As she frantically ransacks the bathroom, she hears her mother ask, "Honey, what's wrong? Are you all right?"
Samantha scurries into a crack between the toilet and bathtub. "Stay away from me! Don't touch me!"
Mom ignores her protests, squatting down in front of her and brushing hair from Samantha's face. "Oh honey, there's nothing to worry about. Everything will be fine."
"No it won't. I'm bleeding to death!"
Mom laughs at this. "Sweetie, you're not bleeding to death. You're having your period."
"My what?"
"It's something special that happens to girls when they get about your age. It means you're becoming a woman."
"I am?"
"That's right, honey. Your body is going through a lot of changes now. It's all part of growing up." Mom takes Samantha's hand, pulls her to her feet. "I'm sorry I didn't tell you about this sooner. I guess I didn't think it would happen so soon." Mom begins to cry; Samantha joins in.
They weep in each other's arms for a few minutes, though Samantha isn't quite sure why. Then Mom begins to run warm water into the bathtub. Mom said Samantha was growing up, yet she bathed Samantha in a way she hadn't in years. As Mom wipes the blood off Samantha's thighs, she explains the importance of periods to having babies.
After the bath, Mom leads Samantha back into the motel room, where she finds Dad putting clean sheets on the bed. Mom steers Samantha over to the desk, pulling out a pad that looks like a miniature diaper. She instructs Samantha on how to use the sanitary napkin.
The napkin feels like a diaper between her legs. She feels even more like a baby when Mom helps her dress and then tucks her into the motel bed, kissing her on the forehead. Dad does the same; he looks ready to cry himself.
"Don't worry, honey, we'll be right here when you wake up," Mom says.
Hours later, the desert rolls past Samantha's window. She leans against the window, taking in the empty asphalt, sparse vegetation, and barren hills. This familiar landscape has never before looked so desolate to her before. Never has she felt so much at home.
"Are you all right, honey?" Mom asks.
"I'm fine," Samantha says. This is a lie. She still feels feverish and sore. More than anything, she wants to sleep for the next two days and wake up feeling like she did before this morning. But she couldn't, not now or ever.
In the seat next to her, the giant Minnie Mouse Dad bought for her is buckled up like a fourth passenger in the car. Samantha had protested she was too big for stuffed toys anymore, but Dad insisted on buying it for her anyway. She dragged Minnie around for the rest of the day, pretending it was her little sister.