Brains

The sun was still high in the sky when Bonnie noticed that Carl had left the trail. She called for his attention, squinting against the glare on her phone screen. Their little yellow arrow confirmed they were no longer following the green squiggly line heading up the mesa.

“You can see we’re basically on it, babe,” Carl insisted when Bonnie finally caught up to him. “The rock here is lighter from people’s dragging their feet.” He stuck the nozzle of his water bladder into his mouth and sucked it like a teat.

Bonnie sighed. She shoved her phone closer to Carl’s teet-sucking face and pointed. “Little arrow: here. Trail line: there. The sign on the car said we should stay on the trail.”

Carl spat his water nozzle out from between his lips. He gave Bonnie’s screen a scant look.

“I’m not disagreeing with you, babe. You’re totally right. But the trail’s nearby, and the parking lot’s right there. Everything in view. All good. We push on.” He grabbed the back of Bonnie’s head and pulled her face close to his, giving her a wet kiss with his well-hydrated lips.

Bonnie pouted. She just wanted to sit down in the conditioned car air. But before she could say anything, Carl was pounding up the rock, yards away. She noticed that the toned muscles of his exposed back were already red, but she kept the thought to herself. Carl hated sunscreen with a passion.

“They should call it ‘cancer cream’ instead,” Bonnie could hear him saying. “‘Cause that’s what those products give you, babe.” He would take the opportunity to remind Bonnie that she needed to quit her job as a nail tech now that they were getting married, because all the future Carl Juniors living inside of Bonnie could get exposed to nail tech chemicals in utero.

The still-high sun smiled down upon the frowning Bonnie. It filled the shimmering desert air with its life-giving rays, turning the sand to powder, making the grass crackle, and sending all wet, crawly creatures underground.

Bonnie turned and faced away from the mesa, out towards the desert. There was not much to see besides the parking lot. A second car was driving into it, churning up a dust cloud. Bonnie brushed her hand across the rock and sat, staring down at the pickup as it pulled in next to Carl’s bimmer.

Her bimmer one day, if she could stand Carl. As if he cared about what she was exposed to. Bonnie tried not to think about it, but the memory of what Carl used to do at those Vegas tech conferences threatened to resurface.

As he bounded ahead, Bonnie stayed standing and pulled her ponytail tighter. She had a sip of water from her insulated stainless steel water bottle. She took a picture of her manicure and engagement ring on a patch of rock that was especially pink.

“You comin’, babe?” Carl called down from atop the plateau. Bonnie peered up at him, the sun outlining his muscular physique, his hands on his hips.

“I’ll wait down here,” Bonnie called back. “I don’t need to see.” She could feel the darkened outline of Carl’s frown.

“I’ll just sit and wait,” Bonnie added. “It’s fine.”

After a beat, Carl shrugged. “Whatever you say, babe,” he muttered. Bonnie watched his red back disappear over the plateau.

It was Carl’s own fault if he was upset. He knew that Bonnie did not like hiking, walking, or being outdoors. He could have easily left her at home in Austin and gone alone, or taken one of his Vegas buddies.

Or Carl and Bonnie could have stayed home together. They could have gone out later that afternoon for Asian-fusion and had a few drinks on Carl’s tech-entrepeneur dime. They could have gone back to their minimalist apartment and pressed their toned bodies together. They could have had sex without protection to make it a little more special. Maybe get a head start on making those sunscreen-exposed Carl Juniors.

But instead, Carl had dragged Bonnie along on this hike. He was responsible for Bonnie being too hot, too tired, and too bored. There was nothing for her to watch besides the man in the parking lot getting out of his pickup.

“Man” was not the right word to describe the person in the parking lot. “Giant” was a better one. The giant in the parking lot had a poofy beard and long hair tied behind his head. He wore a sweatshirt. Bonnie was sweltering at the sight of him. The giant in the sweatshirt did a lap around Carl’s bimmer, looking in the windows and under the bumper.

The slightly-lower sun smiled down upon the frowning Bonnie. It filled the shimmering desert air with its life-giving rays, turning the sand to powder, making the grass crackle, and sending all wet, crawly creatures underground.

Bonnie squinted. There was nothing of value in the bimmer; Carl never left money in the console. The giant stopped circling the car and began trying the door handles. He gave each a stiff pull, but Carl always kept his car locked. He was Austin-born-and-bred.

Bonnie felt a prickle at the back of her neck. She watched the giant try each handle in turn before he began moving steadily up the mesa. He got about halfway before he disappeared behind a rocky outcropping. Bonnie could not see him emerge.

