Heather drew what started off as a smiley face, but it ended up having a straight line for a mouth and two Xs for eyes. "Most people view depression as an illness you recover from like a cold." She tossed the rock away into the dirt. "'Just be happy,' they say to me as if that'll cure it. But it's more like a dreadful sense of isolation. Thoroughly crippling at times." With her free hand, Heather erased the drawing. "By the way, this stays between us, okay? The girls don't even know." She looked to Steve for reassurance. He provided it with a nod. "Except for Grace, of course."

  "Your parents? Did you ever tell them what happened?"

&nbs
p; "Never. In my family, emotional problems are taboo. To seek professional treatment is to invite shame. As hard as it was to let my family regard me as a loser, it was better than telling them the truth."

  Minutes passed wordlessly. A wren-sized bird hopped from under a group of shrubs to peck at a seed. It looked at them with curiosity before flying away.

  "Thanks for listening," she said. "It means a lot."

  Before Steve could respond, he heard tires on gravel and the honking of a horn. Peeking over the hood of the car, he saw Dalton's Ranger barreling towards them. Toby leaned from the passenger window, waving. "They're here, Heather! We can go home."