I’d rehearsed my lines about the attack well enough that I could explain what happened without freezing up, getting defensive, or, God forbid, crying. I’d gone into the desert to do something stupid, a wolf attacked me, I nearly died. By the time I’d gotten out of the hospital, we’d moved to New Orleans, and I’d never been near a desert or a dog since. There it was, the whole stupid string of events. But beyond the basic info, it was hard to dish.
The first half of my life was spent in New Mexico, in a church at the edge of the desert. It was one of those old Spanish, adobe missions, perched on a hillside. It had been abandoned by the priests more than a century ago, and had sat alone and untouched in the wastelands until Val found it and fixed it up 18 years ago. It was an unconventional home, a fitting setting for an unconventional childhood. I had loved it, and the desert it ruled over, desperately, passionately, and unconditionally. That love, and the trust that went with it, had ultimately been my undoing.
I never suspected how dangerous it really was. Back then, I was invincible. I was a child. I was immortal. The desert was my closest friend and confidant in my childish, overly romantic mind. And even if there was danger, the saints would protect me.
I did not grow up in a religious house. Granted, we lived in a church, but to the Mom’s thinking, that was the beginning and end of spirituality in our lives. But still, it was a church. There were tiny alcoves and cabinets all around the house, with the statues of saints still inside. The Spanish monks had left them behind when they fled, and they added a sense of mysticism to the homestead. When I was bored, I’d run all over the house and try to find new statues and hidden cubbyholes. Before going out into the desert, I would leave offerings of cactus flowers and pretty rocks I’d found. In New Mexico, those ancient icons and childish superstitions formed my faith.
What did I do in the desert? Good question. I never really did anything. I’d kick off my shoes and walk barefoot across the parched earth. Sometimes I’d pretend I was a lost princess or an evil witch, banished to the waste. Sometimes I was a desert thief, and lost traders and merchants would have to kowtow to me so that I’d guide them back to civilization. But most of the time, I didn’t think of anything. I just walked, mind and feet bare to whatever the hot sun brought me.
The hot sun brought me to carcasses and vulture feathers, which I’d collect and make jewelry from. It brought me to monolithic rock formations, jutting out of a flat terrain like a knife or a broken bone. It brought me to the mouths of caves, which I’d wander into without a flashlight and wander back out of with only a few scraps and scratches on my knees. It brought me back home, mostly unharmed, and I’d thank the saints for keeping the Mom’s from knowing.
Somewhere along the line, I’d heard that snake venom, when mixed with nail polish, made the colors even brighter. Like an idiotic little sister, I told the Twins about this factoid. They wanted to try it. So I was sent out into the desert with gardening gloves and pickle jars to hunt up snakes and scorpions and whatever else might be poisonous. Meanwhile, they kept the Mom’s occupied and distracted from the fact that little 7 year old me was on the lookout for neurotoxins.
Needless to say, I succeeded. I won’t bore you with too many details. The Twins stole some chemistry equipment from their middle school, and hand copied notes about venom and the practical application to make-up from library books. After a year of trial and error and hiding snake skins from the Mom’s, we had a product. The Twins ran the business aspect. They found buyers, set prices, and kept school officials in the dark about the cottage industry doing business in girls’ bathrooms and locker rooms. And I made the product, mostly nail polishes with very vibrant, unique colors.
I was happy to do it too. Sure, the Twins never gave me a fair share of the profit – back then, I still hadn’t learned the valuable tool of blackmail – but I got paid in other ways. The other girls stopped teasing me. The middle school and high school girls who had boyfriends made sure I wasn’t bullied and got an escort when walking to the bus stop. If only I’d had that sort of protection in the desert.
I was nine, and the landscape was as familiar to me as my own face. I knew the boroughs of the different animals. I knew by tracks when the coyotes were passing through. I knew by the number of vultures how big a carcass was. So in theory, I should’ve known there was a wolf wandering around. That’s what I kept telling myself. But I didn’t know about the wolf. I just knew that my heart stopped when I saw the shadow of a rock I’d passed a thousand times before rise up into a black, living mass.
This happened in the morning. No one found me until it was nearly sunset. I spent 12 hours under a May sun, and while May sounds nice in the Northeast, in New Mexico, it may as well be summer. I was alone, bleeding from under my right armpit to my hip, with organs ready to fall out if I moved. I couldn’t move. I didn’t move. I lay there, watching the vultures circle me, feeling the sun bake me. Fillet Fignon.
I’ve read a lot of survivor stories, where the injured would fade in and out of consciousness from dehydration and pain. I wasn’t one of those. I was awake and aware of the pain at all times. The only respite came sometime in the afternoon. An old man had seen me while he was out looking for his terrier that had wandered off. He went home, called the authorities to let them know there was the body of a little girl in the desert, and then came back to get a better look and make sure the police came. When he saw I was still alive, he sat with me. He talked and kept me company while we waited for rescue. The pain didn’t lessen any, and he didn’t have any water - not would I let him get some; that would mean he’d leave for a moment and I’d be by myself again - but it was nice knowing that I wouldn’t die alone.
He told me about his dog and his wife who’d died of consumption years and years ago. He told me about following fallen stars way out in the valleys and canyons. All sorts of things were said, secrets of the land shared, which I forgot over the months of pain meds and psych evaluations. I never saw the old kook again, didn’t even catch his name. I’d asked the Mom’s and the doctors about him once or twice, but never got any answers. After a few weeks, I forgot to ask. Morphine fueled my youthful self-centeredness and it was easy to overlook the debt I owed to the old geezer. Meanwhile, the Twins had started Bitter Irony, the Mom’s were moving us to New Orleans, life moved on, and by the time I was healthy enough to go look for him myself, I was in a whole new time zone.
Reminiscing had left me a little jittery. I couldn’t keep my hands from spasming and jerking around in sculpture. My distraction was obvious. Mr. J knew better than to call on me during class, and when everyone else was occupied, he pulled me aside to ask if I wanted to go to the nurse or a guidance counselor. I didn’t want any of that. I just wanted to finish the day out and go home where I could sulk in peace and quiet.
I survived until dismissal. Iris had noticed that I was out of it. She grabbed me before I got on my bus. We stood there for a minute. She didn’t seem to know what to say or do, like she’d only planned up to getting my attention but not past that. Personally, I had nothing left to say. Sulking was my top priority for the afternoon.
“We should go out Friday.” The words seemed to surprise her as she said them, but she seemed to catch on to herself pretty quickly. “I’m betting you haven’t seen too much of the city yet, right? I mean, you’re still pretty fresh and all….” Iris trailed off not quite sure what she was saying. My bus driver was yelling at me to hurry up.
“Friday!” she suddenly yelled. “Friday after school, Ian and I will ride down with you to the Inner Harbor and we’ll show you around. There’re some places I know you’ll love.”
The driver yelled again, and I stepped towards the door. “Sure, sounds like fun. I’ll talk to you about it later, ‘kay?” I waved and stepped on the bus. Iris stood outside the closed doors for a minute, looking unsure. I saw Ian come drag her to their bus as mine pulled away from the curb.
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