Losing Myself in the Badlands

Ash-encrusted sand crunches in complaint beneath the soles of my shoes. The sound awakens me to my surroundings and I stare out across the arid landscape in vague surprise.

How did I get here?

Had I walked?

Run?

A growing ache rising up out of the joints of my knees and a dull cramping in my calf, tells me I’ve come quite a ways before stopping. Most likely I’d run until the cramp set in and then walked the rest of the way before trudging to a stop.

I can’t remember for certain.

It sobers me a little to think that I must have driven away from my house, through town, and…

I turn slowly, searching my surroundings. There is no sign of any nearby civilization, just miles of sand and rock stretching out in all directions. I must be out in the Badlands.

No sign of the car either.

No sign of anything except stubby, desert-stunted junipers and scrub brush.

I shudder, haunted now as much by what I can’t remember as by what I simply don’t want to.

A dry, warm breeze kicks up and caresses my cheek…just the way you used to…and I close my eyes for a moment, pretending the breeze is you. You wipe away the tears that threaten before they can leave my swollen eyes to trace a salty path down my cheeks. I thought I had set them all free already, but apparently my run has given the well time to refill.

My run…

Yeah, I am certain now that I had run. Run as far and as fast as I could go on this sun-scorched earth, just as I have always run from my problems…run from my past….my mistakes…my relationships. I had thought that I was through running.

Why hadn’t I ever run from you? Ever since you came into my life, I’d found peace…balance…happiness. I finally found the courage to turn around and face the past; the strength to finally stand up to my mistakes and chase down my dreams. You’ve been my rock…and my anchor.

Then you left.

The whole world reels with the blow of that single thought.

I’d finally run at last.

I sink to my knees in the dust and rock, unable to keep my balance. I’ve lost my center. My anchor has slipped away from its mooring, and I’ve been set adrift in this endless sea of earth and desert sun. It would be so easy just to lay down right here; to close my eyes and try to forget, but someone…eventually…will come searching.

Our kids at the very least.

Has someone noticed my car already? Sitting abandoned at the edge of this desolate place.

I don’t remember closing the door when I got out. Honestly, I don’t even remember leaving it.

Did I take the keys?

Fumbling, my shaking hands unwilling to perform the simple task of checking my pockets, I search and find the cool bite of metal in the pocket of my black slacks. At least no one will steal the car. At least not easily. For a moment, I regret being conscientious enough to take them with me. No one would come to look for me here if someone took off with the car. I could drift out into the desert and disappear…and no one would be the wiser.

Your fingers brush my cheek again and I open my eyes to find you standing over me, brushing your hand along my cheek to wipe away the last lingering tear. You shake your head slowly; your lips set in a thin line and your green eyes silently singing your disappointment.

Who are you to be disappointed at me for running?

You’ve run before too!

You were running when you found me.

I had been running for years when you came along that March, and I had finally grown tired of it. Or maybe loneliness and the regret of two failed, abusive marriages had left me so empty I no longer had the strength to run. I know I was tired, simply drifting along through life when I met you. A drowned, half-dead thing bobbing along in a sea of self-loathing, barely keeping my head above the surface, and you stopped running to pull me out.

I still wonder why you took the time. Why did you want so badly to save me?

I didn’t want another relationship. I even told you so.

You didn’t want a relationship either, or so you said. I think you still wanted to keep running. Or were you finally getting tired too?

“Just a few days,” you murmured, “I’ll help you finish pulling up this old carpet and then I’ll be on my way again.”

But then, the shower broke.

“Why don’t I stay and fix this,” you offered. “Just a few more days, then I’ll be on my way again.”

A few days later, I caught you pulling out the cast-iron tub. You shrugged. “I dropped the wrench and chipped the paint. Can’t leave it like that. It’ll just take a few more days, then I’ll be on my way again.”

You tore the wallpaper taking the tub out, so you pulled it all down, which damaged the old plaster underneath. Removing all the plaster led to removing the old insulation and wiring, replacing the tile, then the sink.

A few days turned into weeks.

Then months.

