Dust

“Charlotte Santana—just the woman I was looking for.”

Ted addressed me as I walked into 9 Lives, head hardly turned over his shoulder.

“How did you even know it was me that walked in?” I asked, smirking as I took my usual seat to his right at the bar where we met. “Could have been anyone.”

He smiled as he took a sip of his drink, letting a couple of careful seconds pass. “So, did you find anything?”

I sighed, hardly surprised at his disregard for my question. “What do you think?”

“Ah, a question for a question. I like it.” He finally looked at me, dark eyes softened under the shadow of a wide brim. “Well, if you still want me to come over tonight, I’ll pretend to be useful while you do your thing.”

The bartender placed a heavy glass in front of me, echoing wood breaking the temporary tension. “What we got today, Garrett?” I asked, equally grateful for both the interruption and mystery amber liquid. 

“Local Siennaville IPA. Smells a little weird but it’s strong as hell” he muttered in an accent almost more drawn out than Ted’s.

“And let me guess, Ted’s got the usual” I mocked, jabbing him playfully with my elbow. He took a slow sip, clearly in no rush to put in the effort of defending himself. “Nothing wrong with a tried and true.”

~

As hours passed, the bar remained pretty empty aside from the occasional motorcycle dude or group of army guys passing through from the nearby base. Siennaville was dusty and dry and dead and all there really was to do was drive out to this part of the desert and drink every damn beer at 9 Lives. I was only here on a passing adventure, and my time to go was looking closer than the bottom of my glass.

“I did find a few gems though,” I eventually circled back, catching Ted’s desirable attention. “Nothing glamorous, but they’ll get me a new pair of boots.”

Admittedly, I felt a strange twang in my stomach as I discovered a new expression in Ted’s eyes. He drank me up in parallel with his usual whatever, soaking in red lips and skin painted golden by the desert sun. But I couldn't help but notice his gaze slowly, almost imperceptibly, traveling to my tattered white tank. To my jeans ripped not fashionably, but by jagged roots and gnarly twine that tore skin along with denim. Boots that wore dust like a winter coat in the sweltering heat of summer.  

And then there was Ted in his suit, made up of delicious shades of sage green and velvety brown that exuded classic cowboy cool. When he spoke, his brass voice billowed out from under salt and pepper strands like a beautiful song in a forgotten genre. I took another sip of beer—it was warm, now. Did I really see something in Ted, or did I just want the cruel satisfaction of sticking a jet black strand of hair to his collar for his blonde wife to find?

“Hello? Earth to Charlotte?” I looked down to discover his hand placed gently on my forearm. “I said it was your boots. I knew it was you from that clicking those damn boots make. No one else enters a room like that.”

~

In a flash, we were back in my bed, digging ourselves deeper into the canyon we were in. His body moved against me, a tantalizing combination of comfort and danger. Soon, he snored beside me, and our desperation was at rest. Now, all I wanted was fresh air.

~ 

“Even the air in Siennaville ain’t fresh” I muttered to myself, stepping out the slim door in nothing but my boots and Ted’s t-shirt. But although the wind was grainy and dry, I could almost forgive all that for the impressive moon over the desert dirt. She spilled into every crevice of the earth, effortlessly bending shadows to her will. Total control. I began to wander, drawn to open land as I left the confines of the trailer park behind me.

Walking alone underneath the stars was where I was truly free. Each adventure would take me to a new town, where I’d meet new folks, form some fleeting friendships, find some valuable shit, and be on my way. That’s who I am—it’s what I do. It’s what I’m good at. And sure, there were flings along the way. I’ll be real…some of them almost tempted me to throw caution to the skies and call a place home. But I never wanted a home. I never had one, and I never needed one. I see people like Ted in their massive mansions with more beds and baths than friends to fill ‘em. And I’ve seen those men find their way to a trailer park home for an ephemeral adventure and a glass of whiskey. Hell, we all think we want a home but what if we just want the feeling of knowing we’ve got one?

And that night, as I walked among the corpses of forgotten flora, I was as home as I’d ever be. This small town didn’t have much besides a decent dive bar and scenic views at surface level but beneath the dirt, damn…that’s where all the good shit was. I’ve spent most of my days picking apart towns just like this in search of valuable artifacts, and it’s always an adventure. You never know what you’ll find beneath the ground. But above it, one thing does seem certain. Secrets breathe and breed in a dense cloud of dust, and all it takes is a gentle gust of wind to reduce it to a thin, unforgiving veil. And then, all too easily, we are exposed.

