'Til You're Mine

2015

James is nowhere to be seen when I get to Alex's house the next day, coffee and burritos in hand, and I can't say I'm not entirely thrilled about this. Though Alex brings him up the second we sit down to eat anyway.

"James thought we should do some writing out in the desert." I look up from opening my sour cream, surprised. Alex smiles over his coffee, and says, "But only if you want to."

"What do you mean 'the desert'?"

"We recorded at a studio out in Joshua Tree for the Arctic Monkeys before," he explains. "It could be a nice change of atmosphere– get our kicks out there for a few days."

Getting out of town with Alex. I feel exhilarated for what that could mean for us, and for the music. Maybe being immersed in a real desert would make my fantasy for the album come to life.

"Yeah, that would be awesome."

"I'll book about two or three days then, shall I? They have rental apartments within walking distance of the studio– or we could stay in the RV park nearby." He's smiling in a way that doesn't tell me if he's serious or not, so I just laugh and say that I'm "down for whatever".

The three of us drive to Joshua Tree together: Alex, James, and me, with my bare feet propped on the dashboard and the highway wind blowing in my hair.

Alex had wanted to see if he could get us some time at Rancho de la Luna, but they were booked up for us coming on such short notice. So he had found a house rental that was part studio, part overnight lodging, where it would be just the three of us for three nights, and it sounded just as enticing.

When we get to Joshua Tree, we stock up at a grocery store before going to the rental, the cart immediately laden with junk food and alcohol. Shaking my head, I make sure to get some actual staples in: eggs, coffee creamer, bread, and some fruit and vegetables.

The house is a sprawling ranch, dropped in the middle of miles and miles of empty, craggy desert. It is the driest, most brutal heat I've ever felt, but it warms my skin immediately, and I breathe in as deep as I can.

Inside, it's nicer than I anticipated, with a full dining room and living room, and a modern kitchen stocked with all kinds of appliances we probably won't need. The studio space makes up nearly half of the house, and is full of vintage and modern equipment alike, with a recording booth encased in warm, lacquered wood and glass.

We chuck our stuff in our rooms, and then have tequila sodas on the back deck, looking out over the stretch of cacti and sandy brush. Marveling at the dry landscape, I realize that I'm living in a world that is the antithesis of my Portland existence. It feels both entirely exhilarating, while chasing me with that familiar sense of guilt that is all-encompassing. Alex and James talk about what we could get for dinner, what we want to do first in the studio, and I think they mean for me to join in, but I'm absolutely lost in my own head.

Why do I not let myself enjoy this? Why do I convince myself I don't belong in this world, or that I should be doing something else? Like art, going back to school, becoming a teacher or something and going back to Portland.

Looking out at the horizon of the brutal desert, I feel like I'm trapped in my own space-lounge, day dream, but it's more like a dissociation– a nightmare, a frightening out-of-body experience that I can't stop.

"Savior?" Alex and James are both staring at me. "All right?"

I laugh, and take a glug of my drink, saying, "Yeah, sorry. Just spaced out."