A reddish, yellow glow of the setting sun crafted a sense of mystery on the surrounding thorny bushes and shrubs of the desert scene. Shortly after, the sun’s final goodbye wrapped everything under a large cloth of darkness, only the soft glow of a timid moon and the headlights of our car struggled against it. We began ascending the Sacramento Mountains in New Mexico— a sense of freedom slowly touched my mind, body, and soul.
Jack, my friend from work, sat at the driver’s seat, his wife, Cathy at the passenger seat, and my husband, Omar, and I sat at the back seat of Jack’s father’s old car.
“Do you hear that?” Jack asked.
“Yeah, where’s it coming from?” I replied, trying to find the source of the piercing sound. My eyes widened. “Look”—I pointed to the smoke coming out from under the hood of our car.
Jack shrugged his shoulders, “We have to stop.”
“Oh no, what’s wrong?” Cathy asked.
Jack stopped and restarted the car. The smoke continued to rise. “The smoke isn’t stopping; I’ll have to check the engine.” He stopped the car, rolled down the window, took the small flash light from the dashboard, stepped out, and opened the hood.
Cathy put her head out the passenger side window, “What’s wrong?” she asked.
“I think it’s a coolant leak!”
I didn’t know what it exactly meant, but a feeling of uncertainty took hold of my stomach. It was getting dark. Jack closed the hood and came back inside the car. We were left with no other choice but to park the car on the roadside and wait. We were unfamiliar with the surroundings, away from civilization, and anxious as the darkness escalated.
“Do you hear that?” I asked—my voice broke the creepy silence inside the car. Somewhere, the comforting sound of an unknown creek continued to sooth me in the middle of all apprehension.
It was the summer of 1996, none of us had cell phones or any other means of communication. We sat and waited. One car passed by, then another, then another. I looked at my watch—it was 9:15 p.m.
We were desperate for even a stranger’s assistance, but horror movie scenes flashed through my mind, where strangers turned out to be murderers. Jack tried to start the car again. It started. He put it into gear but it didn’t go more than a few feet. He surrendered, “We’re in trouble.”
Despair came over me; how could my very first road trip in America happen like this?
Omar put both of his hands on his head. He whispered, “What did you get me into?” I lowered my head— I didn’t have an answer.
“It’s getting colder,” I said.
Jack turned his head and looked at me, “Desert nights are torturous without proper clothes,” he replied.
“But we didn’t bring any warm clothes; it’s the middle of summer,” I said, my legs shaking from the cold.
“I’m getting hungry too,” Cathy added.
“I think we still have some bananas and some bread left,” Jack said to Cathy.
“That’ll do for now, but it’s not dinner.”
I closed my eyes, put my palms together, and prayed, “Please God, help us.” Three prolonged hours passed by, finally a car stopped. It was a pick-up truck.
“At last,” Jack sighed, hitting the steering wheel gently with one of his hands. “Okay, someone has to go, who will it be, not you two—,” he looked at Omar and me at the back seat.
“I’ll go,” Cathy said aloud.
Jack hesitated. He got out of our car, went up to the driver, and spoke with him. Few minutes later he came back, “He seems nice,” he informed.
“At this point, one of us has to go to get help. I think it’s better if you stay with them,” Cathy said to Jack.
He kept pacing, “Do you think you’ll be ok?” he asked.
“Don’t worry, I’ll be ok. I’ll get help,” she assured and stepped out of our car. “I’ll be ok,” she said again, then kissed Jack, and got into the truck.
Omar looked at me and whispered, “How could he let her go with a stranger?” It was a contrast to our Bangladeshi culture. Maybe the frantic situation of the moment demanded such an action.
We looked as the truck left our sight. “Please God, keep her safe and let her get some help,” I prayed. The three of us were left behind in the dark to ponder on our situation.
I looked out the window—the two sides of the road opposed each other. One side was an invincible barrier created by the soaring height of the mountain and the other, straight down with the bottom veiled in the dark. “I hope Cathy’s ok,” I said.
Jack kept pacing around the car with his head down. “She’ll be okay,” I said again.
“Yeah,” he replied softly.
“There’s nothing else we can do, right?”
“I’m afraid not, just wait,” he opened the door, and sat on the driver’s seat. We rolled the windows up to stay warm. Two hours passed by that seemed like years.
At around 2:45 a.m., Cathy returned with a tow truck. I couldn’t remember who said it first, “Oh! We’re saved!” The tow truck pulled our car to the nearest town—Mayhill.
*********
Mayhill was built high up in the mountains, with a community of sixty two people and twenty nine cats. Fortunate for us, Mayhill had its own machine shop and the shop-owner provided his own tow truck. The late hours didn’t stop him from carefully inspecting our car engine. With limbs that no longer desired to endure and with minds that no longer wished to anticipate, we remained silent for his decision. After a long inspection, he suggested to replace the coolant pipe, which must be done next morning.
