A blond woman in her late 30s scrambled to make the bus before the door closed. She wore old jeans, a t-shirt, short jacket, and carried a rucksack. Her hair was slightly messy and thin lines were showing under her eyes. It was a desolate Greyhound station in Bakersfield, California.

She got into the bus and thought that she had to hold on to something because they would be driving any time now. The bus did not move. So the woman began looking for her seat instead. All the time checking her ticket which, it seemed, she had great difficulty in reading.

She found an empty seat – it was one of two in the entire bus. On the seat beside it an old lady was seated already. She had completely white-gray hair and was dressed in a blue nylon dress that looked at least 30 years old.

The dress also looked noble in a strange kind of way, the young woman thought. Then she thought about her troubles again:

“ … this ticket is unreadable,” the young woman mumbled. “Is … is this seat taken?”

“No, it is not,” the old lady answered. She had a faint accent.

The young woman sighed deeply: “Oh, thank god … I’ll just have to move if somebody comes around. But there should be at least one seat for me in this bus.”

“Of course, there is,” the old lady said. I have taken the bus many times. So many never show up. You will be fine.”

“With my luck,” the younger woman said, “it’s probably Mr. Texas Ranger down there.” She nodded at a red-haired Chuck Norris-type, slouched in his seat a little further down the aisle, seemingly guarding the only other remaining empty seat in the bus. “But I’m not gonna go and ask him… not until I have to.” She smiled hesitantly.

The old lady just smiled back.

“So, uh, I’m off at Yuma, the end of the line,” the younger woman said, once she had captured the seat. “You heading for L.A.?”

“No,” the elderly woman replied. “I am going to Salton City, but I had an old friend who lived in Yuma. You live there, too?”

“Yeah, I live in Yuma – I mean outside Yuma.”

“That is a fun coincidence. So you are going home?”

“ … I guess. Well, I mean – I am going home.”

“Good for you!” The old lady smiled brightly, but sincerely.

“So,” the younger woman said, still hesitantly, “ – you’re not going to see your, uh, friend in Yuma this time then?”

The old lady’s smile became tinged with sadness. “Oh, no. Greta died over 17 years ago. But she lived for a long time in Yuma, 35 years. Her husband worked in the municipality.”

“I’m sorry … “ The young woman suddenly felt guilty.

“No need to,” said the elderly woman. “It is life. What is your name, honey?”

“Carrie.” She extended her hand slowly. “Carrie Reese.”

“Anne Beier,” said Anne, receiving Carrie’s hand.

“That sounds … Dutch?” Carrie said.

“Well, my middle name is Wilders; that is Dutch, but the Beier is from my late husband. He was German.”

She seemed to light up a bit more again.

“But you’re American?” Carrie said, knitting her brow slightly, “I mean … did you come here later or – “

“I am American now,” Anne said. “But I was born in Germany. Are you originally from Yuma?”

“Ha-ha no – “ Carrie shook her head and then looked out the window for a few seconds “I don’t think you can guess where I’m from.”

“Oh, this is fun.” Anne shone with genuine enthusiasm now. “Are you from North Carolina?”

Carrie was about to answer when a tall, mustached man made his way into the bus: “Just a sec – driver! Yes, here. This is seat 20A, right?”

The driver who had a small self-made sign on his uniform saying ‘I’m Ernest H – your God’- came down and looked at Carrie, then at her ticket, like a detective surveying a potential suspect. Then, after due consideration, he concluded:

“Sure is, ma’am. Says so right there.”

He pointed at a faded, nearly invisible number on the side of the luggage rack.

“Right.” Carrie gritted her teeth. “Thanks … Sorry … “ She quickly looked at Anne again. “Uh, North … “

“Carolina?” Anne said.

“Carolina? Oh no … 2 guesses more!”

“I’m afraid I will use them to no avail,” Anne replied, still smiling.

“Okay … “ Carrie breathed in: “Scotland.”

“Ah!” Anne exclaimed.

“Moved here when I was 15. My mom’s American, though.”

“That explains why you have no accent,” Anne said. “My children say I sound like the former governor Schwarzenegger.”

“That’s mean,” Carrie said, sincerely.

“Zhey mean nozing by it,” Anne quipped.

Carrie shook her head. “It’s a compliment that I have no accent. I think I sound a bit too Southern now, or maybe not Southern enough … depending on who you ask. Oh, thank god – we’re moving now … “

‘God’ had finally started the bus and it began to roll over the parking lot, heading for the exit.

“So … where did you say you were heading?” Carrie asked, not sure if it was embarrassing she couldn’t remember.