The light shone off the pickup and bimmer, making them glow like they were inside a thousand-degree kiln. The minutes ticked by. Bonnie squinted her eyes at the still-high sun and bit her lip. She nudged a rock with her foot. It was pink like an old brain. Pink like grey.

Bonnie took a picture of the pink-grey rock and texted it to Carl.

“Ready to go lol,” Bonnie tried to send along with the photo, but with no service on the mesa, the messages refused to go through. Bonnie huffed. There was only a quarter of a mile to the top and back. Carl had been gone longer than she expected.

Bonnie stood and paced, trying to see Carl on the summit. She looked down the mesa at the rocky outcropping, searching for any sign of the giant.

Out of the crackling heat, Bonnie heard Carl’s shout.

“No!”

The sun had sunk a little lower in the sky, taking on a golden hue, illuminating the pink-grey brain of the mesa. But Bonnie did not care about the light or pretty colors. Her world had become sounds. She waited, ears sensitive. The shifting of sand; the rustling of dried grass; the beating of her own heart. Her feet tensed, expectant.

This was why Bonnie did not go to outdoor places. Outdoor places were where bad things happened, and bad people went to do bad things. Bonnie had heard about them on true crime podcasts and Netflix documentaries.

Bonnie took a deep breath. She flexed her tense feet and headed up the mesa, towards the summit. It was as grueling as she anticipated. Sweat dripped sunscreen into her eyes, and her calves felt like rubber bands pulled too taut. When she finally mounted the plateau, blinking and burning, she was relieved to find Carl safe and sound.

Except that Carl was not there. No one was. It was just Bonnie and the playful breeze, dancing atop the rock, swirling the sand.

“What was he thinking?” Bonnie thought inside her pink brain. She peered around the sides of the plateau, trying to spot Carl. Stepping carefully along the edges, Bonnie spotted something else.

Blood.

It stained a fist-sized pink rock and pooled on the ground, collecting sand, dragging grains into itself. Bonnie shied away from it, fists clenched.

“It’s important to take a rest day,” she remembered Carl saying on the drive to the mesa. “I don’t want to get too jacked.”

But by rest day, Carl had meant hike day. The idea of resting—really resting—was laughable to him.

“You jackass,” Bonnie said aloud, squinting at her phone screen. Still no bars. “Me, jackass,” she added, swallowing and rubbing her irritated eyes. She massaged them until they stopped watering. Snail trails of tears and sunscreen painted her cheeks.

Bonnie was afraid at the sight of the blood, but felt in her heart that everything was going to be okay. That was the difference between dating and being engaged. If Bonnie and Carl had been simply dating, things could go wrong. But now they were in an anticipatory period. If something bad happened, there would be a seismic shift inside Bonnie. The next stage of their lives was scheduled and about to start.

As Bonnie walked the trail over the other side of the mesa, she caught sight of the giant from the parking lot. He was further ahead, carrying Carl over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes. Across Carl’s forehead was a deep gouge.

“Oh. Uh. Guh,” Carl moaned.

The giant paused to heave Carl higher, and Bonnie rubbed her eyes again. Her body shook with adrenaline and fear. She crept along the trail behind the giant. It did not matter that there was nothing to use as cover, for the giant was quickly closing the gap between himself, Carl, and the parking lot.

If the giant took Carl with him, Bonnie realized, she would have the bimmer, but that was all. A keyless bimmer and the night’s cold desert air. She hurried along.

“Hey!” Bonnie yelled at the giant, once she was only a few yards away. She gripped her insulated stainless steel water bottle close to her chest.

At the sound of Bonnie’s voice, the giant froze.

“Buh,” Carl groaned. “Mmm. Buh.”

The giant turned. Pale blue eyes peered out of a reddened face, patchy with sunburn. His poofy beard was tamped down with sweat, and his long, tied hair was slicked back. He looked like the neanderthal version of Carl, who was like a soft prince, caressed by the giant’s fleshy shoulder.

“Hello,” the giant said.

“Hey!” Bonnie yelled again. Her fingers white-knuckled on her bottle.

“It’s okay,” the giant told Bonnie. He didn’t speak the way that one would when trying to convince a cornered animal. He spoke the way one would if they didn’t care about the animal, believing them. His voice was flat. Two-dimensional.

Bonnie shook her bottle. “What happened to Carl?” she asked, her voice shrill. “Where were you taking him?”

The giant stretched his lips, as if trying to smile. “I didn’t mean to scare him,” the giant said. “He tripped—he fell—he hit his head on a rock.”

