Death Valley

by Melissa Broder

pull into the desert town at sunset feeling empty. I felt empty the whole drive from Los Angeles and hoped that my arrival would alleviate the emptiness, so when the emptiness is not alleviated, not even momentarily (all emptiness-alleviators are temporary), I feel emptier. “Help me not be empty,” I say to god in the Best Western parking lot.

People are such a commitment. I would “reach out” more often if everyone promised not to check in again later. That’s how they get you. Your tragedy = their ticket to texting every day. Then it becomes about their drama. It’s always the people you don’t want to be there for you who are there for you.