““Salton City,” Anne said.

“Oh yeah. Right.”

Carrie frowned to herself. She always had trouble remembering details like names, jobs, and itineraries. Jon’s sister always made a point of mentioning this particular challenge of Carrie’s at the family get-togethers. After a few years of sincerely trying to improve her memory in this department, Carrie had just made a point of being even more forgetful of those details. 

“Salton City… “ Carrie tried again. “I think I’ve heard of it but … “

“It is a small community by the Salton Sea,” Anne said.

Oh … right. That abandoned, or nearly abandoned, place?”

“Quite right,” Anne nodded. “And you are going to Yuma. How is it in Yuma?”

“Well … “ Carrie said “ – it’s very, very hot — most of the year. And we’ve got all the immigrant problems of course. Not that I mind – immigrants, I mean. Not as much as certain people mind … “

“We are immigrants both of us,” Anne said.

“Right,” Carrie nodded. “But I wouldn’t want to crawl under any fence to get here. I should feel lucky … for me, it was just a 10-hour plane flight from Glasgow to JFK.”

Something in that last remark seemed to light Anne’s smile even more, but it was so brief that Carrie wasn’t sure if it was just her imagination. Perhaps it was.

“When did you, uh, come to the US?” Carrie asked.

“I arrived in 1982,” Anne replied “ – so I have been here for a while.”

“1995 was my year,” Carrie said.

“What do you do for a living, Carrie?”

“I … am currently looking for a job. Been looking for a while actually … “ She gazed out the window again.

“You will find a job,” Anne said. “I’m sure. What would you like to do?”

“Uh, would you like to know? It’s kind of silly… Silly in today’s job market, I guess.”

“I don’t mean to pry, honey.”

“Nono – “ Carrie said quickly, “ – you’re not prying. I mean, God, who’s not unemployed these days, right?”

“I know I am!” Anne said, closing with her little dry laugh.

“I have a law degree,” Carrie said quietly. “Almost, I mean.”

“Lawyers are popular here in California,” Anne added.

“I bet they are.”

“Maybe you can work here, then? Not too far away from Yuma, I’d say. San Diego perhaps … ”

Carrie seemed to consider this thoroughly, even though she had already considered it a thousand times and each time reached the same conclusion.

“I don’t know, actually,” she then said. “I don’t think it’s … doable … anymore. It’s been almost 10 years since I dropped out of college … Never got to the bar or anything. But I have done some law stuff since. Volunteering for OMAC – you know OMAC?”

“No, is it Irish?” Anne was serious.

“It’s some crazy Spanish acronym for … well, it doesn’t matter,” Carrie said. “They give legal counseling to immigrants who just came over – legally or illegally. So most of what I do know about law I didn’t learn at university.”

“That is very impressive,” Anne said, still sincere.

“What … did you do before you retired, if you don’t mind me asking?”

“Oh… I was to be a seamstress, but I too ‘dropped out’, as you say. So I have worked my whole life as a washing lady, and when I came here I managed to open my own dry cleaners after a few years of saving up.”

“Do you still have it?”

Anne shook her head lightly. “I am retired. For almost 10 years. It was in Capistrano, in the south of California. Very beautiful place, if you ever pass by.”

“I wouldn’t mind having my own business…” Carrie mused and then quickly added “- not law! Guess I should try something new.”

“It was a big step for me,” Anne said thoughtfully, “but a good one. Otherwise, I would have been very much poor now.”

“You … said you lived in Germany?” Carrie looked at her. “Was it … during the war?”

“I lived in Berlin during the war.”

“Must’ve been hard … “

“It was terrible. I don’t like to talk much about it. ”

“ – sorry … “ Carrie looked down.

“No, no, do not worry,” the old woman added quickly. “I guess I should talk about it. It is just strange that it is now history. And on the satellite TV all the time … “

“My granddad, on the Scottish side, he was in a German prison camp during the war.”

Anne’s eyes widened. “Well, there’s something to be genuinely sorry about.”

“Don’t be,” Carrie said quickly. “It wasn’t even the Germans’ fault. They left his regiment, I forget its name, at some beach in France – during that evacuation – what was it – Dunkirk, I think. Never was good at history. Anyway, I’m not sure if somebody up high decided to leave them behind or if it was because of the general chaos at the time – an accident or something. He never liked to talk about it, too – but … they were left behind, back against the sea and all, the German troops closing in. But they weren’t killed … not all of them … And he got home again, after the war.”

“I am still sorry for him.”

