I have an exboyfriend who I mostly recall now in roadbound memories. I cannot count the hours that we spent driving together. [well, to be frank: the hours I spent in the passenger seat as he drove.] our travel felt like precarious trailblazing, ragged-edged and flagging, sometimes destinationless.
I will remember him well at the western edge of Nevada. as we crossed dusty desert, in unceasing heat, everything was too brightly illuminated and the prospect of shade or cool or solace was completely unthinkable. nothing but itch, burn, sear, squinting in the light. that stretch of road seemed endless.
: :: : :
in June, three years later, I crossed the same stretch of road with the man I am in love with. we were coming from Chicago, approaching the desert from the east. the sun was bright and my head ached. the air inside the car felt spacious and cool. we were talking about favorite albums and the things we wanted to get done that summer. at the edges of the road people had carved their names into the hardened sand, and we watched these markings zip past as we drove. he smoothed my hair back and kissed my forehead. the Nevada road was freshly blacktopped and we were almost there. I leaned into his shoulder as we descended back home to California.