LIGHTS OVER CHROLIDE

   On the bus in the desert Miles watched the aurora borealis gyrate in the upper atmosphere. The New Mexican sky was tumbling in a magnetic storm. His face was superimposed as a ghostly reflection over the rumbling pastels. Passengers seemed strangely quiet; a meditative quality surrounded their fascination with the phenomenon rather than oohing and ahing. The bus lagged tiredly along the road. Its lulling engine drowned conversation with a hypnotic hum, loud, but not irritating if one let it sift into the background.
   His thoughts were on other bus rides. When he played double-A ball with the Carson City Tumbleweeds the desert spread like an orange sea before the team’s bus. The team had traveled throughout the Southwest, sometimes going up to Washington and Oregon by plane, and rarely to the Southeast. His life had the illusion of importance then; although no fan knew who he was, he could pretend the cheers of the crowd lauded exceptional feats. In his years playing on the team and hours spent riding through the cool desert nights, he had never seen the borealis dance this far south. Once an Alaskan, it had been a common sight for him. Here, though, it seemed to mark a transition into fantasy.
   Not otherwise fanciful was the picturesque woman that sat at his left. It seemed impossible that she had been refined from the drab world he inhabited. Her beauty seemed misallocated. They had sat side by side silently for hours; she had fallen sleep before the borealis had started its performance. Now Miles wondered if he should wake her. Blonde hair shifted upon her shoulder as she turned her head to face him, her eyes closed, filtered light splaying itself on her delicate jaw and her lips. He tapped her. She remained perfectly still. Again he touched her. Her eyes fluttered; she woke without a start and almost smiled.
   “You should see this,” he said, manipulating his voice so that it could be heard over the warbling of the bus engine. She leaned forward to look around him. The light of the borealis reflected in her blue eyes, glassy from sleep. She had a pale, doll-like complexion. He turned from her face and back towards the luminescent draperies, whose images backlit cacti and rock outcroppings.
   “Why,” she wondered.
   “I’m not sure,” he said. When he was younger perhaps he would have crafted an answer based on half-truths. /It’s like light reflected from a deep pool,” she remarked. He looked at her again. He felt comfortably flanked by beauty. Drowsiness seeped up from hidden aquifers and his eyelids grew drunk with sleep. He smiled at her and she returned it with sparkling eyes. The moment passed. Miles leaned his head back and the seat welcomed his tense shoulders with tenderness and warmth. As he slept she had her fill of the borealis.
   The bus ground to a halt somewhere outside of Chloride, Arizona. The engine chuckled hoarsely and petered out. The wheels stopped turning and steam wafted up from underneath the hood. Early morning dew covered the cacti and the roadside weeds. When the bus’s forward motion stopped, he woke up. The borealis was gone. A light blue glow was carefully encamped to the east. Her head rested on his shoulder and he feared moving lest he wake her. When he realized the condition of the bus, though, he didn’t hesitate to shift his weight gently, hoping to stir her. Just as before she woke easily, as if the distance between sleep and waking was but a step through an open door.
   “I think the bus has a problem,” he said.
   “Is that steam?” she asked.
   “I’m going to check it out,” he said. She rose into the aisle in an easy motion to allow him to haltingly extricate himself from his seat. Walking to the front he noticed that the driver had left and was moving to the hood. Everyone was either sleeping or waiting patiently. They seemed awfully peaceful people, though they had just spent the night being jostled by the motion of the bus. As he stepped out into the cool air, the gravel on the shoulder of the road bemoaned his foot and gave a dry coughing crunch. When he stood beside the driver lifting up the hood, the driver showed now surprise.
   “It’s the fan belt,” the driver said.
   “Do you have a spare?” Miles asked, as he lifted the torn remnants of the fan belt from the engine.
   “No. I used my last one on a run across Texas. This engine is an old son-of-a-bitch,” he said. He found the driver’s accent disconcerting; it was totally bland; he talked like a major city TV personality–without strange pronunciation or any peculiarities.
   “How far away is the nearest town?” Miles asked.
   “I’d say the nearest town is probably Chloride.”
   “Chloride?”
   “We’re about two hour’s drive from Las Vegas.” Miles    watched the driver close the hood.
   “What are you going to do?”
