Running Barefoot

I threw off my covers and showered, trying to get the sleep-deprived, hairy eyeball feeling to retreat. I was ready before Samuel got there and sat on the front porch waiting with Yazzie. He laid his big head in my lap and looked at me with mournful eyes. He knew I was going and that he wasn’t coming with me. Samuel had called after he left last night and said Nettie would come and feed the chickens and look after Yazzie. It embarrassed me a little that she knew I was going with him, although I appreciated him making arrangements for Yazzie. I wonder what she thought of his invitation. I really didn’t want to know. I hoped she would be quiet about it, but figured the entire town would know shortly. Maybe when I got back it would be old news. I sighed gustily, knowing that I was going to get curious looks for a long time for this little “adventure” Samuel had planned.

Samuel pulled up promptly at 6:00, and my heart sped up like a silly girl when he shut off his truck and stepped out, a small smile playing around his lips.

“Ready?”

I gave Yazzie a hug and a nuzzle and stepped off the porch with my bag. I may not have known exactly what to pack, but I knew enough to realize that showing up at Stella Yazzie’s hogan with a huge trunk full of clothes and toiletries would be all wrong. I’d packed as light as I possibly could.

Samuel looked at my duffle approvingly and took it from me as he eyed my worn Levi’s. I’d dressed them up a little with a gauzy white tunic and hoop earrings. I just couldn’t rough it completely. I had on a pair of sandals, too. I put my old boots behind the front seat of his truck, knowing I would need them once we got there.

“Yep, all girl,” Samuel smirked.

“Hey, I can ride a horse, muck out the stalls, milk a cow and fight off ornery chickens, Mister,” I said tartly. “I just like dressing like a girl. I spent too many years wearing my brother’s old clothes. Do you have a problem with that?”

“No ma’am. I definitely don’t have a problem with the way you look,” Samuel replied, all signs of teasing gone from his voice.

I swallowed hard and tried not to smile.

Samuel had gassed up the truck before he’d come for me, and there was a Diet Coke in the cup holder waiting for me, as well as a heavenly smell coming from a brown bag sitting on the seat.

“Sweaty Betty’s cinnamon rolls!” I yelped, recognizing the aroma.

“What did you just call her?” Samuel raised his eyebrows as he slammed his door and started up the truck.

I filled him in on Betty’s unfortunate nickname as I happily munched on the warm, sticky piece of paradise.

“I wish I’d known her nickname before I inhaled three of those rolls.” Samuel shuddered in mock horror.

“If you’ve lost your appetite I still have room for this last one,” I supplied, licking my fingers. “Say what you want about Levan, but it definitely has its perks. Sweaty Betty’s cooking is one of them, sweat and all.”

“Honestly, I have nothing but good things to say about Levan.” Samuel rested his forearms against the steering wheel, settling in for the long drive.

“Really?” I was a little surprised. I remembered how his grandmother’s words at my kitchen table so many years ago had left a different impression. “Do you think you would ever want to live here?” As soon as the words left my mouth I viciously regretted them, realizing how eager and desperate I must seem - like a woman who was already making wedding plans and looking at houses. I hadn’t meant it like that.

Samuel stared out his window for a minute and then looked at me soberly, his eyebrows drawn down in a slight V.

“No Josie. I don’t think I’d want to live here,” Samuel said softly.

I considered opening the door and hurling myself out onto the highway. I bit down on the urge to explain myself, realizing that anything I said would just dig the hole deeper. I finished my cinnamon roll without enjoying it and gulped down half of my Diet Coke. The awkward silence between us remained for many miles as the morning sun climbed sluggishly above the hills and stretched its long arms across the sleepy valley to the left of the long stretch of I-15 we traveled along. We would be traveling on I-15 for 90 miles until we turned off onto I-70 and traveled east towards Moab, cutting down through Monument Valley and into Arizona.

We finally relaxed into conversation, and I relinquished my discomfort as he shared experiences of his life in the military. I tried to find humorous anecdotes from daily life in Levan. We had led very different lives for the past few years, but somehow I didn’t feel alienated from him because of his experiences like I once had when I’d read his letters. I just wanted to know more, to understand him better.

We stopped for a late lunch in Moab but were on the road again within fifteen minutes, fast food between us. Samuel wanted to reach his grandmother’s before we ran out of daylight, and we had a ways to go yet. The landscape had steadily grown more stark and dramatic. Huge plateaus and jutting mountains thrust upwards out of the flats, like enormous castles coated in thick red rock. I’d often wondered how the fleeing Mormons had felt when their leader had declared that the Salt Lake Valley was “the place.” They’d traveled so far and long, suffering terribly, only to wind up in a rather barren, treeless, waterless valley. How their hearts must have trembled within them and how despair must have threatened to overcome them. But they’d prospered. I wondered now how the ancient indian tribes had existed and thrived in this desert landscape. However breathtaking and majestic it might be, it was completely inhospitable. I must have mused aloud, because Samuel leaned into the wheel and his eyes narrowed on the scenery around us as he began to talk.