The shop-owner walked around the car, came near me, and, “So, you came all the way from Bangladesh to camp in New Mexico!” said with a smile.
We burst into laughter.
The only hotel in Mayhill was closed for the night. The owner opened his newly built workshop garage for us. I placed my back pack on the floor and looked around—the garage had three new walls, and a large piece of cloth on the forth side facing the main highway.
“Not bad! Right?” Jack’s voice startled me.
“Thank God for Mayhill!” I sighed.
“Thank God, indeed, we’re together and safe,” Cathy replied smiling. Jack opened the two sleeping bags he brought— one for them and the other, for Omar and me.
I placed ours on one side of the garage. Omar came near, raised his eyebrows, “You expect me to sleep on the floor?” he asked.
“We have to. There’s no other option.” I said softly. I felt guilty for bringing him against his wishes.
*********
A single ray of sunlight touched my eyes as I came out of the garage early next morning. I crossed the road and stood on the other side—moments passed by. The sun rose up from behind the Sacramento Mountains and brushed their peaks with soft, morning strokes. I took a deep breath; fresh air filled my lungs. In contrast to last night’s silence, the air was filled with chirping of various birds. I looked around—a valley connected Mayhill and the opposite side. The evergreen pines and willows swathed a deep green carpet over the mountains of the Lincoln National Forest. Wild yellow flowers accessorized the valley.
For the first time in my life, I stood among mountains.
I couldn’t wait and began walking.
A shiver of freedom ran through my body. I did not feel this way in a long time…
“Don’t go too far,” Cathy’s voice surprised me.
“Don’t worry, I won’t,” I shouted back smiling and continued walking through the valley. Two hanging honey containers on the front porch of two small cafes caught my attention. I stood there, dumbfounded, when I saw for the first time: the humming birds. They were enjoying honey with their straw like beaks, and at the same time moving their wings fast. I read about them, their eggs are small enough to fit a few in a tea-spoon.
As I walked down the slopes, I heard a soft sound. Is that what I think it is? I walked farther. I never saw waterfalls or brooks in Bangladesh; they mostly flow outside of the country. This was my chance to see a brook and I wouldn’t miss it. I continued my walk in search of last night’s companion.
I approached it, its surface reflecting the morning sun almost blinded my eyes. It was a wide creek: its soft murmuring was melody to my ears. I touched the water. “Thank you for giving me comfort last night,” I whispered, my fingers trembled. Its wild weed shimmered in the water—if only I could stay there forever unchained in the wilderness of New Mexico.
Jack, my friend from work, sat at the driver’s seat, his wife, Cathy at the passenger seat, and my husband, Omar, and I sat at the back seat of Jack’s father’s old car.
“Do you hear that?” Jack asked.
“Yeah, where’s it coming from?” I replied, trying to find the source of the piercing sound. My eyes widened. “Look”—I pointed to the smoke coming out from under the hood of our car.
Jack shrugged his shoulders, “We have to stop.”
“Oh no, what’s wrong?” Cathy asked.
Jack stopped and restarted the car. The smoke continued to rise. “The smoke isn’t stopping; I’ll have to check the engine.” He stopped the car, rolled down the window, took the small flash light from the dashboard, stepped out, and opened the hood.
Cathy put her head out the passenger side window, “What’s wrong?” she asked.
“I think it’s a coolant leak!”
I didn’t know what it exactly meant, but a feeling of uncertainty took hold of my stomach. It was getting dark. Jack closed the hood and came back inside the car. We were left with no other choice but to park the car on the roadside and wait. We were unfamiliar with the surroundings, away from civilization, and anxious as the darkness escalated.
“Do you hear that?” I asked—my voice broke the creepy silence inside the car. Somewhere, the comforting sound of an unknown creek continued to sooth me in the middle of all apprehension.
It was the summer of 1996, none of us had cell phones or any other means of communication. We sat and waited. One car passed by, then another, then another. I looked at my watch—it was 9:15 p.m.
We were desperate for even a stranger’s assistance, but horror movie scenes flashed through my mind, where strangers turned out to be murderers. Jack tried to start the car again. It started. He put it into gear but it didn’t go more than a few feet. He surrendered, “We’re in trouble.”
Despair came over me; how could my very first road trip in America happen like this?
Omar put both of his hands on his head. He whispered, “What did you get me into?” I lowered my head— I didn’t have an answer.
“It’s getting colder,” I said.
Jack turned his head and looked at me, “Desert nights are torturous without proper clothes,” he replied.
“But we didn’t bring any warm clothes; it’s the middle of summer,” I said, my legs shaking from the cold.
“I’m getting hungry too,” Cathy added.
“I think we still have some bananas and some bread left,” Jack said to Cathy.