   “I’ll just radio and try and find the number of a mechanic in town.” The driver climbed back into the bus. Miles leaned up against the white metal side of the bus and watched the sky blush, a pink hue infusing its pale cheeks. These few refracted rays from the sun sprinted down the desert making long shadows and he felt heat on his face.
   The driver stepped down the stairs tenderly. Miles turned to face the pudgy man whose face, like his accent, was bland, indistinct, and half-imagined–a face for a nameless character.
   “The only garage is closed,” the driver sighed.
   “Why? What day is it?” Miles wondered if there was a holiday.
   “Sunday.”
   “Can’t they just send the tow truck out with spare parts?”
   “I tried the number of the garage I got from the base and there was no answer. Information said the number of the mechanic was unlisted.”
   “What do triple-A members do out here?”
   “I don’t know,” the driver said grumbling. The sun was rising. Neither spoke as it lolled up over the horizon, a radiant bather stepping out of a wading pool. /Listen. Someone’s going to have to try to walk to the place and find a damn parts store. Las Vegas is a good two-hour’s drive away.” It was at this point that the driver lowered his voice and stepped closer to Miles. He hung his head and spoke into his collar. A few passengers had risen and were crowding the doorway of the bus, peering out quietly like anxious school children. /I would go but ! I’ve got this ! listen, I’ve got gout, and it’s a pain in the ass to walk. I can hardly walk to the toilet in the night to take a leak. I’ll set you up with a canteen of water ! you’re so eager to help.” The driver trailed off. Miles kept looking at him.
   “Yeah sure,” Miles said. /You figure it to be about an hour’s walk?”
   “You’re not gonna have to walk the whole way. I’ll stay here and if a car comes by I’ll tell them the situation and send them after you.” Their conversation was within easy earshot of the passengers. One of them issued an expletive; it sounded like a hiccup. Miles saw the beautiful woman staring down at them. She had gently moved to the front of the crowd of passengers that now clogged the door of the bus.
   The driver took charge. /Folks, we’re having a little trouble with the engine. This man–what did you say your name was?–this man Miles is going to hitch hike over to Chloride and pick us up a fan belt. I’d appreciate your patience. It shouldn’t be too much of a delay.” Clearing his throat he ambled up into the bus and took a filled canteen out from a cooler under the dash. Meanwhile, the woman came out of the bus and stepped up beside Miles.
   “Hey,” she whispered.
   “Hey.”
   “Do you want some company?”
   “On the walk?”
   “Sure, why not?”
   “It’s a long walk and I only got one canteen.”
   “He said it was a hitchhike.”
   “Who’s driving to Chloride at six in the morning?”
   “Someone.”
   “Someone?” His look was incredulous, though his voice was not.
   “Sure.” She smiled. Miles darkened and turned away. His reaction was inexplicable to both of them. /If you want to walk alone, that’s okay,” she said.
   “No. I’d appreciate you coming along.” He looked into her eyes just to prove that he could. The smile that still trembled there made him uneasy.
   The driver was extending his hand with the canteen while engaged in vigorous discussions with at least two passengers. Their idyllic calm had subsided as the reality of hours in a bus baking in hot desert sun dawned on them. Miles grabbed the metal flask and he and the woman set off together for Chloride.

   “I’m not going to let you stay quiet for the whole way,” she pledged, as she looked at him. Her face was raised up a little; he was three or four inches taller than she was. His face was shrouded as he stared at the red sand that passed beneath his feet. The road was rising into the hills that surrounded Chloride. It was warm, but the heat was not overbearing. They hadn’t opened the canteen yet. Miles had let her hold it. She swung it every once in a while, letting it sail out in front of her and then go in a loop and fall back down, the shoulder strap on the canteen allowing it to orbit about her slight hand. /You know,” she began, /you haven’t introduced yourself yet.”
   He peered out at her from the shadow that cloaked his face. He stopped walking, stood up, and put his hand out. /My name’s Miles. What’s yours?”
   The abrupt movement surprised her and she almost walked by him. She took his hand and shook it. /My name’s Lily.” They walked on.
   “So, Miles. Tell me about yourself.” She glanced at him. Lily decided Miles probably wouldn’t be eager to answer such a general question. /I mean, where are you from?”
   “I’ve traveled a lot,” Miles said. /I was born in New York.”
   “New York City?”
   “Upstate,” he said.