Coming out of my daydream and picking up whatever treasures winked at me under the moonlight, I knew I could be set to leave as early as the next morning if I wanted to. But even the arrival of morning was a distant question I didn’t want to answer on that cool, cathartic night.

Yet, as all runners know, there are just some things we can’t escape from. So, when the sun began to peak out above terra cotta mountains, I took my cue and headed back to the trailer. After shedding my boots at the front door, I rejoined Ted in tangled blankets—slipping in silently beside him as if I was the one returning from a night out with my demons.

~

In a few hours time, we were sipping coffee at a sun soaked kitchen table barely off the foot of the bed. The small square was cluttered with rocks—not my biggest collection…but enough to buy my next ticket to wherever. Ted pushed a few of them aside, elbows barely kissing the powdery surface left behind in their wake. “So,” he grunted, running a hand through his coarse, greying hair. “Pretty good rocks?”

We were looking down at the same table of stuff, but it was clear we saw different things. Before me, I saw the substance of my adventures, the materials that allowed me to roam the Earth as I please. Each piece an artifact of made up human value that managed to carry me from town to town, bar to bar, man to man. Each coated in the potential for painful disappointment or, every so often, the unadulterated thrill of rarity. Not enough to afford me fancier wheels or good water pressure, but enough to keep me moving. 

“Good enough” I replied, safely packing up my collection. At this point in my life, I knew better than to get into it with someone who could only see pretty good rocks. 

~

After a cup of coffee and a kiss on the jaw, Ted became a stranger once more. Trapped within the boundaries of weekend lovers, we simply couldn’t do with one another in between. After all, we moved in opposite adventures—his perhaps of steak with mashed potatoes and restless hours in a cold, crowded bed. I always imagined him thinking of me. But I just can’t think too much on stuff like that. Because in between our weekends at 9 Lives, we were strangers. We had to be. Even if I sort of missed his rough hands and gritty laugh. It’s just not that simple, I guess.

~

By next Saturday, I was packed up and ready to go—not that there was much to pack. I sold most of my collection locally, and I was ready to ease the weight of my wallet at 9 Lives. Still, the trailer wasn’t moving without me, and I honestly didn’t know if I was ready to move it just yet. 

I took my seat at the bar and nodded to Garrett. “You can get Ted’s usual, he should be here soon.” But instead of reaching for bourbon, he placed a pint glass under an unfamiliar tap. Slowly, the caramel-colored liquid filled the glass, which he placed in front of me. “You sure about that?”

My eyes narrowed at him questioningly, waiting for a follow-up. I took a sip of beer, startlingly sour, until he finally spoke again:

“Meredith found out.”

And suddenly, I’m grounded in a crushing reality. This place was never mine to own, and yet I came in like a tornado that nobody asked for. That nobody wanted. Nobody needed. And yet here I sat at 9 Lives, in an unapologetically tight top, hair tucked behind my ear, waiting for a man that would never show. I took another sip, seemingly less sour while juxtaposed against my new knowledge. Garrett wiped a glass behind the bar, expression neutral as he moved on to a new customer. There was no judgement, but there was no pity. There was nothing. Because he, like the rest of this town, was never invested enough in me to care either way. 

So, I sipped the rest of my beer, taking in a deep breath as I took in my surroundings for the last time. From the dim, dusty lights to the muted blues tunes that became a temporary soundtrack to my life…I had certainly grown to enjoy this place. A group of women sat at a booth, huddled in conversation. Were they talking about me? Couldn’t be sure. But it didn’t matter. Let them stay stuck in this small town forever. I’ve got more excitement under my hat than they’d ever know in their sad, little lives.

I went for another sip, but the glass was bone dry. The air seemed to weigh heavier, my chest felt a little tighter. My cue to leave. I pulled out my wallet and fumbled for a few bucks. My face was flushed and a bitter cocktail of guilt and jealousy brewed behind it. Garrett looked at me with a cool expression, perhaps content in the security of knowing he’d be standing right behind this bar tomorrow. And as I stood up to leave, he asked me a final question before I’d become another stranger walking out the door.

“So,” he began, eyes briefly flickering to the empty seat to my left before returning to mine.

“Did you find what you were looking for?”