US 285, New Mexico
Inspiration for this story comes from the photo US 285, New Mexico by Robert Frank from his photo essay The Americans.
U.S. 285, New Mexico
by Ibrahim O
What was it I saw that night?
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The road was wide and ran on forever. Marie-Lise held on tight and Lisette tore down the highway, through the dark. I revved her up, faster and faster, and Marie-Lise, she laughed nervously in my ear.
We had just gotten married. It was our honeymoon. Big Horn then Story. Past Kaycee and Casper. Over the Hills through the Springs. Cheyenne-Littleton-Pueblo. Cimarron down to White Rock. Then? Ancuna maybe. Sabinas. Monclova. Wherever. Saltillo. And on and on, till death do us part.
There was no place to sleep, so we kept riding. We eventually pulled over and made love by some shrubs. Holding her, naked, sleeping, I stared into space and wondered. Really wondered. Why can’t you taste your tongue? I wanted to wake her and ask.
I wasn’t tired. Just itching for more. I wanted to light a fire and eat peyote and speak with the gods. And I wanted her there.
The night was long and the sky, the sky was wow. A million billion cheeky stars winking and waving down from some million billion miles above, while the Deep brimmed with unknown knowledge, giving vague hints in shades of blacks and blues and purple. I wondered where the sky ended and space & the cosmos began, or was it all one?
We’d have to wake up early tomorrow and find food, money. There were a couple of towns up ahead we could hit. We played music to get by. Me on the guitar and Marie-Lise on her washboard. If that didn’t cut it, we’d steal. Did that make us bad people? If there were a God, would he forgive us, or was our love enough to save us? Were we already forgiven and didn’t even know it? I don’t know. I don’t know.
I wondered how long this could last. I needed sleep, but the road kept calling. I lay there, ready to burst with piss and booze and life. I went on a cactus and had a smoke. I thought about all the places we’d been, everything we’d seen, the people we’d met. I stared into the dark and wondered. What could it all mean?
It got damn cold, my jacket wasn’t enough. I looked up and down the road. It was so still. Quiet. Where was everyone? My mind kept chattering. I think too much, that’s what Marie-Lise tells me. Enjoy life more, she says. How?
Marie-Lise was still sleeping when I got back. She was soft and warm and I loved her. She was bunched up against the cold with the warmest smile I’d ever seen. I wish she could’ve seen herself. I took a photo, a Polaroid, but it didn’t develop. It was too dark. That’s when I saw It. The....?
I thought it was a star. But it was moving fast. Fast. I shook Marie-Lise, called to her. She held onto me, told me to sleep. No. Look. You’ve got to see this. I point. It’s already moved from where I last saw. It was getting lower, heading in our direction. It was damn bright. The sky glowed. Was this it? Marie-Lise screamed and I held onto her, ready.
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It streaked past us. The wind picked up and sent our shit flying. It kept going. Faster and faster. I hopped onto Lissette, revved her up. Marie-Lise screamed for me to stop, where are you going? I’ll be right back, I told her. I need to see this. And then It was gone.
It was quiet, dark again. Like nothing had ever happened. We just stood there, stuck. Marie-Lise walked towards me. I could only make out her figure. Was that even her?
You okay? We hugged. She was cold and sweaty, sticky. She wasn’t sleepy anymore. We searched the skies, but saw nothing. I didn’t know what to say. All I knew to do was hold her. She was shaking so much. We both were. I took a swig from the bottle we saved for special occasions and offered her some. I lit a cigarette, got dressed. It was time to move.
We got on Lisette and took off. The sun began to rise. The sky turned light, pink, and the stars, space & the cosmos faded away.
Back on earth, Marie-Lise nuzzled my neck. We picked up speed and were getting good air. She gave a small squeeze, what’d you think it was? I shrugged and kept going.
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If you ask me, I’d swear it was aliens.
Ibrahim O is a NYC based writer and filmmaker. He likes ramen, udon and pappardelle noodles.