We finally stop, and I worry the kind man is going to try to leave me again. I want to go with him, but he refuses to allow me, though he promises he won’t leave without me. He leaves me by his motorcycle and I watch as he walks a short distance away and talks to other men. Being by his bike makes me feel a little better; he can’t leave without me knowing so long as I stand by his bike.
I stand in the broiling sun, unable to even sweat, my mouth so dry I can barely swallow and my tongue feeling thick and sticky. Finally, he returns to the bike and I sit down behind him. The black leather seat is painfully hot, but I didn’t care. I have endured far more pain, and felt far less safe, than what I feel now.
We stop for gas and I stay close to him, standing near his bike, so he can’t leave me behind. I pray for water, but immediately after filling the bikes, he settles into the saddle again. I step onto the bike behind him and we are off. We ride only a few miles before stopping again. The kind man takes me into a diner and its blessed coolness where he gives me all the water I can drink. Never has anything tasted so good. After the second glass I think he’s going to deny me more, but he promises me as much water as I want if only I wait and not drink it too fast. My thirst has been partially quenched and I can wait.
Food arrives and my mouth waters as I hope for a scrap. He pushes a bowl of soup in front of me but then begins to eat it himself and I swallow my disappointment as I yearn for something to eat. He only tastes it, then stirs it, the rich aroma of potatoes and cheese filling the air. Finally, he gives me the spoon. I’m afraid to believe he’ll allow me to eat, but he encourages me. I’d been denied food so often as I was used over and over, even the stale sandwiches I’d been given tasted delicious, but nothing like the soup with the piece of bread. Rich and creamy, it is the most wonderful thing I have ever tasted. I eat a few bites but then stop, wanting to save some for later, but he encourages me to eat more, then more still.
When there isn’t enough left to save, I finish it, hoping for more, but he offers me nothing else. I’m disappointed, but I’d eaten more now than my last two meals combined, and my stomach is uncomfortably distended with water and food.
I sit, my hunger diminished, my thirst quenched, the cool air making me drowsy. If only I could sleep and not worry about being awakened by a man demanding my body.
The men on either side of me begin to move, sliding away from me. I look up, and the kind man smiles down at me, his hand held out as he calls to me. I don’t want to move. I want to sit here on this comfortable bench, or to lay down and sleep. He calls to me again and I go, sliding out as he takes my hand and helps me stand. I stagger and weave, my head spinning. He grips me strongly, holding me up and preventing me from falling, until my head clears.
As I find my feet, he slowly loosens his grip, allowing me to stand. He looks at me and I can see concern in his eyes and I am touched. It has been so long since anyone looked at me that way.
I follow him out. I’m exhausted, but I force myself to walk, make myself place one foot in front of the other. We reach his motorcycle and I wait for him to stand the bike upright then climb aboard. Again the seat burns my ass and legs, but I don’t care. The kind man is taking me with him, and that’s all that matters.
We rumble out of the parking lot and back to the interstate. I’m turned around, everything looking the same in the desert. It seems like I’ve seen this all before, but I’m not sure. We ride for a long time, the desert heat like a blast furnace, but the rushing air makes the ride bearable.
I become drowsy again, the rumble of the motorcycle and my full stomach trying to drag me into the darkness of sleep, but if I fall asleep now, I’ll fall from the bike and be injured at best, killed at worst. I lean into his back, resting my head on his shoulder, my arms going around his waist, the embrace feeling natural and I am comforted by it.
I nod a couple of times, jerking awake when I feel like I’m falling, but I am still tucked securely into his back. I am nodding again when I hear the tone of the bike change. I struggle out of the twilight of sleep as he exits the interstate. We continue to slow and I see the sign.
Gila Bend! He’s taking me back! I can’t go back. I’d rather die than go back. He continues to slow and I throw myself off the back of the bike. I land hard, bouncing and tumbling. The pavement is hot, burning my naked skin, but I can’t take the time to assess my wounds. I jump to my feet and run, bouncing off a car before dashing across the road. I am running into the desert, but I don’t care. Better the hell of the Arizona desert than the hell of my prison.
I hear the roar of his motorcycle, then the pounding of his feet as he gives chase. He’s too fast and he catches me just as I clear the railroad tracks. I fight, holding nothing back, but he’s too strong and he quickly overpowers me.