Sarah Shun-lien Bynum

There really were cacti.

But it was midnight on a dark desert night by the time we got close to Tucson, where his friend lived.

He won't mind our showing up so late.

We'd been let out at a bare strip of closed snack joints along the highway.

There were two payphones, and one of them worked.

Brody fed it all his change and dialed a number that rang and rang.

After what seemed like hours, I heard him say, Russell?

Yeah, it's me.

Really?

I told you.

He wanted Russell to come pick us up, wherever we were, but Russell apparently wanted us to hitch to his house.

So we stood with our thumbs out, but no vehicle of any kind was stopping at this hour.

Brody got more change from me and went back to the payphone to call again.

And in the wee hours of the morning an old dodged dart came out of the black highway and stopped for us.

What an asshole you are, the driver said.

He looked okay, skinny in his t-shirt, wearing a straw cowboy hat to keep out the sun to come.

Russell, my man, so good to see you, Brody said.

Who's the girl?

Kara.

Isn't she cute?