My Dodge van coasted down an empty highway. After a long day of driving, night shrouded the outback. A sign said fourteen kilometers to Winchester Bay; I needed gas so I stopped. After filling up I spotted a sandwich shop and went in, ordering a Turkey and Cheese. I was on the road again within ten minutes.
   I planned to keep at it for another two hours before calling it a night. That way I could make it past Settler’s Ridge, the next town a hundred-eighty K
away. The first hour went by quickly, music keeping me awake. There were hardly any cars to worry about on this isolated stretch. I ejected The Doors, yawning, and put in Zeppelin. The familiar plucking of guitar strings sounded the intro of  “Stairway to Heaven.”
   “Right on,” I thought to myself and sat back comfortably.
   A moment later a girl stepped out in front of my van.
   I don’t where she came from, but I saw her way too late. I slammed on the brakes, turning the steering wheel hard to the right. The van screeched on the
pavement, smoke breathing from its skidding tires. I closed my eyes, bracing my legs against the floor, waiting for the crashing impact.
   It never came. The van slid to within a foot of her.
   When everything was still, and the silence of the desert took over again, I looked up, scanning for the girl through my windshield. She was standing in front of the bumper, aloof, unwavering, staring at me. The headlights illuminated her, creating an eerie glow accentuating her pale face, her straight blond hair, her electric blue eyes. She wore a long white dress and a black suede jacket with the name “Tamara” embroidered in small golden letters. At the time I wasn’t thinking about what she looked like or what she was wearing—only whether she was okay. But later, when we’d be driving together, I’d realize how beautiful she was.
   After I saw her through the windshield, I opened my door and jumped out. I ran to her, asking, “Jesus Christ! Are you okay? I almost killed you!”
   “Can you give me a lift into town?”
   “Huh?”
   “A lift? A ride?” she asked unfazed. “You know, towards Settler’s Ridge.”
   “What? You want a ride?” I was shaking—not understanding why she was so calm.
   “Yes, if that’s okay.”
   “Uh, a ride.” I tried to get a hold of myself.
   “Yeah. Sure, not a problem,”
   “Good. Thanks.”
   She started walking to the passenger side door. I followed her, helping her in. I got back into the van on my side and took off, keeping the inside light on
so we could see each other and talk. It was freaky for me—almost killing someone, then giving them a ride out in the middle of nowhere. I wanted to discover as soon as possible what her situation was.
   “So what are you doing out here? If you don’t mind me asking.”
   “I don’t. I was just walking in the desert.”
   A few awkward moments of silence passed between us—only the soft vibration of the engine was audible.
   “Uh, you mean, just walking—like, you know, walking?”
   She turned to me, smiling—her teeth stark white.
   “Walking. Checking things out. Thinking about stuff.”
   “Were you alone?”
   “Of course. Did you see anyone else?”
   “Uh, well, no, I didn’t. But you know, it’s, um...”
My sentence broke off.  I didn’t want to be too pushy.
   “It’s um, what?” she asked.
   “Uh, well, it’s um…” I finally said candidly, “…just not that common to find a girl in the outback all by herself at night.”
   She laughed out loud.
   “You must be from America. Which part?”
   I looked at her confused, but answered, “Los Angeles.”
   “And what are you doing here?” she added playfully, “…all by yourself at night in the outback.”
   “Well, I’m driving on a main road to begin with—in a car I might add,” I tried defending myself, showing her the difference.
   “I know. I know, tiger. But why are you in Australia?”
   “Oh that. Well, I’m taking a break from college and bought this van to see Australia.”
   “Cool. Very cool. What do you think so far?”
   “Well, uh, you know…I really like Australia so far…”  I couldn’t help but marvel at how I almost killed this girl, then couldn’t get her to understand
that it was bizarre to find her in the middle of nowhere. But at the same time I was noticing how strikingly beautiful she was.
   “It’s a great place…” I continued, trying to answer her question, but not really paying attention to my words. “…the people are, um, really friendly and…”
   She saw right through me though and decided to address it so we could get it over with it, move on.
   “Is it really that weird for you to find me right here, right now? Couldn’t I have just as easily found you all alone in the desert?”
   “Uh, maybe,” I hesitated, “but I have a car.”
   “And so you’ve never gone walking before--without a car?”
   I had actually. I even sensed she knew that--otherwise she wouldn’t have pushed it. How she knew, I don’t know. But the fact is that two summers
ago I walked alone down the whole of Baja Mexico. And every Mexican I met--probably just like me right now--thought I was a freak.
