She had to make her call in the big room from the phone attached to the wall, and she didn’t care what Grandma thought if she overheard anything. In fact, she wanted Grandma to know exactly who she was dealing with. She picked up the phone and heard what she remembered was called a “dial tone.” That meant the phone worked. Good. It had a rotary dial, something Edna had never used before, but she’d seen it done. She had both her parents’ numbers memorized. She dialed her father. She always confronted him before her mother because if he said “yes,” it meant “yes” and not “maybe,” and then she didn’t have to ask twice. The call went to voice mail. Her mother’s phone also went to voice mail. Despicable. They’d easily driven far enough to have service. Edna was sure it must be a crime to drop your daughter in the middle of nowhere and then not answer your phone.
When she put the receiver in its cradle, she noticed an army of ants crawling up the wall. They made a perfect line. As neat as they were, they still made Edna’s skin crawl. There were probably ants and bugs all over this place, and especially in that pantry she was supposed to be sleeping in. Edna had no idea what to do about the ants, or her parents. In the meantime, these chores were so out of bounds, Edna wasn’t sure if she even had to listen to Grandma. What would happen if she tore up the list and read a book all day? What could Grandma really do about it?
Edna had a habit of making broad, dramatic gestures, which was one of the reasons why she was often in trouble and left in the desert. She thoroughly tore up Grandma’s list. It felt good to rail against these incredible circumstances, and she ripped the paper into the tiniest pieces she could. She heard Grandma’s footsteps on the porch.
Edna hadn’t thought about Grandma seeing this, but it was too late to try to hide the scraps of paper all around her. Grandma looked shocked, and Edna was glad, but Grandma was only temporarily thrown. She took out a key, went to the pantry door and locked it. She put the key back in her pocket. Then she went into the bathroom, came out with some towels and walked out.
Edna dashed to the door and tried not to rattle it too loudly while she desperately yanked on the doorknob. Now Edna knew what Grandma could do if she tore up that list: she could lock her out of the pantry and leave her with nothing but the clothes she had on, and with nothing to do in a boring room.
Edna sat on the ugly couch, stunned. She had to admit that Grandma’s tactic was a surprise and rather cunning. With no access to her things, Edna could sit and stare the day away or do the dreadful list of chores. Only Grandma hadn’t counted on Edna’s third option.
4
DYING IN THE DESERT
Edna had seen people die in the desert in movies, so she had some idea of what to expect. They just walked until they passed out. It wouldn’t be hard to kill herself this way, she imagined, because she didn’t have to do anything. It would just happen. She cut a beeline into the harsh landscape ahead. She was in full view of Grandpa, but he wasn’t likely to stop her. The scrub brush scratched at her ankles, and the sun brought back her headache from earlier in the car. It was hard to believe, with all that had happened, that this was still the same day.
Escape was empowering and, like a determined warrior, Edna pressed further and further, each step a manifestation of her spirited defiance. Grandma and Grandpa’s property became small behind her, and the tall eucalyptus trees disappeared as she dropped into the valley.
Edna saw her mother in black, grief-stricken and barely able to stand by the grave. She leaned on Edward, who stood strong, but tears cracked his fortress of stoicism and etched paths down his face. Both her parents knew that they’d killed their own child with neglect, and in fact, charges were pending. Brandon cried and asked when he could see his big sister again, sharpening everyone’s profound sadness. The scene itself wept, dripping with stunning, white flowers in passionate arrangements.
A flock of sniffling young teens in black would gather around Edna’s newest best friend, Brit, and only say good things about Edna. Saying anything negative about a dead person would be viewed as extremely uncool, especially at their funeral. It’s amazing what it takes to stop people from talking behind other people’s backs, Edna noted. She imagined what nice things her friends might say about her because they had to say something. She knew she was smart, and she tried hard to be good at things. She was funny sometimes. There must be something better to say than that. It disturbed her that she didn’t know what it was. She expected her school to start a scholarship in her honor because they always did that when someone died. The stupid teacher’s aide would come forward and admit that he’d attacked Edna, not because she did anything wrong but because he’d forgotten to take his medication, making her death caused by a too-severe punishment for the incident all the more poignant.
A priest would make his eulogy, highlighting how terribly Edna had been treated by her parents, starting with the fact that they had named her “Edna” (her father’s name was “Edward,” but that wasn’t a good enough reason; they could have named Brandon “Edward”) and leading all the way to today. Finally, the police would come and arrest her parents in front of everyone. They’d be escorted from their daughter’s funeral in handcuffs. That night they’d find themselves in jail, and only then would they have an inkling of what it felt like for Edna to be left out here in the middle of nowhere, in barely a house, with two extremely weird old people.
After wandering for so long, Edna was thirsty. A child of overachieving parents, she’d been very well-hydrated all her life, so she believed the thirsty feeling must mean she’d be dying fairly soon. At this point Edna thought she should find a place to lie down, but the ground was covered with prickly brush that seemed like it might hurt. And it was too hot to lie in the sun. Edna might be dying, but there was no point in being uncomfortable.
