When in the Desert

A gust of wind wakes me. I raise my head, which hasn’t stopped pounding, off the rather comfortable rock I confided in to comfort me while I rest. Taking a mid-day hike in the Mojave Desert probably isn’t one of my greatest ideas. Though it beats some of my other proclaimed 'great ideas.' Like the time I got drunk and forgot I was lactose intolerant. Was the pint of rocky road worth it? Not exactly. But it was better than believing my girlfriend of two years would commit to doing distance with me while she would backpack Eastern Europe. I guess it would have been a good idea if it hadn’t resulted in her breaking up with me through this tiny black notebook we decided to send back and forth to one another. It was supposed to keep us close while being apart. She said there wouldn’t be a moment in her life that I wouldn’t be a part of, and I suppose she at least saw that promise thhrough. Would I have preferred a phone call? Goodness no. With the words engraved on this page, I at least can see her regret in triple underlining “This is my mistake.” And I wouldn’t have had the same clarity as provided through her extensive use of all caps in sentences like, “I didn’t sleep with her because of YOU, it’s because of ME, what I’M going through.”

I take the notebook out from my back pocket and flip about twenty pages in to where the letter was written. Behind her words “Try to let me go,” are mine: “I can’t wait to show you the desert.”

My head continues to throb, prompting my reach for the water bottle in my backpack. I take a swig and recline back on my elbows, once more submitting myself to the dry ground, various prickly pears and wildflowers. The sun accepts the heavy breath I release and sends me warm kisses in return. With a sense of grounding, I decide to pick myself up and make my way back on the- Shoot. Where’s the trail? Hiking in the desert is fun until you realize it all looks the same. I could have sworn I only took a few paces beyond the more densely packed dirt of which you’re expected to trust to take you from point A to B and through all the smaller points in-between.

“Great.”

I roll up my blanket and string its velcro strap around the strap of my backpack. I take a step back, not because I suddenly know where I’m going, but a small head rush makes me dizzy. Once the black spots slowly fade, the pounding resumes and I just want to find my car.

Typical. Why didn’t you take a map? She’d probably say. To be fair, those maps are hardly ever helpful. Mostly filled with fun facts about rocks and riddles. The ones at the trail entrance for example were full of strange folklore about tiny creatures that are lured by people’s despair, often tricking them into thinking they’ve found treasure. Something about finding one’s destiny? Total tourist trap. Anyways, she never trusted my sense of direction. I guess now neither do I. Or choices generally. Like thinking it would be a good idea to invest my summer savings in a passport and a ticket to Beijing. She wanted me to visit her halfway. And because the women representing the airline didn’t think my breakup was life or death, though very tragic, I never saw a refund.

Wind gusts pick up stronger, and I remember nothing has changed. The black notebook feels like it is burning a hole in my back pocket, so I reach for it again, opening to words I’ve seen before but still don’t recognize.

Whhhhiiiisszzphh.

A strange, airy buzz nearly knocks the journal out from my hands. I swat the journal around, looking for any sign of flies or wasps, but nothing seems to be invading my bubble. Tucking the journal back in my pocket, I look for a sense of direction. Dirt. Rock. Dirt.

Whhhhiiiisszzphh.

The noise brings a hot gust of wind closer to my face, brushing my hair across my cheek. I quickly squat down- too close for comfort.

Whhhhiiiisszzphh.

There! A small puff of sand forms in the air, holding a red glow of light at its center. It reminds me of the way fireflies would greet me at my grandparent’s backyard on a summer night; Lost in the depth of darkness, a warm pulsation to greet you. I hear another wisp, this time further away, its light glows behind the rock I was resting on. The wind picks up again. The little Sand Puff forms even further away. Strangely, the further It gets from me, the less I feel safe, so I decide to follow it.

Let me go, let me go.

Her voice synchronizes in my mind with the wisps of the Sand Puff that continues to appear and disappear in front of me, leading me nowhere. I don’t recognize my movements. My feet are covered by sand, which appears to be steering me, sinking into itself like a motorized ball. I can’t recall how much time has passed, hypnotized by the red pulsations of this creature. I also can’t remember when I pulled the black notebook back out, but I haven’t stopped obsessively reading it since. How could she? Why would she? The anger in my chest builds as I realize I have no control. I yell with frustration and rip a page out of the small notebook. The Sand Puff wisps closer to me rather than away and I’m dismissed by the dirt carrying me to the ground, falling on my knees.

Whhhhiiiisszzphh.

It moves towards me and remains hovering by my head. I try to swat it away, but it just wisps to the other side of my head. Annoying. Swinging the black notebook up to my side, I nearly miss it. This thing is quick. It wisps again to the opposite side of my head. I take another swat at it.

