Boy, Did She Have Time to Think

She recognized the place on arrival, or perhaps earlier. They had driven through the desert in a car with no name, it felt good to get out of the sun.

America, she thought and imagined Ventura Highway, far away from here.

“Do you want to go inside?” he asked.

Her eyes narrowed. “What do you think?”

He kicked at a pebble in the grass, then looked up at snow-capped mountains in the distance. “I try not to if possible,” he replied, “but I reckon you'd just as soon stay out here.”

She took careful steps away from the car and pondered her options. She could run, but where? She looked back at him and thought maybe he wasn't so bad. In the right light, he almost looked like Jeff Bridges. Or was it Beau?

This was not the right light anyway, and there was still nowhere to run. Here was as good as any place. Just rocks and things.

“That's a fine reckoning,” she said.

He nodded and lit a cigarette, adjusted his yellow ballcap.

Yellow, she thought, the color of cowards. She wouldn't dare say that to his face, even if it did look like a friendly Bridges brother, but she was free to think it. She could think anything, so long as she kept her mouth shut.

Staying quiet had other advantages as well. If she played at compliance, he might let down his guard. Even for just a moment, if she could solve a few logistical problems and possibly find an ally or three, she might be able to run while he's puffing a cigarette in some other town on some other road.

The odds were long, she knew that. But she had time to think. Boy, did she have time to think.