When I Saw Holly

Fiction from the desert: Vol 1

It was a lonely freeway offramp, high in the foothills of the Mojave Desert, where I had pulled over to stretch my legs and let the dog take a piss. I was nearing the end of an eleven hour drive from Denver to Las Vegas, and I wanted nothing less than to be standing in that withering heat, eyeing mummified roadkill, diapers, empty beer cans and broken car parts.

The dog was taking his sweet time, sniffing at things he shouldn’t and wandering too far into the foxtails and prickly pears. Part of me wanted to let him go–let him learn from his mistakes. But I knew those “mistakes” would only end up smeared all over the interior of my car. 

“Come on Bruno,” I said. “Get back here.” I pulled on the leash to get his attention. He’d been sniffing something despicable inside a sagebrush. “Do what you gotta do, and let’s get out of here.” He was the kind of dog who liked to stall. He must’ve known I was feeling pressed for time, and it was as if he wanted to make the most of it. At last, he found a decent clump of grass and casually lifted his leg. 

It’s hard to believe I didn’t see her at first. I must’ve been too focused on the menagerie of waste at my feet or too worried about the dog. She was probably watching us the whole time because I only caught a glimpse of her while I was loading Bruno back in the car. It was just the slightest movement from behind the bushes that caused me to turn and see her fierce, wild-looking eyes staring into mine. 

She appeared to be in her thirties, but they must have been hard years judging by the tired lines on her face. Her skin was baked, and she was wearing a stained gray sweatshirt with matching sweatpants. It wasn’t until later that I remembered she hadn’t been wearing any shoes, only black cotton socks. At the time, I was simply stunned to see another human being in such an extreme environment–without any outdoor gear or recreational intentions for that matter. There was no way of telling how she’d gotten there. I’d seen people just like her on the streets of Denver, but this was much harder to comprehend. 

We made eye contact only briefly before she quietly retreated behind the brush.  I looked around to see if there were any cars or homes nearby, but I could only see distant spires of rock, surrounded by a moat of forbiding vegetation.

I locked Bruno in the car and made my way back. “Hello,” I called, as I approached. There was no reply. Instead, I found her sitting on a boulder, with a small dusty backpack, not big enough for any real amount of food or clothing. “Are you okay? What’s your name?”

She said nothing but shook her head faintly from side to side. She had short, black hair, specked with dry grass. There were scratches on her forearms, more than likely from fighting her way through the scrub. 

“Can you tell me your name?” I asked again, trying to get her to say something. She didn’t answer but only looked at me. I could see the wool blanket she’d been sleeping on, tucked inside a cove of bushes that was completely hidden from the road. She was thin but not obviously malnourished. 

I went back to my car and retrieved a water bottle, but when I offered it to her, she only looked at me stone-faced and said “No.” My arm dropped in confusion. Here we were, in a place where everything was designed for either defense or survival–the grass was barbed, the cacti were vicious, the snakes were deadly and the ant hills teemed with nasty little pricks–and this woman, obviously and utterly alone, wearing clothes fit for a Saturday morning on the couch, was turning down my water bottle?

To the west, a long slope descended from the barren cliffs. All around us were impenetrable thickets of desert holly and bone-dry creek beds filled with ankle crushing rocks, the refuge of black widow spiders and rattlesnakes. It was nearly 108 degrees, and the dirt between the desperate plants was like powder. I wanted to grab her by the shoulders, look her in the eyes, and tell her she was going to die out here, under the orange sky, among the diapers and used condoms and empty bottles of antifreeze.

I stepped back to make sure my car was still where I had parked it. Sweat dripped into my eyes and down the middle of my back. In the light of early dusk, I could see Bruno inside the car, his eyes in a disinterested gaze. He wasn’t even panting, and his ears were fluttering softly in the cool air from the vents. 

“Can I at least give you a ride?” I said, becoming more insistent. “I can’t help you if you don’t want me too.” She was standing up now and facing me, with her arms at her sides and her fists balled up. I went back to my car, determined to call for help. She had to be rescued, even if it was against her will. She was obviously not in her right mind, and I wouldn’t have her death on my conscience, no matter how badly I wanted to get to Vegas. I waited for thirty minutes, just around the corner from her camp, not wanting her to know my plan. I kept a close eye on her blanket, the corner of which I could see clearly. 

When an officer arrived, we approached again but were shocked to find she was gone. Only her blanket remained. I looked around frantically, but there was nothing except the stillness of the desert and the sunset going down like the edge of a flame, slipping away beyond the high, dark crags.

“I don’t know where she went, ” I lamented. “I can’t understand it. She could die out here.”

“Maybe she will, ” the officer said bluntly. “But who knows. Maybe she wants it this way. Who are we to say?”