Will o’ the Wisp

Will o’ the Wisp

Perhaps it wasn’t the wisest decision I’ve ever made, taking that cutoff. 

Ten miles. That didn’t sound so bad.

And so, even though it’s already midafternoon—and blazing hot—I turn off the clogged main highway onto a narrow but well-paved road. There’s not another vehicle in sight. 

After a quarter mile or so, the smooth asphalt comes to an abrupt end. 

Oh, well—can’t expect backroads to be well maintained. I bump along for about another mile, over ruts and through potholes. 

Up ahead, I spot a yellow sign. The kind that indicates road conditions.

SLOW

ROUGH ROAD

AHEAD

A bit tardy, I think. And maybe understated, I further conclude when my tires jounce over a teeth-rattling rut. But I keep going. 

It seems like forever since the turnoff. I must be at the halfway point by now. Should have checked the odometer. 

The AC is ineffective. I crank it up to the highest setting, but it just feels like hot air blasting. Rolling the window down, I test the outside temperature. Feels hotter than a bake oven! Up goes the window. 

The terrain—can it be called a xeriscape, or does that apply only to planned low-moisture landscaping? Anyway, it’s desolate. Peachy-beige sand, as far as the eye can see, dotted sporadically with dusty green patches of sagebrush. A brilliant, blue, cloudless expanse of sky. Stark, inhospitable land. A desert valley ringed by craggy mountains. 

Something on the dashboard catches my attention; a little amber-lit icon, warning me that the engine is uncomfortably warm. So am I.

The road narrows. Patchy asphalt gives way to coarse gravel, crunching beneath the tires as I ease the car along. Better turn the AC down a notch or two. I’m sweltering, but can’t risk overheating the engine. 

The car shudders when a tire pops. It rolls a few more feet before coming to a lumpy stop, and I feel myself deflating—along with the tire. Now what? I’m stuck. Miles away from everywhere, in an inhospitable place, with a blown tire. 

I’ll call roadside assistance. If there’s cell reception. Obviously there will be quite a wait for a truck to arrive, but it’s better than trying to change a tire myself in these conditions. 

Uh-oh. My phone is hot. Really hot! There’s a warning on the screen: 

“Device overheated. Allow to cool before attempting to use.”

That being impossible under the circumstances, I flick over to my contact list. Congratulate myself for having the roadside assistance number. Tap the “Call” button… 

The phone emits a weird sound, like an emergency broadcast tone, followed by static. And the screen goes black.

Telling myself not to panic, I take a swig from my water bottle and open the door. Surely I’ve traveled most of the ten miles by now? I’ll try walking a short distance to see if the main road is visible.

Sweat trickles down my forehead, stinging my eyes and blurring my vision. I almost don’t see the cleft in the road. It’s too wide to step over, so I halt. Take another sip of water. Swivel slowly, staring desperately into the distance for any sign of… anything.

There’s something! An outline, off in the hazy distance. I know that deserts are notorious for creating illusions from nothingness. But it has the appearance of a small settlement, and I seem to have no other option.

There are a few tracks that look like animal paths. Packed earth, where I might have easier footing than plowing through the sand. I pick one and start toward whatever is on the horizon. 

Waves of heat distort my perception. The settlement, if that’s what it is, shimmers and glimmers. As I near it, the place seems tangible and inviting. The outline solidifies. I squint my eyes, trying to determine if it's a product of my dehydrated mind or a collection of real buildings.

There’s movement. Looks like people, going about their lives. 

+++++++++++

There’s movement. Something approaching. I watch the lone figure, slowly but steadily drawing closer. It isn’t an animal, but a human.

We keep ourselves to ourselves, out here in our small desert community. The terrain might be considered desolate, stark, inhospitable. But there’s a certain dramatic beauty here. Peachy-beige sand, as far as the eye can see, dotted sporadically with dusty green patches of sagebrush. A brilliant, blue, cloudless expanse of sky. A desert valley ringed by craggy mountains. 

It’s not often we have visitors. I wonder if my mind is playing tricks. Creating a chimera. A will-o’-the-wisp. 

The solitary wayfarer stops and starts; begins to stumble and stagger. I move forward, determined to assist.

+++++++++++

I stagger a bit. Take a careful sip from my water bottle. I’m beginning to have fuzzy thinking, but I’m still aware of the need to conserve water. Just in case the cluster of buildings turns out to be a mirage.

One figure detaches itself and moves forward. Toward me. 

+++++++++++

He staggers, stops, briefly lifts something to his mouth. Then he shades his eyes and stares toward me. 

Away from the shelter of the buildings, even I feel the effects of the merciless afternoon sun. If this fellow is real, I need to get him to safety. For both our sakes.

He stumbles again, knees buckling. Steadies himself and takes a wobbly few steps. I raise my hand in a reassuring gesture and pick up my pace for the last few steps.

+++++++++++

Did my mind conjure up a rescuer? In the blinding sun, his form is ethereal and his face vague. I feel as if I’m inside of a surrealist painting. 

When I stumble, he raises a hand as if to encourage me. I steady myself and try a few more steps. Just as I’m about to collapse, he reaches me. He feels pretty solid. 

++++++++++++

He feels pretty solid. 

“Here, drink the rest of your water. We have more,” I assure him. He tries to speak, but can’t. He mouths, “Thanks.”

I point toward home. “I’ll help you get there.”

++++++++++++

I’m in a cool room. I have no idea how long I’ve been here, and it doesn’t matter. Time seems suspended. People come and go, looking in on me. Bringing food. Sitting with me. My rescuer, who has introduced himself as Will, comes often. Mostly, I sleep.

+++++++++++

We make our visitor comfortable in the modest infirmary, a room equipped with basic medical supplies—but sleep is the main thing he needs.

I feel responsible for him, and check in often. He sleeps for a very long time. When he finally wakes, he’s able to tell his story.

+++++++++++

I sleep for a very long time. When I finally wake, Will asks me to tell my story. 

.