Arizona 1950

She looked back at truck stop motel down the road in dry Albuquerque, dusty, broken neon lights flickering, wondering what it might be like if she kept walking away into the desert, maybe even down the middle of the road, letting fate take her. Instead, she walked back up her driveway and porch steps, baby swaddled in arm.

The Southwest painted plains orange, mauve, dull red, hazy purple, here the air even tastes dusty. On this hot summer afternoon, the dead air picked up windy for a moment as Eva bounced her son on her knee, old wooden chair creaking slightly with every bounce. Anxiety can live even out in the middle of nowhere.

A motor approached; she heard it for a few whole minutes before it turned down her avenue. Eva didn’t know much about cars but she knew the sound of his in particular. Her bowels dropped and throat tensed in a tight ball.

Jack’s ’49 shiny black Chevy Fleetline cracked up on the driveway. She couldn’t quite see his face from the glint on the windshield and she knew what expression he wore. Smirking, handsome, chainsmoking, blonde Jack. Her baby began to coo and spit.

“Hey, Eva. Let’s go,” Jack spoke softly as he rolled down his window and leaned his head out. Cigarette smoke billowed out. Eva sensed him smelling her indecision. Jack knew the right buttons to press with this tone. Calm, reassuring, firm. He tried again. “C’mon now.”

Eva’s panic and wild fear reached a crescendo in her body and tears rebelliously welled up in her hard eyes as she stood with young Harold. She’d have to go back on a poor promise she’d made last year–oh, how stupid she was! Stupid Eva! She didn’t move from where she stood, a choice now bubbling up from within.

“You get on out of here, Jack. I can’t. I’m already tied here, I just can’t!” The last five words were choked in a sob she was suppressing. She shielded her heart and lung as they spasmed, caving in, her shoulders rounding forward and turned on her heel through the front door. She hadn’t turned on any lights yet but the glow from the day poured in through her shitty cream-colored curtains. Eva listened to the motor continue to growl and let her tears come. Baby Harold was quiet and still. Such a good boy.

After maybe half a minute, she heard the tires crack gravel back out and Jack’s Chevy grumble away. Eva wasn’t sure if he’d come back again. All of her secret, tiny, hopeless dreams of stardom and glamour were vanishing with the sounds of the motor. She felt disgusted to find that a part of her dearly hoped he’d come back again and again. When she no longer could hear his car and just the silence of the desert neighborhood, she let her dream die for awhile.