I originally wrote this piece for a college course earlier this year. The events that transpire in the post occurred in 2018. I still look back to this experience and laugh about it every now and again.
It is a beautifully warm summer day in the middle of July 2018. The weather reached an all time high at 102 degrees Fahrenheit. Everyone in and around Albuquerque had the chance to avoid being inside, and I had no chance but to avoid the outdoors altogether. Pent up indoors all day at my job, I am more than thankful to be relieved from my dull duties for the day.
I randomly receive a phone call from a number coming from Las Vegas, Nevada as I am travelling down University Boulevard heading back home for the day. I think nothing of it and continued on. I arrive at my apartment am greeted with an unfamiliar sight. A lady with long and straight dark brown hair, thick-rimmed hipster glasses, and wearing an oversized black coat greets me by standing in my designated parking spot at my apartment complex.
This unfamiliar lady wore a puzzled expression that gives off the impression she is lost. Her brows furrowed, mouth agape, and both hands buried in her coat pockets, she looks super confused. I pull up to the spot, roll down my car window, and ask this strange woman how I can help her. In a very loud and rushed manner she quickly states, “HelloareyouElizabeth? IamSamanthafromCouchsurfing.How’syourdaygoing?” I am taken aback by how loudly and quickly she spoke in contrast with her timid outward appearance. I stutter something along the lines of, “Yes, I am Elizabeth. It’s a pleasure to meet you, Samantha. I am about to visit the Sandia Peak and go on a hike. Care to join me?” Without a moment’s hesitation, she eagerly jumps into the passenger side of my car as if this is the day trip she has been waiting to take all of her life.
As she sits down in the passenger seat and gets comfortable, slowly and carefully fastening her seatbelt, dressed as though she is ready to head into the arctic, I can’t help but notice a slight bulge in her left-front jacket pocket. I am initially intrigued over the fact that she is dressed in winter clothes when it is mid-July in the great southwest. It then clicked with me that she was the person calling from Las Vegas, Nevada.
Gradually my attention goes back to focusing on her pocket. The fact that she was super careful when putting on the seat belt slightly confuses me. I eventually come to the conclusion it had to do with what’s in her pocket. What could possibly in that pocket? I disregard my question for the time being and reason with myself that the object might be an orange, stress ball, apple, or some other spherical object of minimal significance.
In two minutes time with the windows rolled down, we are heading onto the I-40 eastbound, cruising in fifth gear. Before I can embarrass myself by asking her what was in her pocket, Samantha quickly and loudly, to the point where she is louder than the sound of the traffic right outside, says, “I apologize in advance but I have severe anxiety. I am super nervous
to be here. I’ve never traveled alone before and I have to keep on talking. If I don’t stop talking things are going to come out of both ends.”
In response to the plethora of personal information she just shared with me, I say, “It’s okay, and I understand completely. I used to teach ski lessons to a lady around fourteen years of age who used the same coping mechanisms to deal with her anxiety.” Right as I finish my sentence I see that bulge in her pocket move quickly and suddenly. This unexpected sight surprises me enough to once again wonder what lurks in her pocket. What could possibly be in there?
The five minutes that pass after we drive by the ski area completely changes my perceptions of my house guest for the night. Before this point, she was preoccupied with talking about her past, her supposedly crazy ex-girlfriend, why she came to New Mexico, and her current issues regarding finding employment. Right after we drive past the ski area, she randomly asks me why I accepted her request following up with the statement that she might be a serial killer for all I knew.
I sarcastically comment in return that serial killers don’t confess that they are serial killers. Unfortunately, my response is greeted by her silence. All of a sudden her face turns as red as a ripe tomato. I also notice that her hand is now gently squeezing the mysterious item in her pocket. In a brief moment of silence, when there are no noises going on inside the car aside from the sound of the breeze flowing through the car, I hear her quietly whisper to her pocket, “Shhhh.” Once again, I ask to myself, “What could be in that pocket of hers?”
Another fifteen minutes of her non-stop talking pass by in the car before we reached our final destination: Sandia Peak. I am relieved to finally have a breath of fresh air and more than two feet between me and Samantha. Meandering around the Dakota sandstone formation, I marveled at all of the pockets formed in the rock through mechanical weathering due to water. Meanwhile, Samantha continues to talk about her personal issues, how she never travels solo except for now, and continues to talk about her work problems.
We finally make it to the ultimate lookout point on the mountain, Kiwanis Cabin. Since the sun is still out, I decide to not take the risk of climbing up to the roof to hang out. I briefly explain to Samantha how the stone cabin was built by the CCC and its significance to the area. She simply nods in response and goes on a ten minute tangent explaining how beautiful the view is. Suddenly, she says, “This would be a good time for you to meet my best friend.” I initially thought she meant that she was going to call up her friend via phone call. After five seconds of observation and contemplation, I notice she reaches her hand into her pocket. Is this it? Will I finally get to learn what’s in her pocket?
She slowly and carefully puts her hand in her pocket, making sure to treat the object in her pocket with great care. I notice that her pocket gets a little wet while she is tugging what looks like a plastic bag out of her pocket. I am further perplexed. What is she pulling out of her pocket? A few moments later, she pulls out a small clear plastic container sealed within a plastic
bag. Inside this bag was the biggest living goldfish I have ever seen in captivity. The fish barely fit into its habitat that it is in currently. There are no air holes in the container or bag. How in the world has this fish survived the road trip without dying of shock?
Calmly, I ask her if her fish is her best friend and how long she has had the fish for, all while she is unzipping the bag and taking off the lid to the container. Over the course of five minutes she explains that yes, her fish is her best friend and that she grabbed the fish five days ago in Columbus, Ohio and is taking it with her to Las Vegas.
She goes on further to say, “I took this from a petstore out there. My mother’s funeral was the day before and had no one to talk to. When I found this fish in the store, I had a feeling we were going to be friends. So I took him from the store while no one was looking. You can’t put a price on friendship! Sometimes, you find friends in unexpected places.” Suddenly, a lot more made sense about Samantha and who she really is. To her lengthy explanation, I simply say, “Indeed. I wasn’t expecting to find your best friend in your pocket. Don’t experience that every day!” To that response, she laughs for two minutes straight and then she thanks me for hosting her and her friend, and that I will have a place to stay if I find myself in Las Vegas someday. I never took her up on her offer.
Lizard's Deviant Travels 