Two Kids Under a Desert Sky

delivery

I rested my head against the windowsill, letting the stale desert air bake my brain. I just wanted to forget what I had seen. I wanted to think only of the desert, the way it rolled on for hundreds of miles all around me. I visualized the exact scene that I would find if I were to open my eyes: The dead tree across the street, it's leafless corpse sticking out of the sandy landscape. The cacti of all shapes dotting the horizon. I slowly peeled open my eyelids, and found the desert unchanged, exactly the way I had imagined it. It was comforting. If I just continued to surround myself with familiar things, maybe I could really forget it. Maybe.

My daydream was interrupted by a car pulling into our pathetically tiny parking lot. It was a red pickup. I had never seen it before. A tourist, then. Someone passing through. A man in cowboy boots and a ten gallon hat stepped out. I couldn't believe he was wearing boots in this intolerable weather. Must be a Texan, I thought to myself.

He spent a comically long time leaning against his car and trying to light a cigarette, which he puffed for all of 30 seconds before crushing it under his boot and entering the store. My mother's footsteps could be heard quickly descending the stairs, ready to meet this customer.

I played a little game with myself that I used to play often as a kid; The game entails guessing what the customer who's just entered the store will buy before they buy it. For him, I bet on a beer, a pack of beef jerky, and some cheap sunglasses.

He spent about 20 minutes inside. I didn't move from my spot at the windowsill.

I heard faint chatter downstairs. My mom had a gift for talking people into buying more things. It was a weird gift. If she offered you something, you just couldn't say no. I had attempted to fight against it many times, but it felt like every time I ventured out of my room for a simple soda, I returned with a soda, some chips, a sandwich, and a piece of fruit.

The man finally walked out of the store, and I quickly scanned his purchases to see if I had won. But he had put everything in a bag. Damn. Foiled again. Nobody won this round.

Once he had walked out, my mother called for me. I rolled my eyes as a small act of rebellion that only I could see before dragging myself away from my post at the windowsill just in time to see the red pickup truck disappearing into the distance.

"What?" I asked simply, leaning against the door frame and staring into my mother's soft brown eyes.

"I need you to run something into town for me."

She picked up a box from beside her on the counter. Judging by the heavenly smell radiating from it and the neat bow stuck to the top, it was my mother's famous chocolate chunk cookies. "Is it somebody's birthday?"

She laughed, the action causing vibrations through her body. My mother was a big woman, both vertically and horizontally, but she wore it perfectly. There wasn't a woman on Earth more beautiful than my mother. "It's for the McCulloughs."

My eyebrows knit in confusion involuntarily. "Who?"

"They live across the street from Miss Guerra."

"But nobody lives--"

"They're new in town."

"Oh."

Mom handed the box to me, and in the process I noticed that she had painted her nails a soft peach color. "Like it?" She asked with a grin, noticing my stares.

"It's lovely."

"Would you like me to paint yours later?"

I smiled. "Yes, please."

She patted me on the head. I was not big like my mother, neither vertically nor horizontally. I was barely five feet tall and barely 100 pounds. My doctor continually insisted that my mother put me on vitamins.