Edna in the Desert (9 page)

Both women were oddly done up in contrast to their normal, everyday looks and the rugged surroundings. Neither of them commented on it. They got into the car and put on their seat belts. Grandma showed no signs of hesitation when she started up the Bronco and drove off. Edna was impressed with Grandma. She didn’t complain about any of the effort it took for her to take this trip. It may have been because she didn’t generally talk, but her mother, along with most people Edna knew, made a point of letting others know when they were going out of their way for them. They always tried to be so subtle that they could never be accused of intentionally conveying this, but there was nothing subtle about it.

The last vehicle Edna had ridden was Johnny’s dirt bike, and she felt a thrill as the Bronco rumbled away from the cabin and into the rest of the world, or at least some semblance of civilization. Or a semblance of a semblance. They traveled up the road in silence, which, in this case, Edna preferred. Everything under the big, brilliant sky, every hill, scrub brush, rock and grain of sand was brimming with potential, and she wanted to be in tune with all of it.

Fifteen minutes later the Bronco stood at a traffic light, surrounded by clusters of small, beige buildings. Edna had been to the intersection before, on the way to Grandma’s. She hadn’t known that what she could see from the intersection was most of the town of Desert Palms. Made up of a few blocks of essential offices and stores, it had a disproportionately large number of tattoo parlors. A sign pointed to a Marine base. Distant rumblings Edna sometimes heard were bombs set off as part of their training exercises. A barbershop gave “Military Haircuts,” and Chinese massage was offered in an old storefront that once displayed “Bob’s Hats.” Empty hat stands propped up a sun-faded sign about the benefits of massage in broken English. Everything looked run-down. There were no people. The town was gloomy, and it also seemed a little angry, even though the day was bright. Grandma pulled over.

“I don’t really know what there is to see around here, Edna.”

Grandma let out a little sigh. So did Edna.

“I guess I thought there might be something.”

There was one thing. Moments later they were in front of a mural on the side of one of the little beige buildings. It immortalized a doctor. He was bald and wore glasses and a lab coat. It was an illustration with the kind of muted colors that might be in an old science book. The mural told the story of how the doctor treated veterans of World War I and recommended that they live in the desert if their lungs had been hurt by mustard gas. Thus he was responsible for attracting many of the few people who’d settled in the area.

“What’s mustard gas?”

“It’s a kind of chemical warfare.”

“Did it hurt Grandpa?”

“Goodness, no. He’s not that old. No one who fought in that war is still alive.”

Edna didn’t know when it had been.

In her travels, she’d noticed that towns that had nothing defining them often had murals in order to seem like they had something. Edna usually disliked murals. Perhaps she hadn’t seen many good ones. Her judgment aside, Edna was grateful for the murals of Desert Palms. She wanted at least one thing to do before suggesting to Grandma that they go to Bishop’s for a reason she hadn’t thought of yet. Grandma had packed enough provisions to rule out most of the reasons she might come up with to go to a grocery store. Edna’s mind raced as they stood in front of the murals and baked in the midday sun.

One mural honored Marines. Others depicted people who’d established something, like a newspaper or a church or a bus line to civilization. It didn’t look like things had progressed very much in the century since these initial activities. Here these rugged folks were thanked for all eternity, or for as long as these buildings might stand, for inspiring what seemed to Edna to be a pretty depressing scene. Somehow it was even more depressing when she stood next to each mural, small and alone, while Grandma took a picture on Edna’s phone.

When she had turned it on, there were 217 unread texts. The first ten were from Brit. Edna felt a pang of guilt, but not the urgency she would have felt before she’d been left in the desert. Normally, if she didn’t respond to a text in a few hours, she might not remember to later. There was nothing to be done about all of these.

She didn’t know if she liked the murals of Desert Palms because it was Johnny’s town or if it was actually fun to see jackrabbits, quail and roadrunners supersized in colorful paint. In “Early Life at the Oasis,” Native Americans huddled next to a tiny lake in a forest of palms. It was just the kind of place Edna had been hoping to die next to in the desert when she got lost on her “walk.” Did it really exist? She couldn’t imagine this shady, fertile setting was anywhere near such a harsh, treeless one. It was more likely a legend.

