Four Corners and Free
“Give me a break,” Kris said, heading toward a bar.
Milla did. Now she’s driving, bat-out-of-hell style, down the flat road leading to Four Corners Monument, which closes in minutes. Frustration clenches her jaw.
Fifteen minutes after the hour, she arrives at the closed gate. No cars in the parking lot. No one around.
An RV parks next to her, and a family of four emerges. The heavy-set man laughs.
“Didn’t make it. Shoot, hon, it’s closed,” he calls to his wife.
He glances at Milla. “Kinda disappointing when ya gotta schedule.”
Milla nods. Her anger at Kris revitalizes.
“It’s only a little old gate,” the wife says. “Let’s climb it.”
After the family scales the gate, Milla does too. She might never again have this chance.
“Thattagirl,” the husband says to Milla, who smiles, oddly pleased by his approval.
Milla takes pictures of them in the center of the monument then accepts when they offer to snap her photo on her phone. Their lightness assuages her anger.
After they leave, in the pastel twilight, she absorbs the scent of the dessert, the open sky, the vast landscape.
Then she twirls in the monument’s center, flowing between states, joyous.
Note: Four Corners Monument is where Arizona, New Mexico, Utah and Colorado intersect; it’s the only place where four states meet. You can get more information here