Between Mesa Springs and Sierra Ridge

When you need to cross vast distances, traveling from one city to another on the endless American highways, you lose track of time and space. It starts to feel like you’ve always been in that car, as if you were born with it. The headlights cut through the darkness of the night, and outside the window, instead of the usual cityscapes, forests, or fields, there’s only a lifeless desert. The city I left behind was Bayside — a small town on the shore of a great lake in the northern part of the country. My destination was San Jose — a city nestled in the shadow of mountains to the west. Why I needed to go there, I no longer remember. Whether it was business or some sense of duty that compelled me to make this journey now seems unimportant.

The car hummed softly on the smooth asphalt, and, with no other sounds to distract me, I began to sink into thoughts that had once seemed drowned in the whirlpool of everyday life. The thick night enveloped me like a blanket soaked in the scent of the desert, and soon I found myself trapped in memories. In such moments, you can’t help but sift through your life like flipping through old albums that had been gathering dust on the shelf for years. Some memories bring a smile, making you feel a little happier, but others tear at your soul like an old wound that has started to bleed again.

One of those memories was about her — a girl named Sarah. We met when I was younger, and I still didn’t know that love could be something that could be lost forever. Her eyes, always bright and full of life, looked at me with such devotion, as if there was no one more important than me in the world. I, like a true fool, didn’t notice her feelings, dismissing her as if she were just part of the scenery surrounding my life. She was a ray of light in my dark world, but blinded by my own stupidity, I didn’t see it. Sarah left my life as suddenly as she had entered it. One day she simply disappeared, and I didn’t search for her, thinking it was just another passing fancy that would fade on its own. But years passed, and by the time I realized what I had lost, it was too late. Sarah died in a car accident. There was no longer any place for me in her life, and all that remained for me was to regret what I had deprived myself of.

Now, sitting behind the wheel of this car, alone and lost in the lifeless desert, I felt her presence again. My chest tightened with pain, and I felt tears welling up in my eyes. I cried quietly, almost silently, and the only witnesses to my tears were the barren hills and the night sky. It was foolishness to waste tears on something that couldn’t be undone. But at that moment, it felt like I wouldn’t be able to breathe otherwise.

After driving a few more miles, I saw a figure on the road ahead. It was completely impossible: who could be out here, so far from any town? Yet, the closer I got, the clearer it became that it was a young girl. Her silhouette stood out against the dimly lit hills, and the way she slowly waved her hand, signaling me, seemed strangely familiar. As I drove closer, I instinctively slowed down, and as I peered at her face, I felt a shiver run down my spine. Her face seemed so familiar that my heart started to race, and the pain in my chest tightened again.

She walked up to the car and looked inside. Her big eyes looked at me expectantly, and I could barely contain my surprise when I recognized her. It was Sarah. Young, beautiful, alive, as if time had turned back, and I was once again in the past. I opened the door and invited her to sit inside. She smiled, and her smile, just like long ago, lit up my heart.

We drove on, and I couldn’t help but notice how her scent — the faint aroma of lilac — filled the car. It was incredible. I was certain it was her, yet at the same time, I knew it was impossible. Sarah had died many years ago. If she were alive, she would be in her forties, and the girl sitting next to me couldn’t have been older than nineteen. But I couldn’t deny the facts: her voice, her mannerisms, her gaze — all of it belonged to Sarah, the very same one I had lost so long ago.

She looked at me and asked, “What brought you to such a place, where not a single other person is in sight?” Her voice was soft, almost a whisper, and there was a faint hint of melancholy in it.

I shrugged and tried to smile. “I don’t know, it feels like I’m just driving to forget,” I said. “And you? How did you end up alone in such a remote place?”

Sarah pondered for a moment before replying. “Sometimes people end up where they’re least expected,” she said quietly, her voice suddenly serious. “I’m also traveling to find something… or maybe someone.”

Our conversation gradually became more personal. I learned that she was heading to San Jose to meet someone from her past. She spoke as if this person was important to her, but she didn’t mention any names. Her words grew increasingly cryptic, but in them, I heard echoes of our story together.

“Sometimes it feels like the past never lets us go,” I said, trying to keep my voice steady, but my heart was gripped by a strange sense of unreality. “I was thinking about someone I used to know… someone I lost.”

Her eyes darkened, and something resembling pain flashed in them. “You know,” she said, almost in a whisper, “sometimes we lose people who meant everything to us, and then it’s impossible to get them back. But if you could change something, what would you do?”

I wasn’t expecting such a question, but I knew the answer right away. “I would ask for forgiveness,” I said, feeling my voice tremble. “I would say that I was a fool, that I didn’t see what was right in front of me. I would do anything to get her back.”

Sarah was silent for a long time, and I was afraid to break the silence. Then she turned to me and said, “Maybe you still can.”

We continued driving in silence, each of us lost in our own thoughts. I couldn’t take my eyes off her, off her face that was so familiar and yet seemed foreign. All I wanted at that moment was to stop time so that I wouldn’t have to say goodbye to her again, like I did in the past.

Finally, we arrived in San Jose. I parked the car on the roadside at the edge of the city, and we both knew that this was the end of our journey. Sarah quietly got out of the car, and so did I. We stood facing each other, and I couldn’t find the words.

She looked at me and smiled the same sad smile she had many years ago. “Thank you for the ride,” she said softly.

I felt like I was losing her again. It was unbearable. I suddenly realized that this was my last chance. I had to tell her everything I hadn’t said back then, so many years ago.

“Wait,” I said, almost desperately. “I have to tell you something.” She stopped, and I felt my heart pounding in my chest.

“I can’t bring back the past,” I began, feeling tears welling up in my eyes. “But if I could… If I could go back, I would do things differently. I would love you the way you deserved. I was blind, I was a fool, and because of that, I lost the most important thing in my life. I know nothing can change what happened, but… forgive me, if you can.”

Her eyes met mine again, and in them, I saw what I hadn’t expected — understanding and forgiveness. “I forgave you a long time ago,” she said, her voice barely audible but without a hint of bitterness. “Now it’s your turn to forgive yourself.”

With those words, she turned and began walking into the fog that was starting to envelop the city streets. I tried to follow her, but my feet felt as if they were rooted to the ground. And I just stood there, watching as she disappeared into the night, realizing that she was leaving for good.

When the fog completely obscured her figure, I was left alone on the streets of San Jose, with the feeling that something important had finally found its place in my life. I had forgiven her, and she had forgiven me. And in that, there was something more than just words. It was a true farewell.