Sunset

The sunset was peach and red and golden, shining over the desert around us. The sun glinting just barely over the horizon, casting golden rays through the windows of my car. A 1970 Chevrolet C10 Fleetside – it used to be a bright, golden red. A colour to rival the sunset. It was my Daddy’s favourite car, and my Mama’s favourite colour.

Now it was chipped and rusty, and if I drove with the air-conditioner running then I would be covered in rusty red flakes when I climbed out.

So, no air-conditioner, the paint rusty and red and more like dirt than the sunset, but still. It had lasted this long. It could last a few more miles. I yanked the windows down another inch. The air was dry, but welcome, and with the sun setting it was slowly beginning to cool off.

I patted it gently on the dashboard. It was Daddy’s birthday. With one hand I reached down and snagged my phone, pulling it up and checking for any messages. None. No one had messaged me, asking me where I was.

I was supposed to be in Pahrump hours ago – but the traffic…Christ – forgive my language. Some poor bastard lost control and spun off the side of the highway. The other cars must have swerved to avoid it. But all they did was make it worse. Four cars, gone. Ambulances had driven past me without sirens on the way back from the crash, and I had inched past the sight, hands clenching the wheel with white knuckles.

There was still a dent in the side of the passenger door where my Daddy had spun out, and the passenger side window doesn't roll all the way down because of the mark my Mama’s head had left.

No one else had wanted the car.

Sarah – my older sister – she had wanted to burn the truck.

Jake – my younger brother – he had wanted to sell it, to pay for Mama’s funeral, and Daddy’s hospital bills.

Me? I had clutched onto the truck, and screamed whenever they got too close. It was Daddy’s favourite car, and Mama’s favourite colour, so I had buffed out the crumpled fender, got the mechanics to redo the engine, and had them repaint over all the scratches. The inside was harder, but nothing bleach and hydrogen peroxide couldn’t fix.

Beneath me, the car jerked and sputtered, and I spared a glance down at the dashboard. The check engine light had never turned off, and the speedometer didn’t really work these days, but the fuel gauge worked fine. And it was far too low. Judging by the jerking, it was empty. But normally it lasted for a few miles after it hit empty. It must have been the hours stuck in traffic. Bumper to bumper, so close to the other cars I could have reached out and touched the paint.

The wind buffeted through my hair, twisting the curls, knotting the ends. Normally I drove with my hair up and out of the way.

But it was Daddy’s birthday today, and he’d always said my hair looked best down. So I got a fresh cut and a fresh colour this morning, right before I left. And I thought – it’ll be fine. I thought – I won’t need to wind down the window, my hair can stay nice and pretty for the drive. I thought – it's only four hours, Daddy’ll love my hair, and Mama will think the colours are pretty.

But the traffic and the heat. When I wound down the window stuck on that highway, the air outside had stunk of gas and there wasn’t any wind there either. So I had crept past the cars and the slowly moving paramedics and the silent ambulances and the policemen gesturing for the cars to move past in slow movements.

I think I recognise a few of the policemen. Maybe we went to high school together? Maybe in twenty years, when I’m forty-five and wrinkling with the sun in the Mojave desert, we’ll see each other in the supermarket, and they’ll go, hey, remember me? Dave, from highschool. We had English together. Don’t you remember.

And I’ll go, no, yeah, hi Dave! It’s been so long, I barely recognised you.

And he’ll go, yeah it's been a while. How are you parents? Still driving that truck?

And I’ll go, well Daddy never recovered from the crash, and Mama…well.

And then he’ll freeze and stammer and ask after Sarah and Jake, and we’ll all pretend that everything’s fine and dandy, and I don’t feel my Daddy and Mama gone like a weight in my chest. Like a punch to the throat that forces me to the ground whenever I remember. Like a truck gone from rivalling the sunset, to blending in with the red dust buffeting into the cab with the wind.

The truck sputtered and jerked, and even with no other cars on the highway around me, I turned on my hazards and pulled over to the side of the road. I made it just in time to put the car into neutral when it shook once, before growing completely still.

I sat there, staring at the wheel, squinting in the sun. The sky was slowly purpling. I’m pretty sure the glow I could see on the horizon was Vegas. I checked my phone again. Nothing.

Not one message from Sarah or Jake. I had told them hours ago that I would be late. Traffic. A crash. A be safe from Sarah. A we’re eating the cake with or without you from Jake.

Nothing from Daddy. Nothing from Mama.

Well, Mama was in the ground, and Daddy was next to her.

I stroked a hand down the dashboard. I would call someone later. In a minute or two. I shoved open the door and climbed out. I slammed the door shut, and walked around the cab, running a hand over the gleaming metal that peaked through the red.

It was quiet out here. There was nothing but sand and dust. I sat heavily on the ground, leaning against the tire. With nothing else to do, I ran a finger through my curls. Daddy would have loved this haircut. Just below my shoulders, all the dead ends sheared right off. Mama would have loved the colour. It was red. Almost a maroon with how deep I asked them to make it.

I shook my hair, the sand falling out in clumps. My phone didn’t make a noise next to me. Not a beep or a buzz or even a chime. It was quiet. I closed my eyes and sucked in a deep breath, sand falling around me.

Engulfed in the desert's parched silence, I was nothing but another grain of sand in the wind.