“Thanks … “ Carrie said, not knowing where to look. “ … I guess. So … uh … now that we’re talking about ‘real problems’… would you mind me asking you something? A little crazy …. “

“Yes, yes … “ Anne took a Kleenex from her bag, dotted her eyes.

“ – You mustn’t take this the wrong way … “

Anne smiled again: “Ask away!”

“Did you, uh, ever want to be something else than a laundry owner?”

Anne looked as if she thought about it for a moment, then she said: “Well, I was a wife. A mother and a divorcee as well. I wanted all of those and got them.”

“Divorcee?” Carrie blurted. “Did you want that too?”

“Yes. I always say – “ Anne seemed to lapse into a very Californian accent – “ … my husband was a Nazi. Literally.”

“Really?” Carrie frowned.

“It is a Californian joke.”

“Ah, Californian jokes … “ Carrie looked out the window again, but only because she didn’t feel that it was right to look anywhere else. She felt slightly embarrassed for some reason she couldn’t exactly pinpoint.

“I suppose it works better with other old fossil expats,” Anne added hesitantly. “He was a soldier during the war; there was no choice.”

“Yes, I guess so … “ Carrie said. Then she looked at Anne again: “But I – I have a choice. And you, you did have a choice as well, I mean about the laundry… sorry, maybe that was a bad comparison.”

“Yes,” Anne said and nodded firmly, “but you must remember I was 57 when I came to America, so it seemed difficult to start over with something new. And I like laundry and clothes. And Californians have very pretty dresses. Very rich. Silk … “

“Yeah … “ Carrie muttered.

“What does Jon do?” Anne asked suddenly.

“Oh,” Carrie said. “He, uh, works at the border patrol. He’s an officer.”

“That sounds dangerous.”

“Don’t remind me.”

“And you have children, yes?”

“Two of them.”

“How old?”

“Emma – 5 and 10 months, as she would insist “ – a vague smile crept over Carrie’s lips, as she added this “ – getting all the months taken into account. And Michael – 3.”

“My youngest is called Michael as well,” Anne said.

“Really? We just picked it because Jon had an uncle called Michael, whom he liked. And I got to choose Emma – from my great-grandmother.”

“I had to change when I came here, “ Anne said. “I like Anne now, but I was once called Irmgard … “

“Irmgard?” Carrie repeated, “That’s nice.” Then she hesitated: 

“It’s pretty crazy… I never tell anyone about Scotland.” Carrie instinctively lowered her voice, but without really wanting to.

“I’m old enough to be allowed a little craziness,” Anne quipped and smiled mischievously. “Aren’t you?”

Carrie seemed taken aback by this. She wanted to say something but she found that she couldn’t. The bus drove past another sign.

“I think the L.A. station is coming up,” Carrie then said. “First stop … “

*

The bus was going nowhere – again. Another problem with the engine, Ernest growled from his driver’s throne. Carrie got off the bus and over to the parking lot for more water.

There was a McDonalds at the other end. Most of the others went out, too. But Carrie came back in again. It was like entering an oven. She tapped the air conditioner. It was as dead as the engine. The old woman – Anne – didn’t seem affected, though. Not yet.

“Sorry if it’s not too cold,” Carrie said and handed Anne her plastic bottle. “It looked as if the fridge in there wasn’t working properly.”

“Thank you, honey,” Anne said and drank.

“Damn,” Carrie muttered under her breath. “Jon’s not gonna think the world of me if I come late back to Yuma again. He’s drowning in work these days and first Emma had the flu and Michael – “

“The bus will probably be going again soon,” Anne says quietly. “I don’t think you will be too badly delayed. Was he very upset when you called?”

“No … he sounded very calm about it. But that’s usually a sign … that he is biting on something.”

“He has a temper, your Jon? Some men do.”

“You know,” Carrie said, very still, as she sat down again “ – he is so controlled, at home – usually. But then there are these small eruptions … like he’s holding something back. God, it would be easier if I had a job … then the bargaining would be more equal if you know what I mean?”

Anne nodded while looking out the window. The car park off the highway was almost empty. “It is important to feel equal,” she then said. “Even if you’re not. Hans and I used to fight a lot.”

“What did you fight about?”

Anne laughed her little dry laugh: “- Anything we could make up as an excuse! I think it was just that we weren’t very good friends, and didn’t like each other a lot.”

“But you were married … for how long?”

“29 years.”

Carrie’s eyes widened. ‘I’m 32 … ‘ she was just about to say, but didn’t.
“It is a long story,” Anne continued calmly. “You have to remember it was … different back then.”

“How was it different … ?” Carrie asked, very quietly.

