“Among the Joshua Trees” by Audrey Clayton
What she and I had could not be called a summer fling—though it had many defining characteristics, it lacked vital others.
We had only two weeks together, two weeks that were spent on the road, visiting some of the most beautiful places in the country.
But it wasn’t a fling, because one of us was too far in a dark closet to realize her own feelings. I knew that it was okay for people to be gay—it just wasn’t okay for me to be gay. When I think back on her, I think of holding hands in Las Vegas. I think of napping on each other in the backseat of a crowded car. I think of staying up until three in the morning learning everything about each other that we could. I think of laughing and pushing each other into swimming pools at hotels across the country. But mainly, I think of the night we spent together under the stars.
I had left the noise my friends were making next to the parked minivan on the side of the road to venture into the Joshua trees. I told myself I wanted to be alone, but I knew it was a lie. I wanted one person to follow me.
It wasn’t long before she did. I made space for her to lie down on the blanket next to me. Together, we laid there staring up at the stars, the noise of our friends just a distant murmur. We talked about the vastness of the universe and the chaos of life. We felt small at that moment, looking up at a hundred balls of fire burning so far away that they could barely be seen.
I can still conjure the feeling I had lying in the dark with the first girl I ever loved. I wouldn’t realize until much later just how influential that night was, but eventually, when I thought of stars and Joshua trees and dusty desert floors, I would think of her. And I would think of the way that she helped me understand who I am.
Audrey Clayton plans to major in Public Policy with minors in Political Science and Spanish. She hopes to use her love for writing to inspire change in the political world.
