Love and the Sea and Everything in Between

chapter thirteen

We're on the road now, traveling I-80 East after deciding to take the long way through Nevada. Fall Out Boy plays in the background and Liz sits next to me, rocking out. I am laughing hard because she looks like a drunk monkey and it's the most carefree I've ever seen her.

Here we are, two people who've known each other for four weeks, ditching class again, and traveling interstate together, without a care in the world. We exist beyond the walls.

We are the wild things.

Making a mental note of how poetic that sounds, I promise myself that I'll add it to my journal later.

Swinging her head back and forth, Lizs hair flies in all directions, flicking my arm. I glance at her, the sound of her laughter seeping deep beneath my skin.

We drive for hours, studying the changing scenery and continuing our never-ending round of 20 Questions.

"What do you want to be when you grow up?" she asks.

"This," I say. And it's true. I want to be the carefree, adventurous, bold, wild person that I am when I'm with her. Forever. Always. I want to be like that elderly couple at the tiny, beat up, old lighthouse who never stopped going on adventures, even when their bodies failed them.

They never stopped wandering.

They never stopped wondering.

That is what I want to be. I never want this moment to leave me, but I know it will. All good things come to an end.

But for now, this is enough.

* * *

The night overtakes the day, but the stars are out now and they are brilliant. There are no cities with their pseudo-light and their pollution to block out the stars this night. It's just Liz and I and the endless desert.

As midnight draws close, I can feel myself growing tired and driving becomes challenging. So I pull off the road and onto the desert (I think we entered Nevada awhile back) and shift Gus into park.

Hopping out, I come around to the passenger side and grab a couple of blankets. I sprawl them out on the dry ground and Liz and I lay down together to watch the stars.

Without the brilliance of the stars, I imagine that the darkness would come crashing down like a tidal wave. I don't think I've ever seen such a brilliant skyscape, such infinite, boundless luminance.

"A certain darkness is needed to see the stars," she whispers beside me.

"Osho."

She nods beside me. In our silence, I begin to wonder why she pulled away when I kissed her and I almost ask, but then she's asleep and it's just the stars and I.

* * *

Friday morning, we wake to realize we slept outside all night despite the cold. I toss the blankets in the back as Liz climbs into the passenger seat.

"8:43," she says, glancing at the clock on her phone. "My phone's almost dead."

"We'll find a hotel on our way back from the Grand Canyon." Inside, I turn the ignition.

Gus leaves a trail of dust in his wake as he finds his place on US-95 South.

"Good. I'll need a shower too."

I laugh. "Me too."

Hours later, we pull into the parking lot of the Grand Canyon National Park Visitor's Center and make our way to Mather Point. Aside from Liz and I, there are only a few other people here, it still being January and all.