“We got married in 1943. I had received a letter that I would have to go work at a munitions factory near the front. If I were married, I could stay in Berlin and work instead. Hans was on leave from the Russian front and had few illusions left. He could do me a favor, so we got married.”

Carrie suddenly felt a slight chill, although it was getting hotter and hotter. On the freeway outside the parking lot, thousands of cars moved in small jerks and bits along in endless lines under a blazing midday sun, getting closer to Los Angeles by the meter, not by the mile.

“ … But you stayed together for 29 years …” she managed to say.

“Yes,” Anne said, without emotion. “But you have to remember that when he returned – after a few years of imprisonment in the USSR – I was extremely proud to be a young, married mother in Berlin in 1946. All my girlfriends were either widows or looking forward to spinsterhood. There weren’t many young men around …”

Carrie found herself smiling faintly but quickly suppressed it.
Anne continued: “I think Hans liked it too. We had children; who took up our time. And after a few years ,we stopped arguing anyway. When the children were grown, we split up.”

Carrie looked out the window again: “I … just met Jon, while I was waiting tables. It was in Flagstaff – Arizona. He worked there for a while. But ‘it’ happened quickly, you know?

He … I think what I needed at the time was somebody to help me get away from the ‘munitions factory’, not waiting tables. It was hard but I had nothing against that. But my life felt like a bloody war zone until then and I needed stability. Does that make sense?”

“Absolutely,” Anne said, smiling a bit herself at the question. “I know how you felt. Going out one Friday determined to get married was one of the strangest things I ever did myself. But I felt I had to. I didn’t want to go east.”

Carrie still felt the chill: “But you had no choice. I could have waited – I should have waited until I knew what I wanted with my life, how to pick up the pieces. Maybe start something up myself, you know, like your laundry? But then, suddenly Emma was there, ready to ‘join the world’… it wasn’t planned but I love her so much today, I don’t know how I could live without her, my daughter!”

“I think that is why we stayed together,” Anne remarked. She was also looking out at the endless lines now. “ – Not for the kids, but because of the kids. And if you had waited, perhaps you would still be waiting?”

“Perhaps … More than likely. I never had much luck with men. And Jon is a good, good man. I’m sorry if I left another impression.”

“You didn’t – not at all. Only a good man can hold on to a good woman. Hans was a good man too. We just argued a lot.”

“Anne … I want to ask you – if you don’t mind … how did you figure out you would start your own? Was it like in Berlin – a necessity, or did you want it I mean? Were you tired of working for someone else?”

Anne seemed to let her mind wander for a few seconds, then she said with much firmness: “I think it was coming to America. I didn’t want to work to make someone else rich; it felt awkward. So after a few years, I went to the bank and got a loan. And started on my own. Never regretted that I must say.”

Carrie nodded: “Dave – that’s my brother-in-law – he says I should start on my own, but I don’t know really what I should start. I want to, though. In some ways, it seems like a short cut but maybe I am deluding myself. Not many ‘great jobs’ in Yuma for a college drop-out … ”

“No,” Anne said. “ – It is hard here, not much help from the state. What do you do well, other than that law business – which you said you wouldn’t want to start up on your own?”

“I, uh … not that’s silly.” Carrie shook her head.

“Don’t worry,” Anne chuckled. “ – It is just us girls here. Everyone else is over at that McDonald’s.”

Carrie took a deep breath: “I … draw. Or did. I haven’t touched a pen in 5 years or so … I was quite good at portraits though. But I mean, could I make a living of that? Who would?”

“I don’t know much about art,” Anne said pensively “ – but I know that there are some very rich – and some very poor – artists. And sometimes I don’t quite understand how it works. I should like to see one of your drawings, though.”

“ … Thanks,” Carrie said with sincerity. “I had a huge argument with Dave about it when we were in Philly for his birthday in March. He worked for years swiping floors, but he never gave up hope. He draws, too you know but much – much more pro. He got a job at some big company in NYC because he pestered them about it long enough. I don’t want to draw like that… entertainment, comics, and stuff but I can’t help feeling that when I draw… No, I don’t know what I feel. More ‘myself’ I guess … crap, I’m rambling … ”

“No, no. I feel the same way with photographs. I would never want it to be my living.”

“You take photos -?”

“Yes. It started when I was young. That is why I am going to Salton City – to take pictures. When I could still drive, I used to go all over. Now, not so much – but this I wanted to do.”

“Oh – what is there to photograph in Salton? I heard, well, excuse me. I didn’t hear the most flattering things about the place.”

“Yes,” Anne said. “But I like photographing … how you say … desolate? … places.”