   “What are you doing all the way down here?”
   “I’ve just been following my nose.”
   “Oh.” Lily had hoped that a conversation would spring up, but she knew that her questioning had gone too deep too quickly. Let motivations slide for a moment, she thought. She would focus on tangibles. /Do you travel often?”
   “Yeah. I’ve been to China in the Far East and Alaska in the west.” He paused. /Isn’t it odd, though, that China in the Far East and Alaska in the West are so close to each other?” Lily was about to interject, but he wasn’t finished. /So yes, I do travel a lot. Or I have. or I’ll continue to until I’m tired of it. And then I’ll stop.” Miles sought understanding in her eyes. He found envy and he looked away from her face.
   “That’s awesome,” she said. /I hope to travel like that some day.” They let their steps carry on the conversation. The sounds of their feet in the sand were syncopated. As they both walked quietly, neither noticed that their steps were synchronizing. Finally, Lily continued. /Are you married?” She hoped that this wouldn’t    force Miles into a longer silence.
   “No,” he replied quickly. /I was once.”
   “What happened?”
   “It was a short affair,” he said. /We hadn’t put much thought into it. It was a fad. And then she decided I’d lost whatever it was she loved me for.”
   “How long is short?”
   “Short. Less than a year.” Miles looked from Lily to the road and saw a rock outcropping. In the shade of the rocks they stopped. Lily uncapped the canteen and took a sip. Water escaped her lips and dripped onto her chest. Miles moved his hand beneath her chin and caught the last few drops. As she took the canteen her cool hand touched his. He ignored it though she tried to meet his eyes as it happened.
   “So you said you wanted to travel.” Conversation came more easily to Miles now that they sat in the shade. In the narrow blueness cast by the rock they were positioned so that they were comfortably close; their shoulders touched. /Where do you want to go?”
   “Anywhere there’s work to be done.”
   “Work?” Miles was puzzled.
   “I want to be a missionary for the church of Jesus Christ of Latter-Day Saints.”
   “You’re a Mormon?” A mixture of surprise and peculiar disappointment whistled through Miles.
   “Born and raised.” A smile flitted across Lily’s features.    “Are you religious?”
   “My wife was, once.” Miles wanted to study Lily again, but he didn’t want to seem over-interested. He was flustered to find such a religious person sitting next to him. Faith in God had never come easily to him; he was a pretentious atheist in his youth and belief seemed even more fleeting now that he’d aged.
   “You should consider getting back to God,” she said.
   “I’d rather not indulge in the opiate of the masses.” He felt cruel as he said it. Into the sun he rose, and they started to walk again.
   “I’m sorry if I made you feel uneasy.” Lily let her hand brush against his as they walked together. He let himself move away from her so they wouldn’t touch again.
   “How old are you?” Anger came out in the form of coldly asked questions.
   “I’m nineteen.” A pause.
   “What are you doing out here?”
/It’s winter break at BYU.” Miles rolled things about letting possible questions sit on the tip of his tongue. He decided to go ahead and ask the question that bothered him from the moment she had declared her religion.
   “Aren’t you a little flirtatious for someone who should remain chaste?”
   “Mormons aren’t all nerds,” she giggled. /We can still date.”
   “But with non-Mormons? What’s the point?”
   “It’s fun.”
   “But let’s say you fell in love with someone who wasn’t Mormon, and this guy would never convert to Mormonism, what would you do?”
   “I’m not interested in falling in love with anyone,” she insisted. Her voice sounded hurt and she turned to him. /If you thought ! I just thought you were an interesting guy–older, but interesting–and ! I didn’t want to ! 0 she trailed off.
   “What didn’t you want?”
   “I’m not going to answer that.” As she turned to keep walking, a tractor-trailer pulled up. The driver, mustachioed and fat, rolled down his window.
   “I hear y’all’re in a bit of jam. The bus driver said to come git you. So here I am–the cavalry. Well don’t just stand there. Git on in.” The driver laughed jovially and patted the seat next to him. It was plush blue leather and it reeked. Miles climbed in and motioned for Lily. /Hey there beautiful.” The driver greeted Lily’s entrance into the truck with a wide grin. She glared back at him. He shrugged and turned to the road; the truck splashed through ephemeral puddles of heat towards Chloride.

- Nathan Huttner