“That’ll do for now, but it’s not dinner.”
I closed my eyes, put my palms together, and prayed, “Please God, help us.” Three prolonged hours passed by, finally a car stopped. It was a pick-up truck.
“At last,” Jack sighed, hitting the steering wheel gently with one of his hands. “Okay, someone has to go, who will it be, not you two—,” he looked at Omar and me at the back seat.
“I’ll go,” Cathy said aloud.
Jack hesitated. He got out of our car, went up to the driver, and spoke with him. Few minutes later he came back, “He seems nice,” he informed.
“At this point, one of us has to go to get help. I think it’s better if you stay with them,” Cathy said to Jack.
He kept pacing, “Do you think you’ll be ok?” he asked.
“Don’t worry, I’ll be ok. I’ll get help,” she assured and stepped out of our car. “I’ll be ok,” she said again, then kissed Jack, and got into the truck.
Omar looked at me and whispered, “How could he let her go with a stranger?” It was a contrast to our Bangladeshi culture. Maybe the frantic situation of the moment demanded such an action.
We looked as the truck left our sight. “Please God, keep her safe and let her get some help,” I prayed. The three of us were left behind in the dark to ponder on our situation.
I looked out the window—the two sides of the road opposed each other. One side was an invincible barrier created by the soaring height of the mountain and the other, straight down with the bottom veiled in the dark. “I hope Cathy’s ok,” I said.
Jack kept pacing around the car with his head down. “She’ll be okay,” I said again.
“Yeah,” he replied softly.
“There’s nothing else we can do, right?”
“I’m afraid not, just wait,” he opened the door, and sat on the driver’s seat. We rolled the windows up to stay warm. Two hours passed by that seemed like years.
At around 2:45 a.m., Cathy returned with a tow truck. I couldn’t remember who said it first, “Oh! We’re saved!” The tow truck pulled our car to the nearest town—Mayhill.
*********
Mayhill was built high up in the mountains, with a community of sixty two people and twenty nine cats. Fortunate for us, Mayhill had its own machine shop and the shop-owner provided his own tow truck. The late hours didn’t stop him from carefully inspecting our car engine. With limbs that no longer desired to endure and with minds that no longer wished to anticipate, we remained silent for his decision. After a long inspection, he suggested to replace the coolant pipe, which must be done next morning.
The shop-owner walked around the car, came near me, and, “So, you came all the way from Bangladesh to camp in New Mexico!” said with a smile.
We burst into laughter.
The only hotel in Mayhill was closed for the night. The owner opened his newly built workshop garage for us. I placed my back pack on the floor and looked around—the garage had three new walls, and a large piece of cloth on the forth side facing the main highway.
“Not bad! Right?” Jack’s voice startled me.
“Thank God for Mayhill!” I sighed.
“Thank God, indeed, we’re together and safe,” Cathy replied smiling. Jack opened the two sleeping bags he brought— one for them and the other, for Omar and me.
I placed ours on one side of the garage. Omar came near, raised his eyebrows, “You expect me to sleep on the floor?” he asked.
“We have to. There’s no other option.” I said softly. I felt guilty for bringing him against his wishes.
*********
A single ray of sunlight touched my eyes as I came out of the garage early next morning. I crossed the road and stood on the other side—moments passed by. The sun rose up from behind the Sacramento Mountains and brushed their peaks with soft, morning strokes. I took a deep breath; fresh air filled my lungs. In contrast to last night’s silence, the air was filled with chirping of various birds. I looked around—a valley connected Mayhill and the opposite side. The evergreen pines and willows swathed a deep green carpet over the mountains of the Lincoln National Forest. Wild yellow flowers accessorized the valley.
For the first time in my life, I stood among mountains.
I couldn’t wait and began walking.
A shiver of freedom ran through my body. I did not feel this way in a long time…
“Don’t go too far,” Cathy’s voice surprised me.
“Don’t worry, I won’t,” I shouted back smiling and continued walking through the valley. Two hanging honey containers on the front porch of two small cafes caught my attention. I stood there, dumbfounded, when I saw for the first time: the humming birds. They were enjoying honey with their straw like beaks, and at the same time moving their wings fast. I read about them, their eggs are small enough to fit a few in a tea-spoon.
As I walked down the slopes, I heard a soft sound. Is that what I think it is? I walked farther. I never saw waterfalls or brooks in Bangladesh; they mostly flow outside of the country. This was my chance to see a brook and I wouldn’t miss it. I continued my walk in search of last night’s companion.
I approached it, its surface reflecting the morning sun almost blinded my eyes. It was a wide creek: its soft murmuring was melody to my ears. I touched the water. “Thank you for giving me comfort last night,” I whispered, my fingers trembled. Its wild weed shimmered in the water—if only I could stay there forever unchained in the wilderness of New Mexico.
