Page 73 of Happy After All

Except I’ve never done it quite like this before. Aspects of it feel inside out.

I don’t know him. That’s the thing.

I turn the radio on, and it’s country music. I don’t touch the dial. He doesn’t either. I wait to see if he makes a comment. About playlists or his favorite kind of music, but he doesn’t. Normally, I would plug my phone in. Normally, I would select one of my carefully curated playlists. This is a test, though.

I forget that almost immediately because “Save a Horse (Ride a Cowboy)” comes on, and I’m too amused, singing loudly, and though he doesn’t join, he does laugh, and I consider that a victory of sorts.

When we pull off the main highway and hit the dirt road that will take us to Joshua Tree, I feel a change in him. He doesn’t say anything, and that doesn’t really surprise me, because he seems wedded to saying nothing when possible, about anything.

I show my card and ID so that we can get in, and as we drive by the large boulders and beautiful Joshua trees, I’m consumed by the same sense of awe I always get when I come here.

The desert healed me in so many ways.

I look at him to see if he’s having the same experience I am, but it’s impossible to tell.

“Do you know where you want to go?” I ask.

“Just driving around is fine,” he says. “Stop where you feel like it.”

For some reason, I feel like he isn’t telling the truth, but I also don’t think he’s going to actually tell me what he thinks. I pull off the road in front of one of my favorite spots. There are trails around some massive boulders that look like they were dropped there by a giant divine hand.

I suppose that’s a testament to how I like to think about the world. But I don’t think of the minerals and scientific process by which rocks are formed.

I prefer to think in terms of the fantastical. Because no matter what, I prefer to believe in a little bit of magic.

He takes out his phone and snaps some pictures as we walk through the dry brush. Uncharacteristic clouds gather overhead, and it adds to the moodiness, both of the landscape and the moment.

We get back to the car and begin to drive, and the rain starts to pour down, even as the sun shines. I look across the way and see a rainbow stretching over the tops of the Joshua trees.

“Wow,” I say. “I’ve never seen that before.”

He says nothing. He has grown more and more quiet over the course of the day.

I stop the car so I can take pictures of the rainbow. I realize he’s doing the same, even though he doesn’t add commentary.

The rain stops as we drive on ahead to one of the hiking trails. We get out, and I stretch my arms and legs, mostly because I have this reckless energy in my body and I need something to do with it or I’ll throw myself at him. Kiss him, maybe, or worse, just hold him. “Do you want to do the hike?”

He looks at me, and there’s something like wonder on his face. “Yeah. This ... I did this hike.”

“Oh?”

“Last time I was here.”

“Oh,” I say. “Well, are you interested in doing the hike again?”

“Yeah,” he says. “Let’s do it.”

We fall into step as we make our way up the narrow, rocky path. “Watch for snakes,” I say. “But not armadillos.”

“There are no armadillos here,” he says.

“Obviously, Nathan, that’s why you don’t have to watch for them.”

I take a step, and my foot comes down on a rock. I slip forward, and he catches me by the arm. I look up at him. He’s gazing down at me in a fury.

“Thank you,” I say.

“Careful.” He doesn’t release his hold on me, and he doesn’t sound angry. I don’t feel like he’s mad at me, but he’s definitely mad. Maybe at the rock. I can handle that.

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