“Is this place real? Can we go to it?”

“I went there, sometime in the late nineties, I think it was.”

“So it’s real?”

“Oh, yes.”

Grandma might have lived in vast, open spaces, but she did not get around much. It was a foreign way of existing to Edna, who was comparatively well-traveled thanks to her adventurous parents. Edna wondered aloud if they could go ask someone where the oasis was, advancing the project of getting to Bishop’s. She wouldn’t have all day before she was a sweaty mess, and she couldn’t think of a better excuse to pop into a store. At least Grandma knew where Bishop’s was. So far the day was going perfectly.

Bishop’s was set back from the sidewalk, and it faded into its dull surroundings. The sign was worn. It was sad all of a sudden, picturing Johnny working here. She’d expected the store to somehow glow like he did, but what that might look like she didn’t know. Edna couldn’t contain her curiosity, and she dashed inside the place ahead of Grandma. It was a grocery store. Behind the cash register was a blond girl who barely nodded when Edna said hello. Edna thought she might be just as vacant herself if she had to sit there all day behind the gum. This could be the “Jenny” who answered the phone when Grandma called in the ingredients for the Pineapple Upside-Down Cake. It didn’t matter who she was, though; she was not fat or ugly, and therefore Edna was not happy she was there. She was a few years older than Edna and kind of pretty, but like many things here, she faded into the desert.

Edna floated down the narrow aisles, hoping to see Johnny at every turn. The idea that he might not be in the store grew heavy in her chest until she approached the very last corner. He was there. His back was to her. He wore a black T-shirt and Wranglers, and he was spraying water onto rows of vegetables. He was careful, going back over the peppers after he missed an area. Edna marveled at him and at her own power in being there. Her plan had worked. Johnny was right in front of her.

The bell on the door jingled, and Grandma yelled “Edna?” into the store. Johnny turned around.

“Hi, Edna. I didn’t see you there.”

“Hi,” Edna said, and then her mind went blank.

“Are you looking for something?”

“Uh…shampoo.”

“It’s on the other side of the store, in aisle three.”

He turned off the water and wrapped up the hose. Edna didn’t know what to do, but lingering there for no reason was odd unless you had anything in the world to say. Grandma appeared.

“I need shampoo.”

Edna left her and went directly to aisle three. The thing she hadn’t planned was what she would do if she actually saw Johnny. Her face was hot, and blood rushed to her ears. She knew she was turning a blotchy crimson. She took a few deep breaths and summoned the mind control of a Tibetan monk. Observing things helped. She noticed how the old wooden floor was worn in the middle of the aisle. The store was clean, but it was crammed with so many products, it looked chaotic. She picked out the best bottle of shampoo they had and wondered how she could go back to Johnny without seeming as creepy as girls at school who said “hi” to boys too many times in the hall. She wasn’t sure there was a way until she was able to convince herself that she had forgotten she wanted some broccoli. She hadn’t had any broccoli in a while. She saw broccoli in the produce section.

Grandma waited for Edna near the girl who might be Jenny at the counter. The two women stood quietly. Some people, Edna reminded herself, don’t always feel the need to engage. Instead of passing them, Edna searched the back of the store for the produce aisle, but the way she cut down didn’t go through. The little store was a bit of a maze. She had no choice but to come around the front, passing Grandma and Jenny. They might notice she was prowling around for Johnny, but neither of them would say a word about it, even if it was obvious. Edna finally got to the produce aisle, but Johnny was gone. The hose he had been using was neatly coiled on a hook. Whatever kind of meaningful communication they could have had over a moment of grabbing some broccoli wasn’t going to happen. Edna was crushed to have missed it. She tried to convince herself that maybe she was better off. Maybe Johnny hated broccoli. She wove around the aisles, looking for him for a little bit longer.

The door jingled again, and a man’s enthusiastic voice rang out.

“Mary Miller? To what do we owe the extreme pleasure of this delightful visit?!”

“My granddaughter’s getting shampoo.”

