by Liz Durano
We stop for gas and get some lunch in Thoreau, New Mexico. But even though I keep my distance, I don’t forget the promise I made about the pressed penny collection and crank out a new one from the vending machine. That makes five so far since we started the collection in Barstow.
Alma sits in the front passenger seat this time, with a clip-on mirror on the sun visor allowing her to check on Tyler who is yawning as I get on Interstate 40. From here it’s four more hours before we get to Taos. We talk about music for awhile before she turns quiet again, propping her bare feet on the dashboard as she leans back in her seat. Before long, she’s asleep, the neck roll cushioning her head against the window.
The deafening pop comes half an hour later and smoke and remnants of the rear tire go flying behind the trailer. A shudder reverberates through the SUV just before the vehicle veers to the right. Behind me, the trailer swerves precariously toward the second lane, the car behind me swerving just in time to avoid us. I ease on the brake as best as I can and make my way toward the shoulder, my knuckles white against the steering wheel.
Everything would have been fine but as the SUV slows to a stop along the side of the interstate, I might as well have been on the edge of some Afghan’s farm with my unit seconds before Smith stepped on the IED, the smell of blood and sulfur filling the air. And instead of Alma’s startled gasp, I hear the shouts of my fellow Marines as we do what we can to get out of the line of gunfire and RPGs.
Getdowngetdowngetdown!
I lunge toward Alma to shield her from the explosion that never comes. There is only the rumble of passing cars and the smell of burning tires. Nothing rips into my leg and feels like hot coals burning from the inside. Drew isn’t dragging me to safety, dodging sniper fire. There’s nothing, only the pounding of my heart in my chest, blood hammering against my temples and somewhere, someone is saying my name.
“It’s okay, Sawyer. We’re okay. It was a blown tire, that’s all. Just a blown tire. We’re okay.” Alma’s voice is soft and almost hypnotic, dragging me from the visions that keep me trapped somewhere else. I’m half out of the driver’s seat and half covering her, my arms on either side of her body, protecting her from… from what?
“How’s Tyler?” I gasp, the silence unnerving me, Alma’s palms against my chest an unexpected sensation that brings me back slowly. “Why is he not crying? Is he okay?”
“Tyler’s okay. He was startled but he’s okay now,” Alma replies as I pull away from her and reach for the glove compartment where I stashed my wallet.
I pop the Metoprolol in my mouth, a beta blocker designed to treat short-term symptoms of PTSD, just like what I’m going through now. I close my eyes, feeling the pill go down my throat, a fixed set of words repeating again and again inside my head, reeling me back to the present.
I am the master of my fate. I am the captain of my soul.
Damn right I am, I tell myself as I take long deep breaths. I haven’t needed to take one in a very long time. Fuck, I don’t even remember when I had to take one of these things. All I know is that I keep my prescription current just in case.
“That’s good.” I turn to see Tyler reflected in the back seat mirror, contentedly sucking on a tube of mashed fruit. I look at Alma again. For the first time, I notice how thick her dark lashes are. And there’s a faint scar above her top lip I don’t remember being there when I first met her.
“That popped tire and your stunt driving were all so freaking awesome it almost made me pee my pants.” Alma laughs nervously and I join her, both of us finding it funnier than it really is. The sound of our laughter works to calm us both down. It’s just what we need to ease the tension in the air and drive away the panic that filled the cab minutes earlier, the smell of rubber still lingering in the air. But so does the kiss that follows, coming out of nowhere as our mouths meet hungrily, my hands cradling her face, her fingers curling along the back of my neck.
We jerk apart, staring at each other.
“I’m… I’m going to change the tire,” I mumble and turn away from her, pushing open the door and stepping out of the SUV. Cars speed past us on the interstate, silencing the questions that race through my mind. What the fuck just happened?
A truck pulls over and parks a few yards in front of the SUV and a man and a woman step out. “You guys alright?” the man calls out as I give him a thumbs up.
“Yeah, I’m good.”