“Wow … I mean, like ghost towns and stuff?”

“I think it comes from taking pictures in Europe after the war.”

“Oh wow… I should … I would like to see some of those. Even though they’re probably not very ‘nice’.”

“That’s where I taught myself, so I guess that is what my eye is best for.”

“Okay … wow.”

There was quiet for a while on the bus. Everyone else had indeed gone to the nearby McDonalds, while Ernest the driver walked around in little circles outside and barked in his cell phone at the people at the office who would not send him a replacement bus. It seemed like the whole world was against Ernest today.

“I only have very few photos left,” Anne then said. “Most got lost when I moved to the US.”

Carrie swallowed: “I have … some drawings left. In the attic. I found some just the week before we went to Philly. I don’t think I would’ve moped about it if I had not gone up to look for that … whatever it was. It certainly wasn’t my old box of drawings. But …” she let her hand run through her hair for God knows what time.

“I can send you one in the mail,” Anne offered. It was a genuine offer. Carrie could hear that easily. But something about it made her feel sad.

“That would be so … nice,” she said. “I’ll give you my address — before I get off. But I was thinking… a friend … once said to me: ‘Your problem, Carrie, is that you hold yourself back – all the time.’ She was drunk but I knew she was right. She may be right. I just wish … I wish I knew why … ”

“Why she said it? Or why do you hold yourself back?”

“Why the last … but maybe sometimes there is no answer. Maybe it’s just the way we are – from the beginning. Sometimes a person is in a certain way and that can’t be changed. They just don’t … have it. The overview. I dunno … ”

“I don’t think you are holding yourself back,” Anne said and sipped water from her plastic bottle. “We have had a nice conversation; you are very kind to a strange old lady. You love your husband and your kids. You dream of drawing. How is that holding back?”

“ … But that’s just … well, that’s just the way one should be. I mean – the way I want to be – to others. I want to give something good to others. even the small things. But … ”

“It seems you are,” Anne said and coughed a little. “At least you have made my trip better, and you have patiently listened to my stories of the old times. I remember how hard that is when you are young.” The cough turned into her little dry laugh again.

“I think you got it backward,” Carrie said wryly. “I had you listen to me all the time!”

“Maybe I don’t mind?” Anne said and began pulling herself up from her seat.

“I have to get some new handkerchiefs,” she said, arms shaking a bit while she supported herself on the handle of the bus seat. “I’m afraid they are in my bag in the compartment – probably in the bottom of it.”

“Let me – ”

Carrie had Anne sit down at the other seat across the aisle, then swung herself out from her window seat and wrenched open the compartment. She found the bag. It was small and made of black leather and had a very finely ornamented lock clip in the middle. It looked silvery.

Anne got the bag and rummaged around in it until:

“Ach – I think I forgot extra handkerchiefs. I always forget those.”

“Should I go get some for you?” Carrie offered.

“When have you last bought paper handkerchiefs at McDonalds, dear?”

“I could get some, er, napkins.”

“It is all right. I’ll be fine.”

“But I – ”

Suddenly the front door opened and Ernest’s voice roared:

“–They are sending a replacement bus. You ladies might as well start gathering your stuff first. I’ll go in and get the others.”

He sounded without a doubt victorious. Sweat sprang in thick pearls from his fat face.

He grinned at Carrie and Anne and then closed the door.

Carrie breathed deeply again, as if mustering strength. Then she began jerking her own bag out from the compartment: “It must have been hard …” she said, without looking back at Anne “ – Harder than I can imagine – in your youth, I mean. But I’m grateful too… I guess I just need to get my head together. Maybe nothing is holding me back from anything. Except this damn rucksack!”

“A new bus! I think it is wonderful!” Anne quipped, with sincere delight. “Maybe the air conditioner will be working again in the new bus!”

“Yeah,” Carrie said and tore loose her bag. “ – The small things usually work … Now maybe we’ll finally come to our destination …”

*

“Jon is gonna be so pissed.”

“Have you tried calling him again?”

“I’m working on that part.”

“I’m sure he’ll understand.”

“I know he will. But he is gonna be pissed at first.”

The new bus had come to Salton City and apparently, it was not going on from there for the next 2 hours.

“Gotta have my scheduled break,” was all the new driver had said. He was a big black man with a left eye that looked like it once had met a boxer’s fist. Ernest H – ‘Your God’ – had gone back to Bakersfield when the new bus came to pick them up at the parking lot outside Palm Springs. All the passengers were weary, but some were not too weary to complain loudly over this new, unexpected stop.

