Ray Harvey

Full many a flower is born to blush unseen and waste its sweetness on the desert air (Thomas Gray “Elegy Written in a Country Churchyard”).

She works in a diner called the Desert Rose on the northwestern edge of Colorado, near the Utah border. The diner is small and undistinguished, clean and lit up in an American wasteland. Triangles of cherry sit bleeding in the pie case and honey-yellow flypaper spirals back and forth above the cash register. She grew up in a mountain town, drinking beer and smoking cigarettes with all the other small-town girls and boys. She began working when she was in the 11th grade, and she’s not stopped working since. Waiting tables is what she’s done for most of her life. She graduated high school but never matriculated. After school, she drifted; where she lives now is not where she grew up.

By age thirty, she’d already buried two husbands, both miners, one killed in a car crash. No longer young, she is not yet old, and she is pretty still. She’s single. She has two teenage children who love her. She smokes mentholated cigarettes and rents an apartment too small for three, but it’s what she can afford.

There have been other jobs – night auditor, bankteller, housecleaner – but waitressing is the one she always comes back to. There are no special skills in her repertoire, no trade. She’s reasonably well-read, her mind is of a naturally speculative cast. At twilight she invariably feels a sense of sadness creep over her.

Fifty feet behind the Desert Rose, a cluster of cottonwoods grows along the banks of a sloppy canal. They are ancient and massive trees. Wind moves sluggishly through their dusty boughs. Moonlike globes of cotton orbit the bodies of the trees and fall soundlessly into the molecular green water. Sparse grass grows along the desert floor, and the desert stretches off into an intricate horizon. At the end of her shift, she likes to stand at the back porch of the café and listen to the wind sifting softly through the grass. Pretty blue flowers grow among the stalks, and she feels them wasting their sweetness on the desert air. The bone-colored moon rises in the east and fills a small quadrant of the sky, suffusing the clouds with its yellow and sulfurous light.