Once there was a man on a commune in the Canadian wilds. His name was Tom.
One misty moisty morning, we jumped in my Volkswagen bus and hightailed it for the California desert. He was running—I was in love.
A year we spent squatting on that mining claim in the Chocolate Mountains, living a whiskey fantasy, surviving on beans, rattlesnake, and the kindness of others. I sang for tips in the small-town bar. He got by on charm.
Finally Tom tired of me-it was inevitable. I returned to my Canadian island. He kept running.
Don’t tell my husband, but sometimes I think of him still.
By Mollie Hunt
photo by Ajay-Karpur on unsplash