“And I’m due in Mexicali for a meeting,” a pale-looking, freckled woman of about Carrie’s age snorted but didn’t say anymore as if inviting everyone to guess how important the meeting was but not why someone due for an important meeting had to go to it in a Greyhound bus.

A fat Texan man in a crisp white shirt and tie argued for a long time with the new driver until he, too, had to give up on the imperatives of regulation.

“Look here,” the driver said with finality, “I’ve been going on for 10 hours until I had to pick up your lot in Palm. Do you want to be in Mexicali 2 hours later, or do you want to be in a ditch somewhere because I fell asleep behind the wheel?”

The fat Texan didn’t answer. He went out of the bus instead, growling to himself.

A dark-haired girl sitting on the first seat, on the right side of the aisle almost next to the driver, looked after the Texan. Then at the driver. She was barely a day over 18 and already visibly pregnant. She started mumbling something about why Ernest couldn’t have stayed, but the black man gave her a hard look and she kept silent.

Then he leaned back in his seat and seemed to fall asleep almost at once. Soon he snored, along with the Chuck Norris guy from a few seats behind Anne and Carrie. ‘Chuck’ had already been snoring loudly under his cowboy hat before they stopped again. He was seemingly unaware of the new delay.

The bus emptied as people had nothing left to do but go out and wander around a new sunburnt parking lot. Only a few people, like Anne, actually had to get off at Salton City.

Carrie was standing with Anne outside the bus. Anne had no luggage besides her handbag.

“At least we’re not in the middle of the desert, although it sure looks like it,” Carrie sighed and surveyed her surroundings.

“I’m sorry that you have to wait here even longer,” Anne said. “At least I am where I’m supposed to be.”

“Yeah, I seem to get delayed a lot,” Carrie said.

Anne smiled knowingly but said nothing.

“Now that you are here, perhaps you would like to follow me to my ‘motel’. It is just down at the end of that road there, close to the Salton Sea.”

Carrie looked at the lonely, faded sign: ‘Marina Drive’, it said. There were only a few scattered houses along the ‘drive’, they mostly looked abandoned. And then there was just the desert and the small, dried-out bushes and scattered cacti. She couldn’t see any ‘marina’ anywhere, much less water.

“What kind of motel does one stay at in this place?” Carrie asked.

“A private one,” Anne said and smiled. “I have a good, old friend, Mr. Rubensford – Charlie. He moved into part of the old motel down there – back in 1987.”

“Oh … “ Carrie said.

“A Mexican family is staying in one of the other rooms,” Anne said. “Apart from that, I think it’s empty. Unless someone new moved in recently.”

“Abandoned … to squatters,” Carrie mumbled to herself. But Anne heard it:

“I would hardly call Mr. Rubensford a ‘squatter’, honey.”

“Sorry. But he is not – I mean is he and you – “

Anne smiled mischievously: “What if we were? Who said that you had to give up the little pleasures in life, just because you are not fifty anymore?”

Carrie felt like the sun had already burned her, although they had only been outside for maybe 5 minutes.

“Maybe I’d better walk you to your motel,” she said.

“May you’d better.” Anne smiled again.

Then began trotting along down the cracked, deserted ‘Marina Drive’. After a little while, Carrie thought she heard something that sounded like surf.

*

Carrie had barely heard of Salton City. Now she was here. And whatever she had heard, it was very different from what she had imagined.

The town was developed in the 1950s as a resort community on the Salton Sea, Anne explained in her low, soft voice. Yet very little development was achieved due to its isolation and lack of local jobs. In the 1970s, most of the buildings were abandoned.

Carrie and Anne strolled quietly down ‘Marina Drive’, passing scattered husks that had once been houses and where it was far from certain anyone had ever lived. So far Carrie had only seen a few trailers, parked here and there, which seemed to be inhabited.

Suddenly Carrie spotted something else, though.

“Hmm – that place over there looks a bit like a casino,” she said, nodding towards a large, flat-roofed building with several rusting neon signs on the facade. The building seemed to have sunk a few inches in the sand as every year had worn by since the 1950s.

It could have been one of Salton’s larger hotels, for all Carrie knew, but it was clear that nobody had been living there for decades. The crushed glass in the tall, narrow windows stood out like broken teeth in the gaping maw of a corpse. She couldn’t help staring at them.

“Have you ever been to a casino?” Anne asked and broke Carrie’s reverie.

“Uh, yeah … kind of.”

“Was it exciting?”

Carrie looked down: “I worked in one up in Nevada, near Vegas … kind of a ‘waitress in a cocktail bar’-thing, you know. But not for very long.”

