The Desert 

An inspired narrative by Lily Tatara 

After Paradise Logic by Sophie Kemp 

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“‘Sometimes,’ he says, ‘I feel like you have no opinions about anything. Like, you’re afraid to tell me what you’re thinking because you’re scared something bad will happen. You’re so fucking agreeable it makes my skin crawl. I’m literally begging you to have literally any ownership of your thoughts. I’m literally begging you to say literally anything.’”
– Sophie Kemp, Paradise Logic 

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Welcome to the Desert. 

I’m sure you’ve heard that one before. I’m sure you’ve said it to yourself, an inch from the mirror, pointer finger pressed against the glass and eyes red with exhaustion. You stood there for a while, heaving while your face twitched and your legs buckled, and then you went to bed, and dreamt of a life where you can hold an original thought. Wouldn’t that be nice? Then, morning comes, and your roommate asks what you’d like to do today, and you say: I don’t mind. I’m down for anything. 

So, back to the mirror with you. 

And then you continue on. You dress to stand out, you speak to blend in. You wonder if everyone in the campus library is in love with you, or if they loathe you on sight. It’s one or the other, you know. The world revolves around you, and there is a destiny awaiting you that you haven’t yet worked out. In the evening, you go out. The bar, a friend’s place, the campus library

again, and (because you don’t have any friends), a house of a guy from Hinge.com. Then, when the sun is rising, and there is an opportunity to try again, you hike it home to your bathroom mirror, and wonder if you’ll see yourself, or that imposter, in your reflection again. 

But this time, for one reason or another, you don’t make it back to the bathroom mirror. You start your walk and you find yourself somewhere else entirely. A strange, liminal space covered in sand. You hate sand, and heat, and big empty spaces, but you’ve never been one for speaking out about that sort of stuff. Complaining gets you nowhere, Mom always said. Welcome to the Desert. 

Walk on, man. 

I had found myself there on a cold dead night in February. Maybe it was Valentine’s, maybe it wasn’t. I was upset that the much-older man I’d been seeing had been radio silent for nearly a week, and I was prepared to put everything on hold until he came back. I hadn’t been anywhere in particular, just a midnight walk around the campus of cold, dead, Nondescript  Michigan School to stop myself from punching another hole in the wall. I had nearly broken my hand last time, and pretty girls with good manners from good families didn’t do shit like that. I was ready to go home and yell at myself in the mirror again, because hell, nobody else would do it. Then, maybe, I’d get some help, if everyone agreed that was something that would be good. Hence, the desert. 

If you are like me, or like any other girl who’s not quite the brightest, or the prettiest, or the smartest, but the one who nods and smiles, you are very familiar with the idea of the Desert. It is where you end up when thinking just becomes a little too much, and you are ready to sigh and say those beautiful, simple words: I don’t mind, I’m down for anything. Sure.

Walk on, man. 

Eve was here first, when she bit that bright red apple because the snake had told her to, and that bitch doomed mankind, so maybe the Desert is where we were all meant to go anyway. Maybe none of this is any of our faults at all. 

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“Suddenly I was alone and I did not know where I was or what was going on. I only lay there and I smiled so graciously on the bed until it descended upon me, this darkness, and there was nothing left and when I touched my face I noticed that I had become a giant wound.”
– Sophie Kemp, Paradise Logic 

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So, what, Eve Doomed us all? 

Yeah, probably. But I’m sure you would have done it too; I’m sure you had your first cigarette at a college party, at the insistence of an older guy with a greasy side-part. I’m sure you bite from the hand that feeds you only when it asks you to. So can we really blame her? Ourselves? Each other? 

Eve and I have been out here for years. Alongside others, of course. People you wouldn’t even expect, I bet, like that bitch from your high school gym class who tried to get you removed from the girls locker room. The one you ran into at the bar your Sophomore year, where she told you that you look so pretty now, like that’s a recent development and her taking notice is a great, great compliment to you. 

Sorry, too personal. 

You know who’s not out here? The dude who gave you that cigarette, or the one who gave you that sorta-painful fingering in the back of his car. That’s kinda nice, right?

Your mom isn’t here, and neither is Grandma, or Great-Grandma, or that long line of women that tried so damn hard to make their time in the world count for something. They raised you better than this. 

Try not to think about it. 

Walk on, man. 

The days here in the desert are long, hot, and boring. One of us always asks another if they’d like to try and leave, and we always reply I don’t mind. I’m down for anything. Do you want to go, though? And the one who asks always says oh no, I don’t mind either. I’m down for anything. 

Then the snake shows up. He’s long and purple and he wears these sick aviator sunglasses and we all kinda wish we could be him, but we’d all be a little too insecure if we went back to dressing like a boy, ‘cause that was the time in our lives where people stopped caring about us. Yikes. Dialing it back. 

My bad. 

The snake offers us a way out, and like always, we reply with those simple, beautiful words. I’m down for anything. And because we said nothing at all, the snake leaves, and the Desert we will stay. 

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“Did you find everything you were looking for today? Did it make you walk towards the light?” – Sophie Kemp, Paradise Logic 

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Will we ever leave? 

I think that would be nice. One day, at least. But I won’t be the one to make that call–seriously, I’m down for anything. Whatever you guys think we should do. 

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 Kemp, Sophie, Paradise Logic, Simon & Schuster, March 25, 2025.