She’d pictured someplace more romantic, perhaps with trees on a small hill, in which to die. Of course in the desert, it would be too much to expect a pretty little pond to lie next to. And then it would be silly to die of thirst next to a pond. Nothing was making sense. In spite of what she could see in all directions, Edna hoped she might at least stumble upon some kind of rock formation that might provide shade and look good in pictures on the news. Edna walked and walked. She eventually came to the conclusion that she was not going to find the perfect place to die, or even a good one.
If it wasn’t going to be artful, Edna was no longer sure she was interested in dying. Also, was this hideous salmon dress her mother forced her into this morning really what she wanted to be found dead in? With her hair up in a ponytail? Worse, she had nothing to write with, so there would be no note. She hadn’t considered the importance of a note when she stormed away from the cabin. There had to be a note. Without it, it could look like she had taken a walk and died by accident. Without a note her political agenda was gone. She might be remembered as an idiot who got lost. The more she looked around, the more she realized the desert was a sea of sameness, and even with a note it was unlikely that anyone might find her, a pale, salmon needle in an endless, sandy haystack. Edna had no idea where she was. Neither did anyone else.
She hadn’t seen the eucalyptus trees for some time. Now she was really thirsty. She didn’t have a hat, and she had not recently applied sunscreen. She’d had enough of this walk, as it was now redefined, but at the moment she was definitely lost. And definitely scared. An ominous wind whistled, and the horizon seemed further away. She had never been so completely alone before in her life. Edna didn’t have the slightest idea what to do next, and nothing in the unfamiliar world hinted at an answer.
The stillness lasted far too long, until a snake hissed and sent Edna into the air with a scream. Her scream floated across the basin. It attracted no one’s attention. Screams were not unlike thirst in Edna’s life, in that they always commanded some nearby adult’s immediate attention. Nothing stood between her and this dangerous creature, but her scream must have scared it because it slithered away. She moved swiftly in the opposite direction,
scrub brush attacking her ankles with every step. The snake was gone, but he was fast; he could easily change his mind and come back. What if there were other snakes all around her?
The faraway hills looked the same in every direction. The sun wasn’t exactly in the middle of the sky, but she had no idea what that meant in terms of Grandma and Grandpa’s cabin. She had been so busy thinking about her funeral the entire time she had been walking, she didn’t notice if the sun was on her face or behind her. She settled under a creosote bush; dappled sun was the closest thing to shade. The world fell into that stillness. She felt dangerously exposed, yet trapped. Her breath became shallow and quick, and her lungs tightened as she fought to open them with air. She wondered if a person could suddenly get asthma from being afraid. Prickly cactus needles stabbed her butt cheek. Frustrated, Edna sprang up and brushed them off.
She tried to recognize the purple hills or something that would indicate she should go a certain way. Nothing did. She paced back and forth to see if the eucalyptus trees might appear. She thought it was better to stay put if you were lost, but she wasn’t even sure if she remembered that right. Edna had experienced fear in her life, but not like this. Crying only wasted water, she thought, as she caught her breath between sobs. It didn’t make her know what to do or how to change anything in the desert.
5
STILL DYING
Edna woke up with one side of her face in the sand and the other side sunburned. She wasn’t sure how long she’d slept. In front of her, the roundest, cutest little bunny was huddled under another creosote bush. He had a perfect cotton-ball tail. The bunny was looking at her sideways with just one of his eyes. Edna liked his company. Somehow the bunny was company. She allowed herself to take in the full cuteness of him. His brown hairs were short and shiny. He was still a baby and breathing quickly, like a small bird. Like she was breathing. She could see the shape of his tiny elbow bone poking into his fur. She wished she could pet him, but she didn’t think he’d stay if she put her hand out. They looked at each other for a long time. It was so quiet, Edna could hear the blood pulsing through her ears. The wind and the empty hum of the desert world had gone away. Then the bunny scampered off for a reason Edna would never know.
Now Edna was lonely in addition to dirty, hungry, thirsty, and sunburned. She’d never had a sunburn before, but she knew she had one now because her cheek stung.
Thirst was a priority. She wondered where in the world that bunny got water around here. The only things that seemed to have any moisture were the tiny creosote leaves. She picked some off and chewed them. They were sticky with a bitter, terrible taste, and they didn’t seem to be delivering any amount of water. Edna spit them out but her mouth was dry, and the green gunk landed on her chin. Wiping it off, she figured she’d lost water trying that, and they might have been poison, too. It would be too ironic if she died, after she’d decided not to. Edna really didn’t want to die, and she was surprised she ever thought she did. She had to admit that she’d just hoped to upset her parents and her grandmother in the worst way possible. Her death would certainly hurt them, but she hadn’t considered the personal cost and the discomfort of dying. She would think of better ways to upset these people in the future, ones that wouldn’t be so treacherous and inconvenient. Now she needed to focus on this problem of being lost. She tried to think of it as a problem that could be solved, though she didn’t know if it was, because once she succumbed to her mounting fear she’d be in bigger trouble. Edna might die of a heart attack from that as much as anything else.
