Utahan Turnabout

Jack passes the bottle to Rose while asking, “Do ya see the face in that rock over there?” “Which rock are ya talkin’ bout, Jack? There are thousands, tens of thousands. Gotta gimme a little help here.” He points vaguely, “That one,” and then lightly lifts Rose’s hand, trying his best to point her finger towards the face in the rock. “Riiight about there. Well, ya gotta lower ya head a bit. Yes. Just like that. You see it?”

She looks like a pirate wielding a spyglass. “Nope. Haven’t found it.” Jack gently guides Rose’s arm down and says, “Ahh it’s alright. The face is frowning anyways.” “I don’t want to see that, Jack! I’m happy. You’re happy. Why drag a sad stranger into all of this?” She smirks and takes a swig. He laughs and appreciates her point; then he looks up towards the horizon and away from the rocky landscape, “The sky Rose. The clouds are orange and they’re pink. The sky is blue while the clouds are red…ahhh. Pass that bottle Rose. It’s beautiful.”

He takes a swig and when she speaks, her tone echoes the desert’s serenity, “We don’t need to leave tomorrow, Jack. We really don’t. Just one more night, what’s the rush?” After wiping at his lip, he responds like a father does to his pouty daughter after being denied something quite reasonable “I know… .I know. It’s just that the last phone call with my dad doesn’t sit well with me. You remember, right? We got cut off as we were making ways down this deserted road.”

“Of course I remember, Jack. It was on speaker; he told us to enjoy every moment of the trip. He wished he could’ve been out there with us.” “Ah so do I. Sorta. It’s great being alone with you out here. Me and him camped not too far from here on our road trip. We had the best times in Utah… I told you the stories. He was telling us about his aches and pains when the phone cut out. We never said goodbye. He knows we’re out here and I’m sure he understands, but I just wanna see how he’s doing.”

“It’s the right thing to do, Jack. Let’s just enjoy a final sunset here and head back into town first thing in the mornin’. We can charge our phones at that dinner and make some calls. Let everyone know we’re still alive.” Trying his best to hold back laughter, he says, “Sounds good to me… Hey, you uh remember what he said about the wolves?” He laughs and notices Rose’s face is blank and then her poker face fades into nervousness. Jack wraps his arm around her waist instantly and pulls her tight. “It was only a joke, you know that.”

“I know… I love that I do.”

They stand up and walk towards the fire-pit and Rose sits down on her rock she’d claimed as a chair. She turns to look at Jack; then she looks past him and asks for the camera. She presses a few buttons before aiming it towards him but before she takes the photo she says, “Lookie here, Jackeee”. He doesn’t smile, instead he looks at Rose with a peaceful stare. He’s holding the bottle of cabernet while leaning back against a leafless tree, a skeleton tree, a desert tree; his red hat isn’t on quite right, and his cheeks are wind-and-sun burned and he’s wearing long johns as pants. The powdered clouds breathlessly pass over his shoulders and behind the twisted limbs of the tree; a purplish paint is lightly coating the moon. “Oh, Jack. You’re a mess. A wonderful fucking mess.” “You’re the most beautiful bum I’ve ever seen.”

“Aww, you really have a way with words Jack.” He smiles at her, and she smiles back while waving at him to come join her on the ground; he blows her a kiss and then says, “Let’s get this fire going, it’ll be another cold night.”

They spend their final night in the backcountry of Escalante wrapped in one another’s arms, fireside, while taking turns at the bottle of bottom shelf wine; they laugh at the shadows on each other’s faces and smile at the expressions of love they see in one another. They rejoice in the fact they are continuing this journey for time unknown, in parts unknown. They fall asleep suddenly and Jack awakes an hour later when the sky is darkest; before he scoops Rose up off the ground, he lays on his back with eyes beamed up towards their endless sky. A chill runs down his back, so, he scoops Rose off the ground and brings her back to their tent; she laughs when they’re halfway there and begins swinging her feet like an excited child whose feet don’t quite touch the woodchips beneath the swing. They sleep a dreamful night. Through their tent’s window he squints at the deep-blue-black sky canvas with its silhouetted boulders and distant plateaus slowly revealing themselves from the oppressing night. Jack brushes Rose’s hair away from her face and whispers, “Rose. Are you up? You awake?” He knows she isn’t awake, but Jack wants her to be there for their last sunrise together here, wherever they were exactly. He nudges her side with his finger but she doesn’t budge; after freeing himself from the blankets, he crouches out from the tent, being sure to zipper the tent behind him, quietly, like a child gently opening a bag of forbidden potato chips during the night. The frost on the ground reminds him of home: winters on the island when him and his dad drive across the bridge, towards a beloved snow-covered coastal shore with surfboards humming on the roof of his rusted Ford Bronco, the rising sun blinding them behind a steamy windshield. He can still smell the musty seats of the leaky truck. A soft voice breaks his daydream, “Goood morning sweet Jack. Coffee ready?” She shuffles towards him at snail’s pace with their comforter draped over her shoulders, lightly dragging in the dusty dirt.

She burst out in laughter and then she joins him near the percolator. They’re silent until the coffee is ready; they breathe in the perfect peace.

Jack fills up their mugs and they sip.

He dumps the last gritty sip in the dirt and begins to wrap up camp; he tells Rose not to worry about helping. So, she sits back down on her rock and goes back and forth from watching Jack and the rising sun in the cloudless sky. She is glad the wolves kept away during the night. With the car fully loaded, they slowly make their way along the dirt road until Highway 12 smooths things out and where power cables begin their fluid dance against desert-blue-sky. The diner is empty and the waitress recognizes them from a few days before; “Goood morning. Welcome. Any table you’d like.” “Good morning. Thank you. Do you mind if I charge my phone?” “Not at all.” Maria pointed him towards the outlet and then he joined Rose at the window booth. Jack and Rose promise to continue anywhere but East; Arizona, Colorado, Montana, then Oregon… anywhere but the bland Midwest. They’re not ready to head back home; they’re ready for more nights like the starry ones in New Mexico, the dangerous one in Texas, and the stoned night in Alabama. Their momentum is strong, and it is taboo to end something so special when the going is effortless. Maria brings over some coffee.

Suddenly, gunshots seem to rifle through the peace. Jack apologizes for having his ringer set so loud and walks over to the outlet to shush the noise. He mumbles, “Damn phone always changing the mood” to no one. With the coffee mug still in his hand, the familiar knotty feeling in his gut stirs itself up, a feeling he hasn’t felt since he left home; his phone screen reads: Amy: Call me NOW. Mom: Jack, we are worried sick. Please call me when you see this. Love you so much- mom. John: Call your mom, brotha. Love ya. Missed call Amy:12. Missed call Mom:4. Missed call Uncle Kevin: 2. Mark Boss: Can you work Thursday? Jack dials his dad’s number, but the phone goes straight to voicemail; he places his mug of coffee down on the table and walks outside to call his mom. She picks up after one and a half rings.

- Kyle Bartell-Crawson