The Shade of the Joshua Tree

Roma sat there on the pale pine floors of the dining room. The phone was off of the cradle, hanging there by the gray line and moving from left to right with the breeze coming in from the cracked windows. She had her head between her knees and her back against the wall figuring it was wise to take preventative measures because she was sure she was to either faint or empty her stomach on the floor. Static was the solitary noise that comforted her as the thick ink of night caressed her bones and only gave her loneliness.

It wasn’t long before she heard the door, the beautiful turquoise door meant to protect her, splinter into a million pieces. They had come to retrieve her too, just like her parents had warned her. “Roma?” the voice yelled, a man’s voice, one that she thought could be syrupy sweet and tender if the scenario was suiting. “Roma Martinez?” The voice beckoned again. Roma’s heart hurt far too much to breathe, to continue, much less answer a stranger that forced his way into her sanctuary. Unsure of whether to beg for mercy, to beg for death when the man eventually found her, Roma tried to organize the tornado of thoughts whipping around her mind. She’d know it would be the capital of cowardice, but some things she rather not live through. “Roma Martinez, you’re going to end up getting everyone killed!” The urgency was amplified. Throw pillows launched around, Roma watching as one was thrown with so much power it made the flat screen crumble to the floor in an array of sparks. The rug caught flame and the room became more maneuverable.

That’s when she heard the helicopters. Their propellers whipped the palms growing in the back yard. Roma’s tears fell more rampantly when she remembered the palms her mother and her had planted when they first arrived at the home. Roma assumed she couldn’t call this home anymore, this was just a house with a turquoise door. The man, more or less a teenager, found her crouched against the wall. “Your parents told you about me, get the hell up!” He began advancing towards her.

Roma staggered to her feet, only having her weak arm grabbed by the man’s vice grip. A spontaneous combustion of flames sounded, making Roma cringe in fear. The man chuckled, whether to mock Roma, or out of interest, she did not care. “Well, there goes the coffee table.”

He took Roma’s face in his hands, demandingly in a sense. “Look, I’m going to run out first. Once I scream, you’re going to jump out of that window. You’re going to run for your life and get in the black SUV. Do. Not. Wait. For. Me. Understand?” After Roma just gave him the glazed over look she had perfected in the past fifteen minutes of her life, the man let go of her and bolted out the back door. Gunfire was heard.

Roma could instantaneously feel the warmth of her heart ice over, the little girl was gone and the adult beast had finally been brought out in her. She was no longer a child. Now isn’t the time for mentally refining herself. So she picks up the paperweight off of the imported Japanese credenza that’ll become engulfed by the flames eventually, and she runs into the night.

It smelled of burning plastic in the air, and many families were on their front porches, gaping at the horror unfolding in the back yard where they once gathered as a community. The men would share unwanted grilling tips and the women would try to reign in the children. Roma briefly said goodbye to this as she launched herself over the railing, running up the side of the house to the front entrance.

There are many people yelling at each other over the gusts of wind and chaos. There’s families huddling their children close and gasping in horror themselves. Roma didn’t stop, her feet moving so gracefully that only adrenaline could be the cause. “Faster!” One distinct voice screeched into the night with the determination to be heard.

Panicking, she turned around to find a spotlight on her. “Roma!” The same voice bellowed, finding that it was the man with a rippling denim shirt holding the door open on a muddy white crossover SUV. In a moment of extreme stress, she propelled herself forward, diving into the rough carpeted floor of the car. Before she hit the ground, the car had made it to forty miles per hour, and the number was growing by the second.

The car was thick of heavy breathing and concentration. Roma didn’t feel like getting up, so she laid there at her savior’s feet, and he didn’t comment.