Tears In The Desert

“I did the right thing by walking away.”

Being alone I obviously didn’t expect an answer, and I continued on with my one-sided conversation.

“I mean what he said was totally out of line and he needs to apologize.”

I stopped to catch my breath, the adrenaline from the argument wearing off leaving me exhausted. My feet were starting to ache; flip flops were no match for this harsh rocky terrain. Why didn’t I storm off in sneakers or better yet a good sturdy pair of boots? I didn’t plan my grand exit very practically.

Adding insult to injury I had left my water bottle at the campsite. Nice job, girlfriend, awesome job. You get an A+ for your theatrics.

“You know he’ll rescue you. He has to start looking soon. Just keep walking. If he doesn’t show up you know it’s officially over.” Which might be for the best, I realized, finally accepting what’s been in the back of my mind for months. 

The rising temperature was almost unbearable despite the breeze stirring the occasional cactus. The heat shimmered off the ground blurring the burnt oranges of the distant buttes. The beauty surpassed my expectations, this painted desert just hours from home sitting quietly waiting for discovery. I would come back one day under better circumstances, I promised myself. 

I stopped with my hand on my side slightly doubled over feeling a stitch from walking. How long was I out here? An hour? Two? Was I a mile from camp? Many miles? I had no way of knowing. My belongings were left behind, so carefully packed and arranged for the perfect weekend getaway. Now all that was missing from that scene was me.

Turning back to see where I had come from there was no sign of the campground as if it had gotten absorbed into the landscape or had never existed at all. The colors were magnificent, none of the blandness one expects when imagining a desert. The rolling stripes of deep reds and browns were Mother Nature’s own personal sand art creation, showing her playful side in an otherwise harsh environment.

I leaned over. That stitch was getting worse. Let me regroup for a minute. Suddenly a thought, a voice. “Be kind to yourself.” My yoga teacher talking, the memory so strong as if I were there on my mat in the darkened middle school cafeteria. “Only do what your body allows. Next time you will do a little bit more. When you’re tired go into child’s pose.”

I dropped to the ground getting into position with my legs tucked underneath me. Leaning forward I placed my forehead on the dry land feeling the dust mixing with the sweat of my body, my feet screaming in blistered pain. I stretched my arms forward feeling the relief of the pose. I closed my eyes and breathed.

The silence of the desert would normally be comforting. Instead, the stunning beauty had turned on me, the peace I had been seeking replaced by a feeling of isolation, intense despondency. Keeping my eyes closed, I regulated my breathing as it got deeper and deeper. Did I hear something? I lifted my head and looked around.

“Hello?” I scrambled to my feet. What was happening?

A little girl with enormous eyes stared at me. A tiny waif-like child. This was simply not possible. But yet there she was.

***

“I’m sad. But I don’t want to cry.”

“I understand. I kind of feel the same way.” I felt surprisingly maternal towards this child. “Maybe you’ll feel better if you let it out.” Speaking of maternal, where was this child’s mother? How was she out here all alone? 

“No. The bad thing will happen if I cry.”

“Really? Want to tell me about that?”

“No.” 

“It’s ok.” I took her hand and held it in mine, surprised at the eerie familiarity. She looked up with those blue eyes reflecting both the sky and my own eyes and I saw the slightest pooling of moisture.

“Oh no.” She hung her head.

***

The nice lady held her hand. Maybe this time it wouldn’t happen. Maybe this time it would be okay. She looked down at her feet in their pretty sandals then at the nice lady’s filthy feet in her raggedy pink flip flops. They both had the same weird second toe that was longer than the big toe. Jasmine always teased her about that. 

“Jasmine?” She called out to the silence. She looked down at the beautiful selection of rocks, just the kind that Jas loved to collect. Bending over to examine them she felt a drop of water escape her eye. “Oh no,” she thought as that one tear landed on a rock making a dark splotch on the smooth surface. “No, no, no…” 

It was too late. That one tear opened the outpouring of the next one and the one after that. “No, no, no.” Again, she begged the tears to stop, to freeze, to stay in place. The tears continued, the endless stream flowed and swirled gathering at her feet covering the rocks, covering her toes, the tops of her feet, her ankles.

“Jasmine?” She called out again desperately needing her sister. She shielded her eyes and looked out on the horizon. Wait. Was that her? A solitary figure was out there far away but moving closer little by little. It had to be Jas. “Jasmine! Here I am!” She waved her arms frantically to get her attention, trying to jump up and down but the water was getting deeper, making it impossible for her to move freely.

Moving upwards on the shore, onto the incline where there was still dry ground she turned to see the water filling up, the sea coming to life, the fish making ripples on the surface. All from a single tear? She had been trying so hard to keep that one single tear in. 

Turning her attention back to the horizon, she was shocked that the water had reached her sister who was floating peacefully, bobbing up and down as the water began its repetitive cycle of waves.

“Jasmine! Come back!” she shouted out, her voice getting lost in the sound of the sea, watching helplessly as her sister floated further and further away from the shore and away from her. “Jasmine.” She whispered. “Come back.”

The birds startled her with their loud cawing, their wings flapping furiously as they flew overhead. She jumped backward with a jolt and a moment of confusion.

***

Lying in the hospital bed my body was being replenished by the drips from the intravenous bag while the night nurse tenderly changed the bandages on my feet. 

“Are you ok, honey?”

“Yes.” I mumbled.

“I have to ask. Who is Jasmine? You’ve been calling out for her.”

“My sister.”

“Would you like me to contact her?”

“I wish. She died when I was little.”

“Oh, honey. I’m so sorry. Can I ask what happened?”

“She drowned,” I whispered, fighting the tears that threatened to come out.