The woman runs toward Alma and Tyler. “Oh, honey, you guys okay? We saw what was left of your tire all over the road and prayed it wasn’t bad.”
“We’re fine,” Alma says.
“Got a spare tire, man?” the mans asks me. “I can help you change it.”
“I’ve got a full tire at the back,” Alma says. “I had the pressure checked before we left.”
I nod as the man draws closer. “Yeah, man, that would be great. Thanks for stopping.”
“Why don’t we stay in the truck for now, away from the sun,” the woman tells Alma as the man introduces himself. His name’s John and he and his wife, Lisa, are on their way to Houston to visit family. He’s older, in his fifties, with a chest built like a tank, and as he shakes my hand, I catch a glimpse of his tattoo—a globe, an anchor and a bald eagle clutching a streamer displaying the Corps motto, Semper Fidelis, the Marine Corps emblem. I relax my guard, relieved that my heart no longer sounds like a hundred horses trying to gallop out of my chest.
Half an hour later, we say goodbye to John and Lisa and get back on the road. Alma is sitting next to Tyler in the back seat this time and I can’t blame her. There are no more quick glances at the rearview mirror. Nothing. Her eyes look everywhere but at me. We don’t talk much the rest of the way either, not even when we stop in Albuquerque for gas before making that last push to Taos. When we get to Taos, it’s too dark to get them into the earthship and so I have them stay at the La Fonda Hotel for the night. I’ll pick them up in the morning and bring them to the earthship then.
But as I make my way back to the SUV, I know that eventually we’ll have to talk about that kiss. I’m sure it didn’t come out of nowhere, not when it’s simply a culmination of what began in that hallway more than a year ago.
8
Alma
It’s the dream again and this time, Drew’s hands are already around my neck before I can stop him. I open my mouth to scream but no sound comes out. I will myself to move but I can’t; I’m frozen in place as the hands continue to tighten.
I bolt upright, a scream trapped in my throat. It’s just a dream, Alma. He’s dead. He’s not here.
I look around the room anyway to make sure. Next to the bed, in the crib the hotel staff brought in, Tyler is fast asleep, oblivious of his mother’s panic.
I take a few deep breaths, letting my gaze wander around the hotel room, the time, 3 AM, flashing in the semi-darkness. I wonder when the dreams will stop, when my fears will finally allow me to move on.
After all, wasn’t that why I took that apartment even when it was right next to a car repair shop? I’d allowed my apathy to take over after Drew’s death, the guilt I carried spilling over everything I touched. I’d always prided myself as someone who was able to get up and move on quickly but Drew’s death was something else. The guilt was worse.
But things are different now. I’m taking control of my life and this time, I’m determined not to let my grief and apathy win.
I lie back down on the bed and close my eyes, wishing sleep comes quickly. But it doesn’t. Instead, what comes next is the memory of Sawyer and the kiss that came out of nowhere. Funny how neither of us have talked about it at all. It’s as if it never happened but at the same time, we both know it totally did. Still, how do you bring it up?
Oh, by the way, about that kiss…
I sigh, tracing my upper lip with my finger. About that kiss indeed...
My lips tingle as I remember how the world seemed to fall away the moment our lips met. It was quick and unexpected, a moment gone too soon. But it w
as a moment in time that showed me a glimpse of what my world could be like again, where I could love again… and in return, be loved right back.
I deserve that, don’t I?
The next morning, Sawyer arrives at the hotel looking relaxed in a white t-shirt layered under a denim shirt and cargo pants. Maybe it’s the lighting out here in Taos but even the worry lines along his forehead seem to be gone. At least, we’re not avoiding each other this morning. We’re talking like the kiss never happened, which is good because I can’t wait to see my new home. I can agonize over the kiss later.
As we make our way outside, I totally get it. Taos has a very calming energy I can’t describe. I can almost feel it in the air, although I can’t put it into words. For one thing, there’s no traffic.