   “Okay, okay.” I told her. “It was just a bit weird to find you like that.”
   Inwardly, though, I let go of my suspicions. This girl had an aura about her that radiated peace, that made even the most suspect things seem a safe bet. And who was I to kid myself anyway. I was the strangest person I’d ever met.
   “Just weird,” I continued to her. “It’s not that often a beautiful girl walks into your path when you’re driving eighty kilometers an hour and you
haven’t seen another car for ten minutes.”
   “Oh, a beautiful girl now?” She trapped me, baited me.
   “Damn,” I thought. “Too forward, too fast.”
   I was now talking to her for a totally different reason than before—my words hoping to entice her, my glances piercing her dress, my genes gripping the wheel.
   I waited a moment, then confessed embarrassingly, honestly, “Yes…a beautiful…girl.”
   But I didn’t have to worry, she was all game, collaborating with my advancements. She flashed a sharp smile at me while staring. I turned my head, drawn by her gaze, looking into her dark blue eyes for a much longer than normal moment.
   It was one of those looks when the streetlights in one’s head all turn green at the same time. She confirmed it, smiling coyly, asking, “Do we have
anything to drink? Cold beers?”
   I nodded my head, smirking coolly. That was the right question, I had the right answer.
   “Sure, I always have beer on stock. The Australians I’ve met tell me I’m as Australian as them. It’s in the back, in the cooler.”
   “Is that so?” She laughed vivaciously, getting up to go dig two beers out, skimming against my shoulder with her hips on the way.
   “Hey,” I shouted to her after twenty seconds.
“What’s your name anyway?”
   “Tamara.”
   “Tamara? That’s cool—unusual.”
   “And you?” She came back and sat down, handing me an open beer.
   “Wil.”
   “Wil. I like that too. It’s nice, simple--like me.
So, Wil, up here about two kilometers there’s gonna be a dirt road turnoff. Follow it and I’ll show you a cool drinking spot. Kind of a lookout point.”
   “It’s nice, simple--like me,” I repeated her words in my head. Damn. She didn’t even want to pretend to ask if I was up for going out of my way. By now I was all hers and she knew it. How the tables of fear and danger turn so quickly.
   “Right there, Wil. That’s the turnoff.” She pointed.
   After ten minutes on a bumpy road we stopped on a small plateau and got out of the van. The stars were all around us, diamonds piercing the cloak of
emptiness. I thought of a tomb with a crumbling roof.
     “Tamara,” I called out. She was getting another beer from the back. “So tell me something more about yourself.”
   We were talking for an hour already, getting along better than I even thought was possible.
   She walked up to me and grabbed my hand—her fingers laced between mine.
   “What do you want to know?”
   “Jesus, your hand is freezing. Do you want some clothes? Or for me to make a fire?”
   She panicked, then quickly regained herself. “I’m okay, really. Maybe a fire will be nice later though.”
   “You sure?”
   “Yes, yes. So what do you want to know?”
I put my other hand around hers to try and warm it up, saying, “I want to know it all Tamara. I mean, you know, tell me everything, anything. Be as real as you can be. Get as deep as you can get.”
   “All right,” she said with a toying smirk. “You have your seatbelt on?”
   So we talked. And the hours passed.
   Voices in the night, carrying through the lonely outback, feeding the emptiness. When Orion was almost out of view, behind the earth, our voices began succumming. Only our lips moved now, and later, much later, our bodies rhythmically dancing to one another.
   An hour before sunrise, when the fire died down, she awoke and told me to get dressed.
   “I have to get home—before the sun. I’m sorry.”
   “No. No worries.” I shook my head, trying to wake up. “I’ll take you home.”
   We got into the van and drove back to the main road. We were quiet for the first fifteen minutes. She was melancholy, though she gripped my hand tightly the whole time. I kept trying to figure out what she was thinking. For me, I already knew this was the beginning of something all too serious. I never met
anyone as special as her. I just hoped she thought the same of me.
   I looked over, softly asking, “Is everything all right?”
   She squeezed my hand, answering in a whisper, “Yes.”
   I could see everything was not.
   “When can I see you again?”
   Her grip went limp, she looked away.
   “Never,” she finally whispered.
   I let many seconds of hard silence go. I knew by now she was not the kind of person to say something without meaning it.
   Finally I uttered, “Why?”
   “Just because.”
   “What do you mean, just because? Did I do something wrong, Tamara?”
   “No. God no. It’s me, Wil. Okay? Not you. Just let it go. It can’t work.”
   “I don’t understand.”
