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GET IN BED by Danielle Henderson
JOHN DIVOLA, D06F10, 1996-98, GELATIN SILVER PRINT COURTESY OF THE ARTIST AND GALLERY LUISOTTI
ARCHES AND LAND BRIDGES AND PILES OF ROCK
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LYDIA CONKLIN
Ruth takes a taxi from LAX to Playa Del Rey to meet her girlfriend. Casey is a wildland firefighter and stored her truck here at a cousin’s through the winter, but since she isn’t returning to Lytle Creek to hammer trenches and spray sparks in the Sierras for another season, they’re going to drive the monstrosity back to Brooklyn. Even though Ruth thought of her relationship with Casey as more of a casual, fun type of situation and less of a traveling-across-the-countryin-a-Bronco type of situation, she can’t say no to adventure. Especially since she’s supposed to be a journalist.
Ruth arrives at Casey’s cousin’s house, its face sheltered by jasmine, its back set against the blue rip of mountains. Casey’s truck has hogged the driveway long enough. In a few minutes, it will scoot off into the desert.
“How’s the truck?” Ruth asks, feeling a pang as Casey’s glowing face emerges from between boxes and spilled clothing in the truck bed.
The Bronco, a square, heavy bear, is a 1986, three years younger than Ruth. If it’s dead, as Casey feared, that won’t be the end of the world. Ruth would prefer to hang around the beach and then fly home like normal people. That’s more Ruth and Casey’s style. The cross-country drive could take two weeks, more time than they’ve ever spent together. Ruth is only freelance and so has no excuse to get back to Brooklyn, but still, the time, all that camping, scares her.
“It runs,” Casey says. “But the tires are bracing in. I could replace them, but it might happen again. It’s really an axle problem.”
Ruth ducks her head under the belly of the truck. The tires are pigeon-toed.
“I’ll replace them in New Mexico, where there’s less tax.”
That’s just like Casey to consider safety second. More likely, third or fifth or not at all. When she’s firefighting she carries a plastic pouch in her pocket that she’s supposed to crawl inside if she gets stuck in a blaze. “It doesn’t really save you, though,” she says, but she still does the job, season after season, carrying that silver bag as though it could do anything against
