We walked the streets of Albuquerque, thick with people and belching buses,

out into the sparse regions of the citys edge. We walked past lush chili farms
and through desolate towns with only a few houses and one gas station. That
night, we stayed at the Zuni Motor Lodge and we ate in the little attached
diner. I watched the big neon sign outside the window blink as I ate my
chicken dinner. After a bubble bath and a Coca-Cola from the ice bucket, I fell
asleep to the cheerful on-again, off-again glow beyond the motel curtains.
Then, when the morning sun replaced the splash of neon, we let the desert
swallow us up again.
We spent one night on a cot in a Salvation Army shelter, where rows and
rows of small beds held tired looking women with toothless smiles and wild
hair. Another night passed on the couch of my mothers second cousins. She
was not close with them, having even to explain who we were. They looked
somewhat baffled at our dusty shoes and sunburnt faces, but they opened their
doors and offered us bedding and a share in their supper.
In the morning, we wolfed down eggs and tortillas and gratefully took the
water they offered in a plastic juice bottle. Take care of your mother, they
said, and then we were back on the road.
Again, civilization faded away and all that was left were the billboards
cautioning that this was the last chance for gas or souvenirs. Then there was
only sagebrush and barbed wire.
Several cars slowed along the highway where we walked to offer us a ride. My
mother would keep her steady pace, eyes ahead, and offer them a firm No,
thank you, and each time, my heart sank watching those cars pull away and
eventually fall into the watery horizon. She said it wasnt safe to take rides from
strangers.

As the sun dropped down the horizon, the temperature started to fall, and
there wasnt a soul as far as the eye could see. She continued to plod ahead at
that maddening, sure and relentless pace.
The sky turned inky black and the stars peeked on one by one. So many
stars, clear and bright, with no selfish moon to steal the show. It became hard
to see and I tripped on a rut in the shoulder.
She stopped, then sighed and headed down a sandy ravine that sloped away
from the highway.
Come on Q.T., lets get some sleep. She brushed an area clear and sat
down on the ground, unsnapping the travel bags shiny clasp. I sat next to her
as she started removing various pieces of clothing from the bag, including her
blue dress, a houndstooth blouse, and her black skirt.
She pulled me up close to her and draped the clothes over us, making a
patchwork quilt. She flattened the satchel and slid it under our heads as a
makeshift pillow. As we lay down, she curled around me.
How much farther, Ma? I could feel her breath against my ear.
Not very, she said.
Do you think well get there tomorrow?
Yes. Tomorrow.
Whats Gallup like?
Oh, its like anywhere, I guess. A place. She squeezed me tight. My little
doll. What would I do without you? Huh? Id be pretty lonely out here, I
guess.
Me too, I said.
See you in my cheams, I mean dreams, I mean cheams, she whispered and
giggled.

See you in mine.

I drifted off to sleep then, finally swimming and falling into unconsciousness.
I dreamed I was riding in my brothers car, Ma at the wheel, though I knew she
didnt drive. She was laughing and waving out the window, hardly watching
the road at all. Isnt it lovely, Q.T.? she shouted over the wind. Isnt it just
lovely? I was wrenched awake by the tremendous roar of an eighteen-wheeler
racing past. Light flooded the roadside, throwing long shadows against the
earth, and the wind billowed dirt, making us sputter and spit. Then, in an
instant, it was gone, leaving us with pounding hearts and gritty eyes.
She turned over stiffly, moaning through her arthritis, dislodging the
precarious blanket. I replaced the pieces, carefully arranging each scrap to cover
the two of us and draped myself over her the best I could against the cold.
Throughout the night, she would groan as she moved in stiff pain. Trucks
roared past on their way to Albuquerque or Flagstaff, hauling livestock or grain
or maybe hay. Throughout the night, I kept vigil over the shifting quilt, waking
to tug this bit here or tuck that bit there.
Slowly, the black of night receded and a thin ribbon of pink washed up the
sky. I hitched myself up on one elbow and rubbed the sleep from my eyes, my
hair damp with dew, a film of dust covering me. Ma turned over on her back
and attempted to sit up.
I got to my knees, gripping her under the elbow and eased her to her feet.
She limped around a bit, testing the temperamental hip. After long nights
working at the hospital, shed get home as the early morning light sifted
through the lace curtain in the kitchen. She would limp and grimace and sink
into a chair, her white uniform thick with the smell of illness and antiseptic.

She pulled a bit of grass from her hair, glancing at me and chuckling. Well,
that was something, wasnt it, Q.T.?
She shook out each piece of clothing, carefully folding and refilling the
satchel. She rubbed her face and slapped at her clothes, sending dust to float on
the morning chill. I pulled bits of grass and fuzz from the hem of her skirt,
patting at a few stray patches of dirt. We brushed teeth with dribbles of water
and she applied a fresh coat of lipstick, carefully lining her lips and dabbing at
the crimson strays reflected in her compact mirror. She combed my hair, wiped
down my face and neck, and handed me a tissue, instructing me to clean out
my ears.
I passed inspection and we started up the ravine to the level ground of the
highways shoulder. She pulled the water bottle and a bundle of foil-wrapped
tortillas from the satchel. She plucked one free, tore off a half, and handed it to
me. We walked at a leisurely pace, eating the bread and taking in a morning,
rare and unseen by many eyes.
We followed that stretch of highway the whole of the morning and on into
the afternoon. I counted my steps for a time, until I got distracted by a bird
that might have been a hawk or a vulture. I cursed the dot in the sky and
started over. One, two, three The sun was low in the west when a brand new,
shiny red pickup truck pulled up beside us. An Indian man, Navajo most likely,
and a woman who turned out to be his wife sat in the cab. I could feel the cool
air wafting from the interior and Hank Williams crooned softly from the radio.
Can we give you a lift? he said, as he rolled the pickup slowly alongside.
No, thank you. My mother kept her eyes on the road ahead.
Its going to be dark soon. Were heading into Gallup. You dont want to be
out here at night. It gets cold as hell.

Ma eyed him suspiciously and gave the truck a once-over.

Please, Ma, I whispered. It was the music that made me say it. The music
and that lovely, cool air, smelling like a brand new pair of shoes. I was so tired
that my bones hummed and I knew in my heart that if I had to watch that
truck pull away, then I would actually have to lay down and die.
She looked down at me and back at the man in the truck.
All right, she said. If youre going into Gallup, wed appreciate the ride.
Q.T., you get in the back. I scrambled into the truck bed and she lifted the
satchel in next to me. She pulled out a black suit jacket, with white brocade,
and covered me to my chin, where I huddled against the back window. Youll
be okay back here, she said, and she touched my cheek before climbing onto
the bench seat next to the woman. A sliding window separated the inside and
the bed of the pickup. The man opened it and gave me a little wave before
pulling onto the road. I could hear the mumble of conversation and the soft
music over the wind and most of all, I could smell the newness of everything.
I watched the end of the sun paint orange over the desert speeding past. That
red rocket never touched the ground as we raced through the beautiful evening
and I laughed as I watched the shoulder turn soft and blurry against the
blacktop.