While you remodeled my bathroom, then each of the three bedrooms, one by one. Finished the wood floors where I’d started pulling up old, dirty carpet long before you’d come along.

The girls and I watched you work, growing comfortable in your quiet presence.

I guess maybe I was your anchor too.

Breathing in, I can smell your cologne mixing with the desert dust, and I lean into the heat of your hand against my cheek, drying my tears.

In October, you gave me a ring and a promise. “The longest I’ve ever been with anyone is seven years. What do you say we shoot for ten? Then I’ll most likely be on my way again.”

I laughed. “I’ve only ever been with anyone seven years myself. It’s a deal; ten years and then, we’ll both be on our way again.”

On our tenth anniversary, we went gambling in Las Vegas and you asked if I was willing to go all in for another ten or if I’d rather we were both on our way again.

I just smiled and handed you a stack of poker chips, ten in all.

You smiled back, those green eyes sparkling with equal parts understanding and silent amusement.

By our twentieth, we’d traveled to Europe, the Caribbean, South America, and across the United States visiting the National Parks in more than half the states. Standing in the middle of Yellowstone, you gave me that smirk and asked “What’s next? Is there anywhere else you’d like to see with me, or is it time for us both to be on our own way again?”

I answered, “I’ve always wanted to see Greece.”

You just nodded slowly, staring out at the bison, “If we go to Greece, then I want to see the rest of Italy.”

“And finally visit Portugal?” I added.

You spent the next few years planning and by our thirtieth, you’d added Australia and New Zealand, Japan, and Egypt to our list of memories.

I open my eyes and look out across the Badlands, blinking in surprise at the shadowed figure standing over me in the fading light, stormy green eyes, mouth pressed in a thin line, and hand extended, begging me to stand up.

“It’s time to go home,” you whispered. “I’m tired.”

I take a deep breath and let it out slowly as I rise back to my aching feet. My knee threatens to give out and I almost lose my balance, despite your gentle hand on my elbow.

“I know,” I said. “Me too.”

I turn slowly, trying to regain my bearings. Finally, I catch sight of a scuffed footprint in the sand…and just a little further…another. I think I can find my way back…at least, I know which direction to start in.

You sighed, shook your head slowly, “you’ve got at least another ten years in you, darling. It’s time we both go our own way. Just for a while.”

“I don’t want to.”

“I know. But I’ll be waiting for you. I promise.”

I can feel your hand against the small of my back, pushing me gently forward. Until one footfall after another, I move along the footprints in the sand and start the long journey back to the car…back to our life...my life.

The beauty that I find along the way is surprising. I’d thought only brush and stunted trees lived in the Badlands, but as I trudge along the way I came, I am amazed to find little white oases of sand lilies or tufts of blue larkspur.

“Where?” I ask after a time, finding it difficult to breathe in the hot air the longer I’m in it. My lungs feel like bellows in a furnace.

“Home.”

“When?”

You laugh, the sound bleeding into birdsong as it rises from the junipers around me. Butterflies flit past, leading my eyes to a sparkle of sunlight on blue metal. I turn to you to demand an answer.

Behind me, there is only one set of footprints in the sand.

One pair running out into the desert.

One pair trudging back.

The tears flow again as I watch the most brilliant sunset I’ve ever seen, while the birds laugh along with you from the trees.

As I turn to get into the car to return to the house we’ve shared for the last thirty years, a sparkling green dragonfly flits up to me and lands on my outstretched hand. It comes to a rest on my ring, and I’m reminded of another promise you asked of me long ago.

“Wherever we go, let me go first.”

“Why?”

“So, I can make sure it’s safe for you.”

“I’m a big girl you know.”

“Yeah, I know. But you were here waiting for me. Next time, I want to be there waiting for you.”

I laugh, “And just how long do you want me to take before I catch up with you?”

Those green eyes sparkle like dragonfly wings, “as long as you need, darling. Take your time. Go your own way a little while and then, I’ll be waiting for you when you’re ready to come home.”

I smile as the dragonfly flits away towards the setting sun. “Okay, love. I’ll give you another ten first, and then I’ll see you at home.”