“I wonder if I’d win,” Anne mused. “I have never really felt lucky like that.”

“I don’t believe in luck,” Carrie said. “I always had that feeling that it was just a bad excuse. But I always wanted to believe – that if people made something of something, then it was luck. Crazy huh?”

“A little, yes. Most of the time, when people make something of something it is more work than chance. Except in the casinos, I expect.”

“But then there’s skill …” Carrie knitted her brow, trying to find the right words “ – you can work hard and still don’t make something of anything! Although I’ve heard that some people who are good at counting cards and stuff can do well in a casino … ”

“Perhaps,” Anne reflected. “But it depends on what you want to make. I never made much money in Germany, but I still made something for myself. What is ‘counting cards’?”

“Well, it’s like … some people just have trained themselves to count … cards. So they know exactly where a particular card will be – in whose hand – during the game. A big advantage when you’re to decide if you’re gonna fold or play on.” She ended the explanation in a mutter: “Me, I never learned to count cards …”

“What, honey?”

Instead of answering Carrie just looks straight ahead, towards the still invisible Salton Sea that is supposed to be at the end of the road:

“God … this place is empty. – Do you realize there’s so much of America that’s just … empty? Abandoned, like … people just tried to make something of it, and then … they gave up?” She could not hold back a small, joyless laugh: “Not the kind of America they advertise, huh?”

“Maybe they didn’t give up,” Anne suggested, in earnest. “Maybe they moved to that other America?”

Carrie stopped: “Other?”

“The one they advertise.”

“Ha-ha,” Carrie said. “ … Where?”

Anne shrugged: “New York. San Francisco. The big city. I have been to New York many times. I like it a lot, but I don’t think I could live there. It is so busy.”

“Yeah, me neither … ” Carrie muttered.

Suddenly she felt like dropping into a hunching position. They had come to another crossing, with only one, lonely wind-worn house at the corner. It had no roof anymore, or the roof had simply collapsed. In front of the house was a big garden of sand, which had been neatly fenced in. The fence was sunburnt white and the paint had fallen off almost everywhere. A few still lay in the sand, looking like big ragged snowflakes

Carrie took up one of the paint flakes, then looked up again, down the road. There was still no sign of the sea and Carrie didn’t think she could hear it anymore:

“Are you ok, honey?” Anne asked slowly.

“Anne … what exactly is it you would like to photograph around here? This place is so full of loneliness.”

Anne said: “If nothing else then I will photograph the loneliness, then. Then I can sell it to people who want a picture of that to look at when they are losing their minds in, say, an apartment in the most crowded part of Manhattan.”

She laughed a little too loud, as she said this, but there was no doubt that she had meant well – if not for the stressed inhabitants of New York, then for Carrie.

Carrie knew this and tried to suppress an involuntary smile.

Anne pulled out a camera from her small, black bag. It was a Polaroid camera that looked several decades old: “ – And I can take a picture of you if you allow?”

“Of me?!” Carrie almost gasped “That’ll be … no, that won’t be any good.”

Anne cast her glance down. “Of course not,” she said quietly.

Carrie bit her lip: “I mean … I don’t exactly look my best now and, you know, out here – in this … ghost of a town. You could not sell that to anyone in New York!”

“Well,” Anne started, taking her time. “I think photos, where people look their best, are redundant. I like people who look like people and places that look like places … Real places.”

Carrie was still weighing the crumpled paint flake in her hand: “I dunno … Maybe … ”

“Are you sure you shouldn’t call Jon, Carrie?” Anne sounded worried now.

Carrie suddenly dropped the ‘snowflake’ and looked right up at Anne:

“Do you think it would be a good picture?”

“Yes.”

Carrie began getting on her feet. “Okay then. Where do you want me?”

“Just sit down again,” Anne said, now with a calm that seemed like it had been honed a thousand times. She readied the camera with her thin, wrinkled hands displaying a surprising nimbleness and firmness at the same time.

“‘kay … ” Carrie said and hunched down again, hesitantly.

There was a click. Just one.

Anne pulled something from the camera, waved it slightly in the warm air, then held it and waited. She looked pleased with the result.

“Crap – I didn’t smile did I?” Carrie blurted.

“You did.” Anne handed Carrie the Polaroid.

“Wow … a real Polaroid,” Carrie said, turning the photo very carefully in her hand. “ – Been ages since I saw one of those.”

“You look … grown up,” Anne commented. “That is good.”

“’Grown up?’ Ha-ha, I was on my knees … but maybe that’s how most grown-ups live?” Carrie said, not caring to hide the bitterness she suddenly felt welling up inside.