The sun hovered over the hills. While she no longer wanted to die, she was as close as she’d ever been to doing so. There might be more snakes when it got dark, or scorpions. If she hadn’t been kicked out of Girl Scouts for being “provocative and disrespectful,” Edna might have had some idea. Her mind was dimming too much to relive that injustice. She didn’t notice the brush scraping against her ankles. She needed to stay alert if she was to have a chance of surviving a night in the wilderness, but instead she was faint and disoriented. A low, buzzing sound emerged, and she thought it must have been coming from inside her head. Then it sounded like the wind, but Edna saw no wind; all the creosote bushes were still. Soon it sounded like the ocean, but that was impossible. She had become convinced that her brain was falling apart when what was making the sound became clear to her.
She was standing next to a swarm of flies buzzing around a decomposing coyote carcass. If Edna had known what she was going to see, she never would have looked in that direction. The coyote’s ribcage was exposed, like a fan sticking up out of its pink, bloody flesh. The poor thing’s head rested at a weird angle to the side. Adrenaline shot through her torso as Edna dashed away from the gruesome sight. A hawk or a vulture, she didn’t know what it was, circled lazily overhead. This was all a little too real. Edna might try to stage her own lovely death, but here was a firsthand account of what it basically came down to.
Edna was stumbling, sobbing, and certain she was hallucinating when another buzzing sound got louder. It was different from the last one; it sounded more like a lawnmower. Who could be mowing a lawn out here? Her eyes darted around the landscape, but it was empty as ever. Louder still, the sound was coming from behind her. Edna spun around and saw a stream of dust rising across the basin. The moving dust veered toward her.
6
THE BOY
The dirt bike zipped through the desert toward Edna. The boy wore a titanium helmet, a white T-shirt and jeans. What was he doing out here? Edna had no idea if he was nice or would help her. He was more likely a meth freak or some kind of criminal. There would be nothing to stop him from hurting her if he wanted to, least of all the depleted and defenseless Edna. He stopped the bike a few yards away from her and took off his helmet.
“Hey.”
He kneeled down to reach a compartment on the bike. He was unaware of his appearance or its effect on her. Before Edna was the best-looking boy she’d ever seen, and Edna grew up in Hollywood. She’d seen a lot of handsome boys. He had dark hair, steel-blue eyes and high cheekbones. He was thin and tan and dusted from riding the bike.
“Here.”
He handed her a bottle of water. The world was a very different place than it had been thirty seconds ago. A young god had appeared, with water. Edna was mystified.
“You’re Edna, right?”
Her eyes were swollen from crying, one half of her face was burned and the other was speckled with the sand she’d slept in. She nodded.
“Yes.”
The word cracked as it came out of her throat. She didn’t know it was so dry she could barely speak. The water was astonishing, cool and delicious. She tried not to gulp it too hard, but some spilled out of the corners of her mouth.
“Are you OK?”
Edna coughed.
“I think so.”
“You can’t just wander out into the desert by yourself, you know. It’s not safe.”
“I know that.”
There was no point in defending her position. She’d fully intended to put herself in danger in the first place.
“I got lost.”
“Well, you’re found now.”
His voice was deep, and he had the slightest rural twang.
“Here.”
He gave her a hand wipe for her face. Edna was sunburned and thirsty but otherwise fine. All the fear she’d kept bottled up escaped, and she let a few tears fall.
“I saw a dead coyote,” she explained.
“There’s a lot of dead stuff out here.”
He turned and spoke into a radio on the bike.
“This is Johnny. I found her, Wayne.”
An older man’s voice came through.
“Great news!”
A smattering of cheers rang out. Edna began to understand that Johnny was part of a search for her, that emergency services had been called and also probably her parents.
“Where are you?” Wayne asked.
“Way northwest in
the basin.”
“OK, well—”
Someone yelled out something in the background.
“Shut up! OK, just come back in, Johnny.”
He handed Edna a helmet.
“Let’s get you back. Oh, I’m Johnny. You probably guessed.”
Edna was totally in awe of him and too weak to hide it. He would definitely think she was weird, if he didn’t already. After all, she’d wandered into the desert and almost killed herself. Anyway, why did she care what he thought? She was rescued. She tried to focus on adjusting the helmet’s straps, but she was oddly uncoordinated and incapable of doing it.
“I’m Edna, but you already knew that,” she blurted out, then managed to look up. “Thank you for saving me.”
“No problem.”
His smile both relaxed and excited her. It gave her a little shot of adrenaline, but it was sweet, not scary like the one she got from seeing the coyote. All of a sudden, what someone else thought of her really mattered to Edna. She was frozen with no idea how to act, afraid this boy might not like her the way she was, since everyone, including her own parents, called her a brat.
Finally helmeted, she got onto the back of Johnny’s bike. There was nothing to hold onto except him. She put her arms around his waist with just enough time to stay put before he sped off. The ride was uncomfortable and bumpy, the motor was loud and normally Edna wouldn’t have thought this was fun at all. From what she knew of dirt biking, it was a meaningless, environmentally unsound sport that wasted gas.
Edna in the Desert Page 3