Whhhhiiiisszzphh.

It disappears. I wait for its return, but nothing. My relief is short lived as I realize I may never find my way back. What now? I turn to the notebook and attempt to open it when-

Whhhhiiiisszzphh.

“Hey!” The sand puff knocks it out of my hand. What’s this thing’s deal?

The creature wisps around the torn page that’s now covered in dirt and swoops it over by my leg. Bleeding through the sand are the words she wrote in red ink. As I begin to read our first exchange on the fourth of January, the ink melts to the pages’ center. Freaky. I watch as the blob of ink creates two figures. They seem to be embracing. Its tender, sweet. They come out of their embrace and one figure begins to circle the other. Not like sharks in frenzy but planets in orbit. The one in the center grows bigger as the one circling becomes smaller. I lean closer toward the page as the blob of ink glows.

Whhhhiiiisszzphh.

The Sand Puff appears over the page, scaring me off balance.

“Okay, let’s play!”

I get on my feet, not really sure what kind of fight I’m putting up, but sure that it started it first. Still hovering over the page, I dive over it.

Whhhhiiiisszzphh.

So close! My fingertips tingle from where I almost had it in my hands. I turn around to find it floating before me. I rush toward it, giving my best ‘warriors yell.’ It wisps away, back toward the torn page. Before I can even think about trying again, the wind picks up stronger than it has in a while. I immediately crouch down and pull my shirt over my mouth to avoid eating dirt. I look to the Sand Puff who has begun to shake. Its red light grows brighter and splits into two. Moving with the way of the desert wind, it begins to chase itself, creating a dirt devil. Surrounding sand is lifted up with it, and so is the torn page. I attempt to save the page, but it's sucked in. Suddenly, the page burst into flame and quickly burns out to what appears to be a hundred-dollar bill. I flutter my eyelids, attempting to adjust my vision. Yup, that’s a hundred-dollar bill. What?

Whirling around in this small sandstorm is more pocket money than I’ve ever carried. As if it can hear my next thought about taking the money, the sand creature’s light grows brighter in a wisp of excitement. It appears as though it duplicated itself once more. Three pulsations make this whirl wind stronger. My small black notebook is ripped form my hands and lands face up on the ground. The wind ruffles its pages until another page is ripped out.

“NO!”

I try to reach for it as its sucked into the dirt devil, bursting in flame and evaporating to another hundred-dollar bill.

Two hundred dollars whirl around in front of me, almost mockingly, but my focus is still on the notebook. Another attempt to reach for it results in three more pages being ripped, sucked in, and up in flames. A thousand dollars whirls before me. I don’t know what this creature wants, but by the tenth page, I no longer care about the notebook. The memories I’ve been trying to save are slowly being forgotten as my eyes zero in on the cash that continues to multiply and multiply. That’s nealry fifteen thousand in front of me. My conscious feels dominated by the red glow of the Sand Puff as it continues to duplicate, and pages continue to be sucked in. Twenty thousand.

My movements feel abstracted again, when I notice my feet are covered with sand and I’m carried counterclockwise around the dirt devil. The wisp noise from the creature become clearer, and I’m almost afraid by how clear I’m able to translate. Rather than a high pitch tone ringing my ears, I hear a song.

Its sings about existence. Teasing me with ideas of my future. Reassuring me that I’m on my way. That this is my freedom. Again, and again, I whirl around.

Let me go, let me go.

I look to the journal to see there’s only one written page left.

Let me go, let me go.

I trust in these movements. I trust in this moment.

Let me go, let me go.

Whhhhiiiisszzphh.

The last written page gets sucked in. That’s twenty-thousand dollars. My mind forgets everything. I feel like the little monkey in Aladdin. This is my golden lamp, and nothing can stop me from having it. The sand song resumes. The echoing let me go, let me go, doesn’t play with its voice. I extend my arm toward the creature, toward my fortune. As my fingertips touch the tip of one of the bills, the glow of the Sand Puffs disappear with the whirling wind. Into my palm, the bill dissolves into sand, and slowly after the rest of the bills follow, burying me under with this moment.

Laying on my back, I slowly get up, shaking the dirt off my body. I wait for a second, hoping to see the glow of my desert friend, but I give up after long silence.

“Oh hey!” I think I see my car. To the left of me is what looks like a trail, though I still have some ways to get to it. I almost trip on something- the little black notebook. I pick it up and brush the dirt off. I almost dread looking inside, but when I do the pages are blank. I laugh to myself and take a look around the desert ground. This is my freedom. I tuck the notebook in my back pocket and make my way back on the trail.