After she drove away, Mitchell walked toward the restaurant. “Let’s eat!” he said. I was shocked. I had thought that we were out of money. We went inside and, for the first time, Mitchell let me order what I wanted. It was the first hot meal I’d had in ages! I ate until I thought that I’d be sick.
After eating, we walked along the highway until it grew dark, then left the road and headed off into the desert to set up camp. When we awoke the next morning, the sun was blazing hot, turning our tent into an oven. I crawled out of the tent, already very thirsty, and started packing up our bags. Looking around, I realized that we were literally out in the middle of the desert. The empty road stretched into the distance, the only indication of civilization that I could see. Nothing but desert and barren hills in every direction. No sign of life at all. I paused to listen. The stillness was absolute.
We started walking. The road seemed to grow gooey from the rising heat. After an hour or two, we ate the last of our food: old carrots mixed with vinegar and a can of black olives. We didn’t have any water. We kept on walking. By noon, I was starting to believe we were committing suicide by thirst.
An occasional car sped by, but none of them stopped or even slowed down. I was as miserable as I had ever felt. But Mitchell seemed to love it. It gave him an opportunity to show his physical prowess. Plus, he loved the idea of suffering for the Lord. I could almost read his mind: I’m just wandering in the wilderness and waiting upon the Lord. I glory in persecution. For when I am weak, then am I strong.
Finally, some friendly Mexicans picked us up and took us a few miles to where there was a fork in the road. After they dropped us off, we stood at the intersection, waiting for Mitchell to figure out which way to turn. As we waited, a woman in a blue car stopped beside us. She had passed us before, then had gone into the nearest town, bought some hamburgers, turned around, and brought them back to us. I eyed the hamburgers hungrily. Another kind woman. Another saint!
After she left us, we started walking again.
It was at this point that things got a little strange.
As we headed into Blythe, or Brawley, or something like that, an old and cankered Winnebago went cruising by. Looking at the creepy motor home, I was glad it hadn’t stopped. But all of Satan’s children recognize their own and, as I watched the Winnebago speeding down the road, I was distraught to see it pull over, then turn around and come back to pick us up.
It took a long time before the door flew open. Then the driver beckoned for us to climb in. The interior was dark and eerie. I wanted to run away. I started to back up, but Mitchell pushed me forward and forced me to climb on board.
The interior of the motor home was as disgusting as I had imagined. For one thing, it was filthy. For another, every inch of the water-soaked walls was covered with cutouts of naked women. Alongside each picture, the driver had written what he wanted to do to that girl. To call it creepy was an enormous understatement. Mitchell, of course, felt right at home.
The driver looked at us and said, “It took me a minute to open the door because I had to take down some of the cutouts that would have been offensive to the ladies.”
I looked around in disgust. So this isn’t offensive? I wanted to say. I shook my head.
“You know that’s why I stopped to pick you up,” he said to Mitchell. “You have these two ladies with you.” He was talking to Mitchell as if we weren’t even there. I felt like one of Mitchell’s cows or something. And the driver never took his eyes off of me as they talked. It was obvious what he had in mind.
They kind of talked around it for a moment, but Mitchell made it clear that it wasn’t going to happen.
The man nodded. Okay. No big deal. They could still be friends.
Soon after that, Charlie, the Winnebago driver, was telling us about a nudist camp that he was heading to. “Want to join me?” he asked. Of course Mitchell did.
Charlie drove us to a secret oasis in the desert where there was a warm spring. He kept staring at me, waiting for me to take my clothes off, but Mitchell wasn’t going to share me even visually. Handing me a large T-shirt and some old shorts, he told me to put them on. The spring felt cool in the hot afternoon and there were lots of naked people around, the vast majority of them old and wrinkled as dry prunes. We sat in the cool water surrounded by palm trees until the sun had gone down. That night we set up the tent outside of the old Winnebago. Charlie tried one more time to make an agreement with Mitchell, but Mitchell continued to refuse.
The next day, Charlie took us to a small town outside of Las Vegas and dropped us off. But he kept turning his motor home around and circling back to pick us up again. Mitchell, wanting nothing more of Charlie, forced us to hide in the bushes along the road. “You’re mine!” he proclaimed. “I’m not going to share you. I don’t care if he gave us a ride!”
I felt my stomach churn. So he wouldn’t share me for a ride. But what if he got a better offer? The thought made me feel sick.