The giant gripped Carl’s bare torso more tightly, squeezing him.

“Oof,” Carl exhaled.

The giant stretched his lips again. “He wouldn’t wake up, no matter what I did to him. He had to come with me to get to the hospital.”

Bonnie scratched at the snail trails of sunscreen, now dried, on her face. She frowned. The giant stared at her, his pale blue eyes like silver razors, slicing her away until she was nothing but a strip of feelings.

She knew the giant knew she cared little for Carl. She knew the giant knew she was still afraid for him. For herself.

“Let’s go then,” Bonnie said, her voice like a whisper. When the giant turned away, she squinted at her phone screen again. Still no bars.

Bonnie watched Carl’s head bump against the giant’s back while they made their way down to the parking lot. It was like watching a melon tumble down a flight of stairs.

“Ugh. Oog. Mub.” Carl grunted. His back was crisped; almost as red as the giant’s face.

The pink-grey brain rock slowly gave way to burnt soil and eroded sand, like cliffs plunging into the sea. The giant turned to face Bonnie next to the bimmer.

“It would be easier if I put him in my truck,” the giant said. “We could ride together—the three of us..”

Bonnie edged closer to Carl. “Very kind of you, but it’s okay,” she replied, slipping her hand into Carl’s waist pouch pocket. Her manicured nails rooted around hungrily for the bimmer keys.

The giant stood still as a statue, his lips locked in their same stretch. His silver razor eyes sliced at Bonnie. She avoided his face. It was like looking at roadkill.

Bonnie unlocked the bimmer with a click and a chirp. She pulled out the keys, walked to the door, and opened it, allowing the giant to pour Carl inside. He puddled like wax on the passenger seat.

“Mmm,” Carl moaned. His face was that of a sleeping man. The blood from his wound had been pulled by gravity and congealed in his hair. It was dark and flaking, except around his gouge. Bonnie could see meat pulsing inside of him.

The giant stood next to the car while Bonnie went around to the driver’s side. The two watched one another.

“You’re welcome,” the giant said, as Bonnie snatched open the car door. Through the dusty glass of the window, she could not see all of the giant’s face, but his pale eyes managed to bore through. They were like no other eyes Bonnie had seen before. They were eyes that she would never forget.

The giant continued to watch as Bonnie reversed out. He stood in the spot next to where the bimmer had been, never moving. She glanced again and again in the rearview, but the giant remained tall as she drove away. Even with the dirt cloud covering the road behind them, in Bonnie’s mind, she could still see him in the lot.

Bonnie took several deep breaths and managed to fight off hyperventilating. She cried without taking her foot off the gas and without shutting her eyes. New snail trails wound through the sunscreen caked on her face.

When she could finally breathe and think and see and hear, Bonnie routed the bimmer to the nearest hospital. She planned to call the police upon arrival.

“Buh,” Carl grunted. Bonnie glanced at him, avoiding eye contact with his wound.

“What’s happened to his brain?” Bonnie wondered as she drove. The highway stretched out ahead forever, flat and dark, like vhs tape. Four lanes on either side, but in Bonnie’s mind, the bimmer hummed on alone.

Bonnie wondered what her new role would be if Carl’s injury were permanent. They weren’t due to be married until the fall—would they get married now? Would they ever? She glanced at Carl, whose head lolled from shoulder to shoulder with every shift of the car.

Bonnie tried to resist the question, but it wormed into her consciousness anyway: If they were married, would she take control of Carl’s tech-entrepreneur money? She considered looking up how much an in-home caretaker would cost.

She pretended she could have a live-in nail tech instead. A live-in nail tech to paint the fingers on Carl’s soft, thin hands. No more callouses. No more lifting weights six days a week. Just Carl in the padded nail tech chair, mouth slightly open, eyes slightly shut. Bonnie lying next to him, getting a massage from a young, muscular man with a white shirt on. Bonnie going to get Asian-fusion and a couple of drinks with the young muscular man. Bonnie kissing the young muscular man.

Bonnie imagined never pretending she wanted to have a bunch of Carl Juniors again. She imagined never giving Carl another ultimatum to make sure he didn’t sleep with another woman at another tech conference. She imagined never getting dragged on another hike to trail Carl and being left in the dust cloud that stretched behind him.

As Bonnie drove the bimmer closer and closer to the hospital, she allowed herself a moment. She imagined being with Carl, but never having to really be with Carl. She imagined being alone. She imagined being with someone else. She imagined driving as far from the mesa as she could get, and leaving it behind. All of it.