continuing existential.

We stayed at a Days Inn and I only cried twice, the first time when I realized that my bottle of wine had gone bad in the heat, and the second time when, after I had turned on the tv as an alternate way to numb myself, my father came out of the bathroom and launched a tirade against the character-weakening machine he saw before him. 

My character had never been weaker, and so I cried and cried over the rotten wine and lack of TV, and my father stood there for a while not knowing what to do before finally going out to the pool. I cried some more and then crawled into bed, praying for the next day to come quickly. 

We were in Utah, and about to pass through another long stretch of desert. We went to get gas in the morning and the man who was filling up the tank looked at the tires and balked. He summoned us to the garage, and pretty soon Adelaide was up in the air with various men inspecting her. She left with two brand new front wheels, and an admonition from the man to keep a close eye on her, now, if we didn't want to end up stranded in the desert. 

We drove and drove through flat cactus country where the heat pressed hard against the windows. We kept the windows closed but we didn't turn up the air conditioning, because my father said it would reduce the gas mileage. 

An hour or so went by and my father suggested that we tell stories to pass the time. He said we could alternate, back and forth. 

"I'll tell you the story of Sam Smith and the wildcat," he said. 

I'd already heard that story a million times, I told him, and I was tired. I wanted to think of my own stories, not share them. 

"Maybe later," I told my father. 

"Alright," he said. And then he told his story all the same.

We mounted a steep hill to a canyon, and we decided to get out and stretch our legs. 

There was a long parking lot but only a few cars parked, and only a couple people milling about. They were taking pictures, and using the bathroom. 

Two dark-featured men were standing by the bathroom and the moment I got out of the car they started looking at me. I walked toward the canyon and I looked at them looking at me and then they looked away. But once I continued on and they were behind me I felt them looking again. 

My skirt lifted a little as my hair blew blonde in the breeze and now there was an idea stirring deep inside of me.  

"Speak up," I told it, but it did not have words yet. 

I was at the edge of the canyon and I looked out over it, at the red and yellow and mossy green layers under the light blue sky. My eye followed the lines and curves and juts and crevices from one end to the other and when I was all done I walked back to the parking lot. 

A Native American woman was selling jewelry and my father was going through her wares excitedly. 

"Pick something," he said. "Anything you want." 

The old woman smiled at me with warm wizened eyes, and she motioned me to where the necklaces lay on the blanket. 

She spread them out and they were all different shapes and stones, and all different types of animal. There were a great many but I had no trouble deciding. I knew right away which one I wanted. 

"I'll take the bear," I said, and she smiled again. She helped me put it around my neck and my father paid for it and when we walked back, past where the men were standing, I no longer felt so exposed.