“Would you like a quick tour of the town first?” Sawyer asks as we step out of the front doors which face the Taos Plaza. “We can also stop for groceries before we head out. There’s nothing out there as far as shopping goes so we’ll need to get you the basics here first.”
“Tour first and then grocery shopping,” I say while he loads my overnight bag into the SUV that’s now missing its trailer.
“Perfect,” he says, grinning. “I need to pick up groceries myself anyway. It’ll be a great way to get you familiar with the town.”
We begin the tour at Taos Plaza right outside the hotel and I can’t believe how beautiful the sky is, with thick white clouds set against the bright blue sky. The air smells so fresh and clean and the whole place just feels so tranquil and magical. I know I’m looking at the place through a tourist’s eyes but it doesn’t matter. I have a feeling I’ll like it here.
“This place is just so… so beautiful. And eclectic,” I say as Sawyer and I cross the street with Tyler snug in the baby carrier in front of me. “I can’t believe I missed all this when we drove in last night. What’s the architecture called? Adobe?”
“Adobe is the mix of mud, straw and water and those are the walls you see. The architecture is called pueblo style which is a mixture of three cultures.” Sawyer stops in the middle of the plaza and we turn around so we get a full view of the hotel. “American Indians, who settled here long before the Spanish settlers came, and then the Anglo-Americans who arrived to trade right after Mexican Independence. The name Taos is from the Tewa word for ‘place of red willows.’”
“Red willows,” I murmur. “I like the sound of that.”
As we walk around the Plaza, we pause to take pictures, some of them selfies of the three of us and as I smile at the camera, I can’t help but think how we look like a family. The thought makes the butterflies in my belly flutter like crazy.
“Let’s go get you and Ty some souvenirs before we go grocery shopping,” Sawyer says as I put away my phone and follow him across the street toward a row of souvenir shops. Of course, he adds another pressed penny into Tyler’s collection.
When it’s time to head to my new home, I’m bursting with excitement. After living in a small apartment next to a car repair shop for six months, I can’t wait to have more space to move around in—and some peace and quiet. There’s no need to pack our snacks for the day so we can spend it at the library, the park, or the cemetery visiting Drew. From the pictures that Sawyer texted me, our new home has enough room for Tyler to play in. I can even garden again.
“Would you like to check out the Gorge Bridge before we head there?” he asks as we leave the town of Taos behind. “It’s along the way and you get to see the fifth highest bridge in the country.”
“Sure.” What’s one more distraction from the main event? But I like how Sawyer is so happy to play tour guide. I’ve never seen him like this before and I like it.
We drive over the bridge and I can see just how far down it goes. Below us is the Rio Grande Gorge. “I think I’ve seen this in movies before,” I say as Sawyer makes a left turn and parks the car in the designated area.
“It’s been featured in a few movies,” he says. “Wild Hogs is one. And Natural Born Killers.” Other cars are parked alongside us with fellow tourists armed with their cameras and phones. “This used to be called the bridge to nowhere because while it was being built, there was no funding to continue the road to the other side,” he adds as I snap Tyler into his stroller.
Like we did at Taos Plaza, we take selfies with Sawyer holding the phone at an angle so that the Rio Grande gorge is in the background. The bridge vibrates beneath our feet whenever a truck rumbles past but other than that, it’s an interesting experience and the skies that frame the mountains in the north is a beautiful sight to behold. One thing I’ve noticed the moment we drove into New Mexico is that the skies are just magnificent.
When Tyler starts getting bored, we hurry back to the SUV and head back on the road. It doesn’t take long before Sawyer points out a few futuristic shapes in the distance that seem to rise up from mounds of earth and wind mills spinning in the wind.
“Those are a few of the earthships that make up the community, your new neighbors,” he says. “It’s nothing like the city, by the way, so it may be a shock at first.”
He turns right from the main road and from here, there are no asphalt roads or pavements. Gravel crunches beneath the tires. “My place is closest to yours, as is the Pearl, Dax and Harlow’s place.”
“The Pearl?”