Grandma didn’t sound particularly moved by the effusive greeting. Edna was in a Johnny-seeking trance, but the store wasn’t big enough to stay lost in for long. Defeated, she came to the counter with the shampoo. The old man who’d celebrated Grandma’s presence rocked back on his heels and told Edna that she must be Edna. Edna nodded “yes.” She had no words for the jolly man, but being Grandma’s granddaughter, it didn’t seem as odd as it might.

Grandma paid for the shampoo. They left the store. All Edna had gotten to say to Johnny was “shampoo.” On the ride back, she realized she’d completely forgotten to ask about the oasis.

Edna occupied herself by recreating the scene in the grocery store with a more preferred outcome during her long days filled with chores. She kept a little notepad that she found in the garage with her so she could jot down anything she wished she’d said. She was determined to make intriguing conversation the next time Johnny delivered groceries. So far the book was filled with sentences that were crossed out, except for the plan to ask Johnny if he knew about the oasis in the mural. She wondered if, in the past, asking people about things you could just google instead was a way to connect with them. It might be a way to connect now. If Edna had Internet, she’d know exactly where the oasis was and lots of things about it, and she’d have nothing to ask. There were other things she’d google if she could, like Johnny Bishop and dirt biking, but with no previous inclination toward dirt biking, she was likely to sound crazy trying to talk about it. It would not help make conversation. And it was creepy to mention things about a person you’d seen online. Everyone googled everyone, but it sounded like stalking if you admitted it. It was probably better that she knew nothing. Edna could only rely on what popped into her head.

The problem was, nothing did. Edna wanted to be nice and attractive, and she had no idea how to get a boy to like her, especially not within the few minutes of a grocery delivery once a week.

She moved her chair to face the ridge so she could see the truck coming. She’d be outside drinking coffee when he arrived. It was a mature, natural thing to do in the morning. Luckily, Grandpa wouldn’t be out for some time yet to spoil the scene. She wasn’t sure if Johnny would come at the same time he did last week, but it was as good a guess as any. The sunshine felt good. She wouldn’t mind sitting there all day.

In the real world a million things would have happened in Edna’s day by nine. Many of them would have been texts. Edna had been ignorant of the dramas that had surely played out via text among her friends over the past weeks. She spent some time reading the 217 texts that came in when she turned on her phone in town. The first ones were mostly from Brit, and they evolved from anger (WT…??) to worry (R U OK??) to acceptance (spok 2 ur mom hv gr8 smmr). As Edna scrolled through the rest of her messages, the truncated words, presented all at once and out of context, became senseless. Edna had never been quite so out of the loop before, but she learned she wouldn’t die from it. The loop would no longer compel her to check her phone every few minutes, every day, because she was afraid of dropping out of it.

Dust rose on the horizon, and then the little red truck came into view. It zipped across the basin. Edna reminded herself to stay calm. She hadn’t thought of anything worth saying to Johnny in all the time she’d had, so instead she would marvel at the beautiful day and ask him if he had a nice ride out. In Shimmer, Jill wrote that men like women who are “happy and uncomplicated.” Edna would try her best to seem happy and uncomplicated, even though she was exactly the opposite of that and hated following her mother’s advice. It was the only advice she had.

Johnny pulled up and parked the truck by the porch, just like he did last time. He said, “Hi Edna” again as he went to the back of it. Suddenly Edna felt too far away from him as she sipped coffee in a chair. She shouldn’t be immobile, distant, waiting for him to pass. It would only take one second for him to walk by her, and they would have no chance to talk. She’d have to jump out of her chair anyway. Why was she overplanning her every move? She abandoned her coffee drinking and followed Johnny to the back of the truck. He was taking Grandma’s packages out.

“Isn’t it a beautiful day?”

Her voice was too intense.

“Sure.”

He took the groceries over to the house and Edna followed him.

“How was your ride out this morning?”

“Just fine.”

“I love riding in the desert.”

Edna hated how her voice sounded, but she persevered. She could talk to him now, or not at all.

“It must be like an adventure every time you deliver the groceries.”

“I wish it were more of an adventure.”