Ariel Gore: Santa Fe Noir

But the next day it’s Friday, so I show up at the pagan group, trying to decide whether to tell Scar I think her visualization doesn’t work, and I’m the only one there, which honestly isn’t that unusual, and out of the blue like a call from a psychic hooker, Scar says she has a lead on this work-release program in Santa Fe, New Mexico. And usually they just take women from the gardening program, right? But Scar’s got a lead like she knows someone, like it’s just a matter of paperwork. And I say, “Scar, that’s the craziest thing because last night I was doing the root visualization and I thought for sure I’d tunneled outta here with my pagan Jedi mind power and then I opened my eyes and I accepted failure and now today I come in here and you’re maybe handing me this tunnel out?”

And Scar says, “You know what, Juliet? That’s the difference between crazy and magic. Crazy doesn’t leave room for doubt. Magic always leaves a little room for doubt. And coincidence.”

I closed my eyes and I saw a coyote and a cactus and from there it’s just paperwork and interviews with this officer Jim I’ve never met before and more paperwork and a cold van in the dead of night and a Greyhound station like I’m a free woman. And I don’t want to go down through California ’cause I don’t wanna have to worry about memories, so I head inland.

You ever think about how many places there are out there? Well, for one thing there’s plenty of Eastern Oregon. There’s a little bit of Idaho out there. And let me tell you, there’s a whole lot of Utah. And then if you cross the border into Colorado, even just a few miles, you can buy marijuana like it’s just a cigarette or a candy bar. I keep reminding myself to do like Scar said, just believe in the energy. The energy’s gonna take me where I need to be when I need to be there . And then next thing I’m here. In the desert. And it is fucking cold.

Like, I thought I was coming to the goddamn desert and they were gonna have cactuses and palm trees, but apparently I was visualizing Arizona. Or some LA movie set that passed for Arizona. Not to complain. I check into the Motel 6 because they’re the closest place to the railyard that’ll take my voucher. I mean, you ever just go outside in the dark and listen?

The first night I stepped outside on my own watch and just listened and I knew I was outta there. I said to myself, I am never gonna take the sound of the night for granted again . But you know what happened? I swear, it was like the very next night and colder than a walk-in freezer and already I could give a shit about the sound of the night. You get used to upgrades in life a lot quicker than you get used to downgrades. I’ve learned that much.

All this to say, Santa Fe was definitely an upgrade.

The dry air smelled musty and fresh at the same time, like green chile on charcoal.

Molly picked up another slice of the tomato and I closed my eyes and opened my mouth and let her feed it to me and I said to myself, Don’t lick her fingers , and for once in my life I listened.

The tomato tasted tart and earthy, like blood.

“You like?” Molly whispered.

“It’s incredible,” I whispered back.

She smiled and made her cheeks dimple again. “Our tomatoes win all the awards year round. Anyone can grow a tomato in summertime, Juliet, but I’m the only one yielding orbs like this in the middle of winter.” Molly stroked one of her orbs. “I love them so much,” she whispered. “Sometimes it hurts my heart to imagine them being eaten.”

Looking at all the tomatoes in her basket, I wanted to know her secret, but I needed to pace myself. She hadn’t asked me too many questions. I wouldn’t ask too many, either.

Molly blushed, just a little.

Did she blush?

She said, “Well, Juliet, you can start by focusing your passion and packing the rest of the boxes out of the truck... gently . The regulars flood in right at eight a.m. and clean us out.”

I glanced up at the sign behind her: The Tomato Guru .

Yes, I believe I can make a clean start here.

As I set down the last box of tomatoes, Molly says, “Juliet? Do you want to know my secret?” like she psychically knew I wanted to ask.

And I do. I want to know all her secrets.

And she whispers even though no one else is around, she says, “My secret is my compost.” And she nods to this plastic box full of dirt she’s got, and she says, “Put your hands in it, Juliet.”

And I sink my hands into her dirt and I try not to think of the bodies I’ve buried.

She says, “Juliet?”

And I say, “Yes, Molly?”

And she says, “Women’s prisons? Are they as hot as they seem on TV?”

And I can’t help but blush at that. Because the answer is no. At least not for me. But I want her to associate me with things she thinks are hot, so I say, “Oh yeah.”

Twelve hours later I’m moving into the little brown-and-white travel trailer behind the greenhouses in Molly’s backyard off Baca Street. Compost piles line the back fence and Molly points to a red-painted shed in the far corner before the coyote fence and she tells me the composting toilet’s in there and I nod, all casual, like that’s not the most disgusting thing I have ever heard in my life, because, not to sound like a gun-jumper or anything, but I think things might be getting kind of serious between me and Molly. I mean, nothing’s happened, but I wonder what it would look like to visualize it. I wonder what that would lead to.

So it’s weird the next day when I open the door to her greenhouse and she’s got her back to me and I guess she’s on the phone because I swear I hear her say, “They’re prisoners, Jim. They’re not people .” And I step back real fast when I hear that. I close the door. And I wait a beat and then another beat, watching her through the glass until she clicks her phone off, and then I open the door — more dramatically this time — and I announce myself with a “Hey!”

And Molly says, “Hey, Juliet,” like everything’s fine and normal-like, so I decide maybe I misheard her, right? They’re prisoners, Jim. They’re not people . What would that even mean?

And that’s when it occurs to me that maybe this work-release thing isn’t on the up-and-up. And I think, But I visualized it . Like I’ve just got to trust the magic, and then I remember that I really didn’t visualize anything but roots and outta here .

And I try to remember what happened to the women I knew who were actually in the gardening program, and I gotta say, I don’t remember any work-release program in Santa Fe. I think work-release means you gotta go back inside at night or check in with your officer every now and again, and nobody said anything like that to me when they were hustling me out of there like it was some kinda heist.

And I look at Molly and I think, I could kill her. There’s no doubt about that in my mind. But I probably misheard her.

I could make her love me.

She looks at me almost shyly. She says, “Don’t you want to try a tomato, Juliet?”

And I want to try one very badly.

She holds the whole tomato up in her clean hand. She says, “It’s a Juliet.”

And I take it from her gently. It’s very soft. I press it into my mouth, and bite down.

She says, “Juliets are my favorite.”

That night in my trailer, I had a candle and I was trying to write. I wanted to write something like really fucking deep, you know? Like I wanted people to get me and maybe think I was special. But I couldn’t stop thinking about the people I’d killed. And how everything would have been fine if they’d have just shut the fuck up. Some nights I get caught up on the past, and on all the places I’ve had to leave, but that night as soon as my thoughts started spinning, they slowed down.