“Look at the little lines around your eyes,” Anne continued, unperturbed. “You look like you are thinking, I think.”

“I was … yeah I was … ” Suddenly Carrie felt the tears. She wiped them angrily away. “Maybe we should get going? There’s the bus and … it’s hot out here … Awfully hot … ”

“Well, there is no negative,” Anne said softly. “So if you don’t like it you can throw it out and no one will know.”

Carrie turned the photo again, looking at it very closely. There were furrows all over her brow now. At last, she said:

“Don’t … throw it out – but don’t give it to anyone either, just … keep it.”

Anne didn’t say any more. She just handed Carrie the plastic water bottle. Carrie suddenly remembered that she was very thirsty and drank hard. The water was, predictably, very lukewarm, though, but she drank a lot of it, still. Finally, she wiped her mouth, cand ame to her feet.

“I think you should keep the picture,” Anne said.

“But – ”

“It is only about 1 dollar,” Anne said before Carrie could protest – “ so don’t get too excited.”

Carrie smiled slightly: “Seriously,” she then said, “ – I’m not a good motif for any picture, Anne. It’s just … just … I should’ve gone much farther.”

“What are you talking about?” Anne asked gently.

Carrie shrugged and began walking again as if she felt uncomfortable standing in the crossing. Anne followed, at her side.

Carrie tried to collect the right words, but it was difficult. It was difficult because he had never really tried before. Finally, they came, though. Not the right words, she felt, but just the words that she needed:

“After college – I mean after I dropped out – I did some pretty idiotic things. Drugs. A little … and there were those men … and a lot of … a lot of drifting. I could’ve gone on to draw like a pro, like my brother-in-law. I could’ve stayed in law school. I could’ve done a zillion things.”

“But you didn’t,” Anne said.

Carrie breathed deeply. The desert air was dry and awfully warm:

“No, I did not. I just went down the drain … and wasted time. And time is precious. I know it sounds ridiculous to someone like you, Anne, because … you probably expect me to have lots of time. But what if I don’t?”

“What if you do? That is almost worse.”

“Then it’s still wasted … ” Carrie said harshly as if this was a conclusion she had long since come to. “ – Ten years that’ll never come back. How do I make up for that?”

“You don’t,” Anne said. “But I am not sure they are wasted. How did you meet Jon? Why are you on this bus? Why do you help those immigrants? Are those things not to be counted, too, when you look back upon those ten years?”

“They are … I guess …”

“So it is not all bad,” Anne concluded. “Apart from the awful bus, I mean.”

“Yeah …” Carrie smiled weakly. Then she suddenly stopped again:

“Oh – ”

Carrie and Anne had come to an empty parking lot, just before the motel.

Here Marina Drive ended, and indeed there was a marina. It had fallen into decay years ago, but it was clear what the builders had intended. Before them was the Salton Sea, shimmering in the sunlight. Carrie had not even noticed it, so busy had she been following the lines in the cracked, scorched pavement while thinking hard about what to say.

At the far end of the marina, there was the old motel. Its walls were burnt pale, too, after decades of sun and no paint or maintenance, but there were whole windows in the part of the building that loomed closest to the water. It was possible to sit in that room and look out onto the marina, and once, there had been many boats to look at.

“So this is your ‘hotel’?” Carrie said.

“It is.”

“Do you think Charles is home?”

“It doesn’t look like he is here right now,” Anne said and narrowed her eyes a little as if she tried to see from where they stood if there was anyone inside. “Anyway, he knows I’m coming, so I’ll just wait. He’ll come back.”

Carrie wasn’t listening. She looked out over the lonely Salton Sea that had just seemed to come up in front of them, to relieve the sight of the endless desert and the abandoned houses.

“You know,” Carrie mused “ … that’s got to be the only big body of water in this desert. And yes, because it is here, it is not a desert. At least not the way I think of deserts. Hey, do you think it’d make a good photo?”

“Possibly,” Anne said. “Depends on your eye.” She took the camera and placed it in Carrie’s hand.

Carrie held the camera a bit. It felt big and slightly awkward compared to her slim digital camera. Or at least how she remembered it feeling. The digital camera – a birthday present from Jon’s brother – was in a drawer somewhere back in Yuma.

“So?” Anne asked cautiously. “Do you want to?”

Carrie nodded: “Yeah … just gotta … just gotta find the right focus.”

She turned the old camera in her hands, then held it up.

Then she pressed her finger, slowly, down on the photo button.

*

Last edited 22 Feb 2025