“Oh, I didn’t tell you? We all name our homes around here. At least, people I know do. Dax calls his place the Pearl, after his mother, and we named our place Daisy.”
I look at him curiously. “Daisy?”
Sawyer shrugs. “She was our dog when we were kids. One of those hotdog looking dogs. We loved her.”
The dirt road winds through the landscape of sagebrush. Toward the north, I see mountains. “So this is off-grid living.”
“Yup, that’s what this is. Living on the grid means the city or county provides you with electricity, gas, sewage, and water. Oh, and roads. Things we normally take for granted when we live in the city because it’s right there.” Sawyer slows down as he drives around a dip on the road. “Why? You changed your mind?”
I give him the side-eye. “I’m not as delicate as I look, Sawyer.”
“I know you’re not,” he says, grinning. “So what are you going to name your place?”
“Willow. That’ll be her name.”
“Then Willow it is.” A few moments later, he points to a large structure in the distance, its glass windows glistening in the sun. There’s a trampoline in the front yard. “That’s the Pearl over there, Dax and Harlow’s place. Over there,” he points to a smaller earthship to the right, “is the Daisy. It’s one big community.”
I can’t contain my excitement. “Where’s mine?”
“It’s coming up. You ready?” Sawyer turns into a smaller road toward a structure that looks like it’s coming out of a hillside. I don’t even know how to describe it, but the windows, which take over the southern side, are the first things I notice, followed by the cone-like turrets on the east and west ends. Its teal walls are punctuated by circular shapes of varying colors that glisten in the sun’s reflection.
“What are those circles?” I ask as Sawyer slows down.
“They’re bottle bricks,” he says, chuckling as I arch an eyebrow. “Basically, a bottle brick is a glass bottle you cut in half. You want two of the same kind of bottle, same color and then you cut it in half. You set aside the top half for fillers in the wall construction while the bottoms are matched with another bottom like it. They’re duct taped together and used for internal and external walls. They allow the light in from the outside.” Sawyer stops the SUV and turns off the engine. The trailer with its California plates is parked to the left of the entrance. “You ready?”
I can’t stop myself from smiling. Even my face hurts. “What do you think?”
Sawyer studies me for a few moments and I like the playful banter between us. It’s reminiscent of the way we used to be with each other when Drew was still alive. Friends. “I thi
nk you’re as ready as you’ll ever be. Let’s go.”
I lift Tyler from his car seat and follow Sawyer toward the house. The scent of sagebrush permeates the air and I vaguely remember someone telling me that sage was a cleansing plant. I hear the gentle whir of the wind generator that reminds me of outdoor sculptures. There’s even a jack rabbit munching on something at the edge of what I think is my yard. On the floor in front of the door is a colorful mosaic made of pieces from different colored tiles and glass pebbles. Sawyer stops just as he gets to the door and fishing out a set of keys from his pants, he holds them out toward me.
“All yours.”
I don’t take the keys yet, my eyes narrowing as I look at him. “The lease? I’m not taking charity from you, Sawyer.”
“It’s inside,” he replies, smiling. “Why don’t I carry Tyler for you so you can unlock the door?”
I hand him Tyler who doesn’t protest one bit, his attention riveted by the house in front of him, his eyes wide. Nervously, I take the keys from Sawyer’s hand, and with trembling fingers, I unlock the door. He follows behind me as I step inside and the first things I notice are the plants. They’re in planters right inside the south-facing windows and another one in front of the living room and kitchen. Tomatoes and cucumbers are ready to be harvested and then there are kale and broccoli, snap peas and green onions.
I stand in the middle of the living room with its stone floors and adobe walls, some of them inlaid with the glass bottle bricks he was telling me about earlier. Sure enough, they reflect light from outside and cast different colored hues on the opposite wall.
“This is amazing. How do you even manage to want to leave?”
“Work,” Sawyer replies, and we both chuckle. Not before long, I’m drawn to the adobe walls. I run my hands against its surface, surprised by how smooth it feels.
