Bulletproof
The story of Carol and Gary.
I had heard once, long ago and in passing conversation, that the Salton Sea was an alternate reality, in phase with ours at certain times and once we entered, we could never leave. We could return home and even though it may feel like the home we left, we know in our heart that it isn't. It follows us, remains with us, and exerts its influence like the air we breathe – invisible but cloying, gathering in our throats.
And so it is with the story of Carol, whom I have met and called friend, introduced as Bulletproof when I first set eyes on her a decade ago off the southern edge of the Salton Sea. The sea was an accident and, in the beginning, a welcomed one. Developers saw an opportunity when visitors flocked to what was once inhospitable desert and settlements rose on its shores to become towns and elsewhere, along the western side, the beginnings of an entire city.
But the sea has no outflow, no way for the water to escape save for evaporation and so it became saltier and saltier and millions of fish died from botulism poisoning, piling high on the beaches where people once played. The birds, marveling at the bounty beneath them, ate the fish and they too, in turn, died. The tourists fled, leaving behind the ruins we see today, remnants of great dreams, and the faded hopes of a return to the glory days before the fall.
The desert is a lonely place and the nights, being closer to the equator than my home in Canada, descend quickly like a thrown blanket. And because I was a lonely child, I had read voraciously as a way to cope and that habit still stays with me to this day. There was rumour of a library deep in Slab City, an off-the-grid community built on the concrete slabs of a former military base. I searched for it, driving through the heat of the winter afternoon eight years ago, and I found it. Lying next to the library was a bus, rusted and broken, and on the doorsteps sat a woman, face beautifully weathered by the sand and sun. I asked for a photograph and, with her permission, I took her portrait and we talked.
Let us start then at the beginning, in her hometown of Holtville where she was raised under the strain of her father's violent outbursts. He was a big man, a man's man, and somewhat racist. He and her mother moved to Holtville from the part of Oklahoma where one could be proud of such things. Carol once told me, with a hint of disdain and not a little embarrassment, that in her parent's eyes Holtville was a good place, a place where one does not see black people. There was also the matter of his temper.
"I remembered when I was a little girl, I'd watch my daddy throw my mom against the wall. He'd beat the shit out of her. That's why I promised my kids would never have to see that, but they did anyway. That's why I left [my first husband]. It kills me that they have to go through that. They're damaged kids and that ain't right."
There is an inextricable link between the people and the land. Like those who wandered into the Salton Sea and had that reality become a part of them forever, Carol wandered into a dark place the moment she first witnessed her father's fist on her mother's body and she has never been able to leave.
We use the word 'domestic' to sanitize the 'violence' that it precedes, but to me, it makes it all the more horrifying. It defiles the place where we should draw our strength, where our heart resides, and where we should feel the most safe. Carol thought she had escaped when she left home to live with a drifter that hopped on a train from Arizona to Holtville. She met him in the town park and eventually married him. From that moment on she became his property.
“I became a zombie. Learned to shut up and do what I'm told...He beat me and gave me bruises and black eyes. I knew once they start hitting they don't stop...I put up with that for 25 years until I couldn't take it no more. I left to get a job cutting firewood and when I got my first cheque then I got down and got the kids. I had a switchblade in my back pocket and I pulled it out and I told him I got enough of your shit. I'm leaving and I'm taking the kids with me...Arizona is no place to raise kids. My oldest son started riding with gangs and I had to pull him out. My ex got doped up on cocaine and started running in front of buses and he got lucky after running in front of a speeding car. Some kid was in a hurry. Tried to kill himself all day and got lucky. He died on his youngest son's birthday. Shawn was twelve...Motherfucker! I hated him, but I loved him a little too.”
Sadly, and in keeping with the history of the Salton Sea, things did not end there. Her next boyfriend killed her eldest son in a fit of jealousy and the last few moments of his life was spent the same way in the first few, held gently by his mother. The boyfriend after that moved her to Twenty Nine Palms, a town nearly three hours away and isolated her from family and friends. He shot her in the head when he realized that he could not keep her from moving back to be closer to her remaining son. She survived the shooting and her friends gave her the nickname Bulletproof. A year passed, and she developed a relationship with a man her son had met in prison. He did not take it well when the relationship had run its course and she tried to end it, hitting her with a brick until she bled from her eyes and ears, then proceeded to choke her until someone on a walk interrupted him.
Carol vowed never to be with anyone again in the wake of these failed relationships. She remained alone for years until she met Gary and they were friends for years yet again before they married.
Gary was a snowbird, working six months out of the year up north selling toys for Toy Man, whom he currently works for delivering water and other odd jobs. The other six months was spent in Slab City. He remembers clearly the first time he met her – she gave him a hug and a kiss on the cheek, wearing a pink, blue, and white bikini top and a pair of cut-off jeans. He asked her to marry him after seven years at her friend's goading and she said yes.
Carol had a multitude of suitors prior to meeting Gary. She had refused proposals by Jerry (Nutty Brother), Bird, Kenny, Sterling (Mr. Wonderful), Tony Baloney, Insane Wayne, and David. It is not quite clear why Gary would turn out to be any different than all the others. Admittedly, one would believe that it wouldn't given Gary's criminal record which included violence and alcohol-based offenses. An incident in the beginning of their marriage that involved heavy drinking and an attack that left bruises on her arms should have stopped it in its infancy. However, the fact remains that she did chose him, believing that it would flourish in the shadow of a mountain of past failures and, surprisingly, it has been years since he had touched her in anger.
Perhaps their relationship is working because she has decided to not be a victim. She fought back; to his incredulity, she shot him with a pellet gun when he dared her. She called the sheriff on him when he was violent and he was forced to spend time in prison. She was aggressive and assertive in her response. He, in turn, did not want to lose her nor did he wished to be incarcerated any more than he already has. They could simply be two desperate people clinging to each other, yearning to find something they've never had before, hoping that this cannot be the summation of their life – that their empty and terrible existence cannot be all that there is. It could be that, but I think not.
I have seen tenderness pass between them beyond mere desperation in the way they touch and the way look at each other. I have seen him lick her spit out of his hands without hesitation just to show how comfortable he is with her. I was present when she washed his hair in the hot springs with unrushed attention. I have heard how he walked three miles in 120F weather to get her ice cream in the middle of summer because she had a craving. What other thing can this be?
The Salton Sea has become an important bird sanctuary and nature has begun to reclaim the land over the abandoned ruins that pepper its shores. Something beautiful is rising from the death and decay of its past. It is probable that it would never fulfill the aspirations it once had for itself, but this small victory is still a victory.
