Lost

	"Two roads diverged in a yellow wood." That was the only thing I 
could think of as I stood in the blazing New Mexican sun. Robert 
Frost's "The Road Not Taken." There were two roads before me: one 
forked left, the other branched right. Everything was yellow--hot, 
steamy and golden. But I wasn't in a forest. There wasn't anything 
resembling a tree for as far as I could see. I was in the desert. Lost.
	I walked over to my white sedan and pulled out a map of New 
Mexico. Unfolding it, I laid the map out on the hood of the car. I 
scrutinized the white paper with the black and red lines trying to 
discern where I was. It took me only a moment to figure out that my 
efforts were futile. I couldn't remember which road I was on or what 
town I had been through last. A compass was of no use to me. I had 
flunked orienteering at summer camp so I didn't know which way was 
north.
	The sun loomed overhead, taunting me by appearing not to move. As 
soon as it set, I would know which way was west and thus could orient 
myself somewhat. I shielded my eyes with my hand and glanced up at the 
shining grapefruit in the sky. "Why do you mock me?" I screamed into 
the heavens. I decided I would make camp there on the side of the road 
and wait till the sun descended before continuing on my journey. The 
one thing I knew was that I would not be going west. I wasn't going 
back to California.

It took me only an hour to make camp. As I sat in the shade of my tent, 
I thought about what I was running from. No, not what, who.
	I had met her by chance coming out of a restaurant in Los 
Angeles. We were about the same height, same build, same short dark 
hair. One of the few differences I could tell right off between her and 
I was that she had crystal blue eyes whereas I had chocolate brown. 
After exchanging apologizes, the two of us headed for a nearby coffee 
shop. It was there over hot cups of dark liquid that I found out she 
was a musician, well a songwriter. She played piano and acoustic guitar 
and was in Los Angeles desperately trying to find someone to buy her 
music. She was from the East, Florida.
	My story was different. I was in Los Angeles because I had never 
been there. I had been born and raised in the Golden State yet I had 
never been to its largest city.
	When we said goodbye later that evening was when I had decided to 
go east. I had realized over that long cup of coffee we had shared that 
I liked her. Not in the way you liked a friend, but I liked her in the 
way I had liked my most recent boyfriend. I wasn't supposed to like her 
in that way. I was supposed to get married and have children. So I ran. 
That was three days ago.

I stared up at the sun again, not noticing that it had moved from its 
previous location thus revealing the way not to go. I decided I would 
take a nap, hopping to awaken before sunset. I stripped out of the 
button-down shirt I had on into the white tank top underneath and lay 
down in my tent on top of the sleeping bag. Before I drifted off into 
nothingness I thought about where my future lie. It was down one of 
those roads. Left or right. One road held my destiny. One road held all 
the answers.

I awoke to someone calling my name. Slowly I opened my eyes. It was 
dark. I had missed sunset. Reluctantly I sat up and reached for my 
other shirt. It had gotten cold now that the sun had sunk behind the 
hills. I listened to the voice outside. "Who could it be?" I wondered. 
No one knew where I was going.
	Carefully I unzipped the flap on the tent and peeked out. 
Illuminated by pair of headlights on a red Jeep Cherokee was the same 
woman I had met in LA. My heart slammed against my chest. What was she 
doing here?
	I stepped out of the tent and into the beams of light cutting 
through the darkness. "Kris?" I asked, wanting to make sure it was the 
same person.
	She started talking fast. "I saw your car and I thought maybe you 
were hurt or stranded so I had to stop to make sure you were okay. I'm 
on my way home back to Florida and I wasn't expecting to find you out 
here." She paused briefly looking at me. "What are you doing here?"
	I swallowed hard. I didn't want to tell her the truth but I had 
to. "Running away," I squeaked.
	"From what?"
	"From you."
	Shock ran across her delicate features. "From me? Why?"
	I sighed. It was now or never. "Because I love you, Kris."
	I expected her to laugh. I expected her to scream, cry, run, 
anything but what she did. She walked over and hugged me.
	When she pulled away, she held me at arms length gazing into my 
eyes. "Come with me," was all she said.
	I had to look away from the intensity of her stare. A million 
things went through my mind in a few seconds.
	Would my parents accept me?
	Would I still have friends?
	What about children?
	What would it feel like to kiss a girl?
	Would people be able to tell?
	Did this make me abnormal?
	Would I be able to accept myself?
	I never answered her verbally. Instead I packed up my camp, 
stowed everything away in my car and walked back to her, taking her 
hand, essentially telling her I would go with her. She climbed in her 
Jeep Cherokee and I got in my white sedan. We turned right and headed 
east towards Florida.