   I was getting teary eyed. Only an hour ago I was laying in her arms believing she was the one. She grabbed my hand tightly again—sensing this.
   “Neither do I Wil. Neither do I.”
   “Look at me Tamara. This was the greatest night of my life. I don’t understand what you’re talking about.”
She wouldn’t look at me anymore. Her hand was freezing.
   “Turn left here. Then right at the first street.”
   We were entering Settler’s Ridge. I obeyed her instructions.
   “There. That white house. Stop there.”
   She began getting out.
   “Tamara. Wait!”
   I jumped out and ran to the other side of the van.
She was crying now. I embraced her, wiping her tears
down. I began crying too.
   Around us the dawn was coming.
   After a few minutes she started kissing me, slowly, gently, on my lips--then she asked me to promise never to come here again.
   “Tamara, why?” was all I could say.
   I knew now it wasn’t that she didn’t care for me. She might’ve loved me for all her tears being shed.
   “I told you Wil. I don’t know why. It just has to be. Please listen to me. Can’t you just do that?”
   “Tamara. I’ll do anything for you. But not this.”
   “Promise me now. Please Wil.”
   “No. I can’t just let you go.”
   She buried her head into my shoulder for a moment.  Then raised her lips to my ear, saying with incredible sorrow, “You’re going to have to Wil. I’m so sorry.”
She began leaving—walking towards her house.
   “Tamara, wait! Wait!”
   But she continued, walking to the front door, opening it, crossing its threshold, closing it behind her.
   I waited around for ten minutes hoping she might change her mind, hoping she might come back out. But she didn’t. I started the van and drove through town, trying to make sense of it all. On the outskirts of Settler’s Ridge, I pulled over, went to the back and slept for two hours, exhausted. When I awoke, I drove back to a restaurant and ordered coffee.
   I wasn’t sure what I was going to do. But I knew I wasn’t leaving until I saw her one more time. She owed me at least that. I walked back to the van and began changing into a clean shirt. That’s when I saw it. Her black suede jacket with her name embroidered on it.    I lunged for it and pulled it to my face. It
smelled like just like her—a distinct scent, not so different than the fresh smell of earth under my feet.
   Now I had a good reason to go back to her house. I could tell her that I needed to return her jacket. It looked like expensive suede, I justified. I jumped in my van and started it up. Three minutes later I was turning on that familiar street, stopping in front of the white house. I looked at my watch. 9:30 in the morning. Not too early--I had a feeling she’d be up like me already.
   I grabbed the jacket from the passenger seat and started towards the front door. I walked up the porch steps, abruptly stopping, looking at the fresh roses to my right. I should pick one for her, I thought. But as I made my way over to the plant, the door began slowly opening.
   An old woman who resembled Tamara stuck her head out.
   What surprised me about her was that she didn’t even look at me. She just stared at the suede jacket. I turned to her and began politely introducing myself.
   “Hi, you must be Tamara’s mom.  I’m Wil…”
   “Phillip! Phillip come quickly!” The woman began screaming.
   She collapsed in the doorway.
   “What? Is everything okay?” I panicked and quickly tried to help her.
   “Phillip! Phillip!”
   A tall man came running from the kitchen. When he saw his wife, he began sprinting towards us. I backed off in case he went for me, leaving the woman leaning against the doorway.
   The man began shouting, “What you doing with my wife? Get away from her!”
   But when he reached her and knelt down beside her--seeing how she was weeping--he knew I’d done nothing. He raised himself so he was standing again, scanning me until his eyes found something that jolted him.
   Five seconds later, he slowly asked, as if reciting a prayer, “Where did you get that jacket, son?”
   “Tamara left it in my car last night, sir. I just wanted to return it and see if I could speak to her a moment.”
   When the woman heard her daughter’s name, she began weeping.
   “Last night?” the man said slowly—seeming to grow older by a decade with those words.
   “Yes. Last night, sir. I just wanted to return it and speak to her. I’m sorry to cause any problems. I didn’t mean to at all.”
   The man could see I was sincere. The woman reached up, tightly clutching his hand. He was trembling.
   “Son, I don’t know what you’re talking about. You just leave that jacket here and get a move on. Tamara was killed in a car accident two weeks ago. And that’s the jacket we buried her in.”
   I didn’t know what to do--how to make sense of it, how to understand what he was saying. All I knew was that he wasn’t lying. I dropped the jacket on the
ground and began stumbling away--then running until I reached my van. I started it and looked back once more as I drove off. The old man and woman were collapsed on the ground, embracing each other, clutching the jacket, weeping.
 

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