When it rains in the desert, it stinks. Most people love the smell of it. The smell of rain, they say. Well, rain smells like dirt. Dust. Maybe it smells different in other parts of the world, but in the Nevada desert, it smells dirty. It forces me to breathe out of my mouth like I do in gas station bathrooms because I hate the smell so much. And I always feel like I have to keep this odd fact about me secret because everyone is always inhaling deeply and gushing over how much they love the smell of rain. What would they have thought if I actually answered honestly and said I thought it smelled bad? Told them that I would rather smell sewer… well, maybe not sewer, but the same idea.

No, I hated the smell of rain.

But I did love when it rained. I loved the sound of it hitting the roof of the trailer as I would lie in bed. It soothed me. I loved the way it ran down the dirty windows, streaking them with long trains of water. I loved the puddles it formed on the dry desert land. I also loved that whenever it did rain, the wind usually picked up. The thunder would boom in the distance with cracks of light breaking the sky.

I also loved how the rain made people happy—especially living in the desert. I think it was our basic human instincts of survival. Our cores knew Mother Nature was keeping us alive. So people rejoiced. Rain had a way of cleansing everything. From the dirty town I lived in, to the asphalt of the highway that had people driving right past us. Rain could make the ugly pretty for a short time.

But my favorite part of rain was when it really poured. Which didn’t happen for long. There would be a five-minute burst every so often in a desert thunderstorm, and when that cloud released, it would flood the landscape. Sheets of rain would wash down in buckets. It would rain so fast and furious that the dry ground couldn’t keep up. Flash floods would happen, washing away all the piled up garbage in the cracks of the sidewalks or the gutters of houses. It would wash away all the piled up filth that had accumulated over time. One five-minute downpour, and everything was clean. Clean.

I loved the rain.

I just hated the smell of it.

As I sat on the Greyhound bus, staring out the window, I watched it rain as I left. I was in the flash flood, getting swept away to New Orleans. Virgie had completely lost her mind. Without a doubt, lost her mind. And yet… here I was on the bus, with a suitcase, a duffle bag, and an oversized purse carrying all my possessions. I was the insane one.

I also had more money in my pocket than I had ever seen, including a check made out to Marie St. Claire for a month’s worth of rent. I had never had someone do something so nice for me before. I had promised Virgie I would pay her back, and she had refused like the stubborn old lady I’d always known her to be. The only thing she wanted from me were hand written letters. She said she wanted to see New Orleans through my eyes, and hear of all the adventures I was about to experience. She had said it was my turn to live an exciting life like she had once done.

My turn.

Luckily the bus wasn’t crowded, and the seat next to me was empty so I could stretch out. Once I reached Las Vegas, I would still have 1 day, 19 hours, and 45 minutes of driving to reach New Orleans. It was about to be the longest drive of my life, and also the most terrifying, most thrilling, and most life altering.

I wasn’t really a reader, but I did pack a couple of Virgie’s paperbacks to try to pass the time, but I wasn’t in the mood to get them out of my bag just yet. But I decided to go ahead and write the first of the promised letters to Virgie. When we reached the next stop to get some vending machine food and drinks, I would hopefully be able to find a mailbox. Virgie had been sure to give me plenty of stamps and paper to last me months before sending me on my way. She wanted to make sure I had no excuse not to write. Virgie would be tickled if she were to get a letter almost immediately after I left, so I pulled the paper and pen from my purse to begin.

Virgie,

I can’t believe I am doing this. I’m sitting on a bus, driving days to get to a city where I have never been. I’ve only seen it in movies and know of one landmark—Bourbon Street. And I know there are gators in a swamp.

What have I done? What have you made me do? I truly have lost my mind.

But I have to thank you. Thank you so much for pushing me to do something like this. I was trapped… I know that. I’ve always known that. I wanted out so badly but never had the shove I needed to do so. You not only shoved me, you gave me a huge boot in the ass and kick in the teeth that I needed.

You are my best friend. My only friend. Which I realize is an odd best friend pairing. Our ages, our pasts, even our futures are not on the same path, but I feel it in my soul. There isn’t anything I wouldn’t do for you, and after what you did for me today, I now know there isn’t anything you wouldn’t do for me as well. So leaving you has already left a huge gaping hole in my heart. Yes, I worked for you. And yes, I cleaned after your dirty ass, but you were my friend. And what you did for me today was by far the best gift I have ever received in my life.

So here I am. On a Greyhound. Because of you.

My meemaw wanted me to leave Muckaluk. She had made me promise that I would leave and start a new life. I meant it when I promised her that I would, but I didn’t know when, or how. And frankly, I’m not sure if it would have ever happened.

Before I left, you said I needed to find a dream and not just nightmares, but the truth of the matter is that I don’t even have nightmares. I am blank. Hollow. At this point of my life, I would welcome the nightmare too. Anything to add pigment to my blank canvas and to fill up my hollow hole. I think that’s why I got so many of those tattoos you hated so much. It was the only way I could add color to my stark, blank, white life.

So, as I sit here and write this letter, I wonder what is in store for me. What do I want? What is my future? Will I be a coward and return to you in tears? Will I find my dreams, my nightmares? How will I survive once I use all your money? So many questions, and yet, as I watch the rain run down the glass windows of the bus, I feel a sense of peace. I think I can do this… no, I KNOW I can do this. It’s time. It’s time I add the color to my life and not just my body.

But SHIT, can you tell Roy I’m sorry for missing my appointment, and I owe him an extra six-pack of Pap’s? And don’t tell the man he stinks. I know you, Virgie, so just hold that tongue of yours. Ha.

Well, here is the first letter of many to you. I hope I have more exciting things to say in my next one, because there isn’t much to say yet. I’m almost to Las Vegas, and then I hop on another bus to go the rest of the way. Then I will have 1 day, 19 hours and 45 minutes until I arrive. I may go crazy, since that seems like an impossibly long time to sit in a bus, but I’m going to try to stay positive and open to the gift you gave me. The bus isn’t crowded and the few people who are on it seem just as lost as I am. Vacant eyes staring out windows at passing landscape. I do wonder what their stories are. Are they full of despair or hope? Are they running to something, or running away? Are they afraid, or are they brave? I watch them and wonder if they are watching me too. Are they a blank canvas like me, ready to paint their picture?

I hope I make you proud, Virgie. And I hope through my letters and words you can revisit the life you once lived in New Orleans through my eyes. I will try. I promise you this. I won’t be afraid. I won’t hold back. I will go in with both feet and both eyes wide open. It’s time I took chances and lived. And I promise myself that I will not return to that trailer. I will never go back there. I will do whatever it takes to not go back there. I’m a fighter, Virgie. I guess I just needed you to remind me of that fact. I won’t let you down. I won’t let myself down either.

I love you,

~Anita

P.S. You better be taking your meds and eating more than just popcorn. Don’t force me to come back just to check that you are.

I folded up the letter, placed it in the envelope, stuck the stamp on it, and hadn’t realized I had tears running down my face until I tucked it away into my purse. I wasn’t one to reveal my emotions easily. It was so much simpler to be like the rough bikers who drove through Muckaluk without a care in the world or so much as a smile on their faces. It was just them and the open road. Yes, that was me. Just me and the open road. But Virgie deserved my open soul. If anyone deserved it, it was her.

Wiping at my tears I refused to shed again, I closed my eyes and settled in for the next 1 day, 19 hours, and 45 minutes. A long fucking ways away from exit 222, mile marker 51.