Desert Heart

Nothing lulls me to sleep like the open desert road. 

It’s the monotonous hum of the engine. It’s the subtle bounce and rocking from highway bumps and cracks. I like to press my palm against the window to feel the outside temperature, especially when the glass is hot. As a child, I used to try and guess the temperature.

The desert feels like a dream. It’s surreal and long, and easily forgotten. 

Locals at gas stations, motels, and diners spend their lives watching people come and go. While passers by often think nothing of their brief visit, just another gallon, a night of sleep, a cheap meal. 

The hot sun is relentless. The buzzing telephone poles stretch beyond the open road and infinitely into the horizon. But who is calling? 

Those who stay too long never seem to leave, finding solace under the Southern California desert sun. 

I intermittently wake from my desert dreams. While I dream, I’m only a wayward girl afoot along the highway we drive past. I’m going nowhere, just walking while cars whiz past. 

Suddenly I wake, and see a girl walking beside the highway. She looks like me, mousy brown hair with pale complexion. She kicks dust up with a dirty pair of pink converse like the ones I used to own. She watches me as we drive past. And so I wonder, what if a part of me stays here while I pass through? What if the dust from my unconscious mind leaves a trail, a trail I’ll follow again and again, each and every desert dream.