mirage

The heat hit him like a blast furnace as he gathered his things and disembarked the air-
conditioned rig. The Mojave Desert barring her teeth in greeting, her breath causing Rj
to immediately break out in a sweat. He surveyed the barren wasteland he had been
dropped in.

“Good luck to ya, Rj.” The trucker offered. “Are you sure you don’t want to ride with
me into San Bernardino?”

“No thanks, Pete, I’m going to try my luck in Laughlin and Vegas.” Rj responded. “I’m
already missing that air conditioner in your truck though!” he smiled. “Thanks for the
ride.”

“You bet and good luck to you, friend.”

“Thanks.” Rj gave a final wave and shut the door. As the rig pulled away, creating a
Dust Devil to swirl around Rj, getting into his eyes.

So this is Blythe, California? At least what Rj could see of it; Blythe made it’s home on
the boarder of southern California and Arizona. There were a number of ways he could
have taken to navigate his way into Laughlin, Nevada and then on to Vegas. Courses
had to constantly be altered to fit the ride. There were more direct routes to get to
where he wanted to go but the ride always dictated the route.

There was absolutely nothing, save a lone, tattered store sitting off the road a ways.
The parking lot was almost unidentifiable as he made his way to the bedraggled
structure. The store itself seemed to sag to one side, the outside, gray in color and
faded from years of the heat and dirt beating on it. Two windows on either side split
the doorway; one window, so dirty you couldn’t see into the store at all and a board
covered the other, no doubt the window had been gone for who knows how long. It
gave Rj the impression of an old man, one eye gone from some fight in his past, his
other eye clouded by all that he had seen in his youth. As if waiting to die a blessed
death from his existence, he looked tired. He almost seemed to sigh as yet another
traveler came to seek aide from him; maybe he only appeared when needed and then
vanished from sight when his task was done. Rj looked around for some sign of life
apart from the store… nothing. No houses or industrial center, nothing but the hot
wind, hissing as it beat against the store, whooshing past him, clawing at his eyes,
trying to steal his breath; maybe this is how “Old Man Store” lost his eye…
Tumbleweed scurried past him as if being beckoned by its master. Everything seemed
to be trying to speak their secrets to him, maybe trying to warn him… of what? Rj
shook these images from his head, where in the hell did he get this crap anyways? He
sort of liked it, though; maybe he would have to write that down….

As Rj stepped into the store, the first thing he noticed was how poorly lit it was; a
dingy yellow hung in the air, no doubt from the dirt and wind outside and the lack of
cleaning inside. Even the shelves had a thin layer of dirt on them; the rank, stale air
making it hard to breathe.

Rj approached the man behind the counter. The man had on a sweat-stained tank-top
undershirt. A cigarette hung out of the corner his mouth. He was reading a paper, the
sports section, Rj figured. The man didn’t even acknowledge the fact that Rj had
entered the store. He mused if the man could even see him through all the damn dirt.
“Hi there, friend,” Rj offered. “I need some water and I was hopin’ you could help me
out.”

“There’s water for sale in our coolers.” The man grunted, still holding his gaze on his
paper.
Oh great, Rj, sighed, “I don’t have the money on me to buy bottled water. I was hoping
to just get some from a tap somewhere, besides, my bottle is larger.” He set his glass
container on the counter.

The man gave a little snort, “glass, huh? Cost you a buck-n-a-quarter to fill it.” The
man went back to his paper.

“A dollar and a quarter for some fucking water from your sink?” “That’s crazy! I can
buy a bottle of water for less than that!” Rj was beginning to get angry; this asshole
was going to charge him for water? He didn’t even think that was legal. Who the hell
charged someone for water?
The man folded his paper up (wadded it up was more like it), set it down on the table
off to the side of the counter and squared off to Rj. “Then go over there to the cooler
and get yourself a bottle of water. Either way it will cost ya, understand?”

Rj stood there for a minute, holding his gaze on the man; a silent power-struggle going
on between the two. Rj knew he was not going to win this one, well, not without
beating the crap out of this jerk and the way he felt right now, that was not out of the
question. He could smack this guy with his glass bottle and take the damn water; who
would he call for help, Mr. Tumbleweed outside? No, that was not the answer and Rj
knew it. Oh he had no trouble with that kind of persuading but the way he felt right
now, he feared he might lose the fight and get his ass handed to him with no water in
tow for his trek up highway 95. No, he didn’t have a choice, the thermometer outside
boasted 124° (a record temperature). He wished he had asked Pete for a few dollars
before parting ways. He didn’t have the heart, after all the truck driver had done for
him. He should have though. What could the man have done, told him no? Another
lesson learned.

Disgusted, Rj dug in his pocket “here’s the money,” he set it on the counter with a little
more force than normally needed, “would it cost more to have you put a little ice in it
for me?” Damn, was he pissed-off.

“Ice machine’s broke.” Mr. Jerk said with a grin.

“Now there’s a surprise.” Rj retorted. “Let me ask you this then. Where is town around
here? I didn’t see anything coming in.”

“Which way you headed?”

“North into Needles.”

“Not much up that way. There are some houses but they are fairly spread apart.”

“How far apart?” Rj asked. “Is there a lot of traffic on that road?”

“Nope, hardly any traffic at all, mainly just folks that live on that road use it. Houses are
a few miles apart, I guess.” Mr. Jerk set the water bottle on the counter. “Here’s your
water.”

Rj picked up the bottle and saw that it had little floaters in it. “This water is ok to drink,
right?”

“If ya don’t like that water there’s bottled…”

“Yeah, yeah, I know,” Rj interrupted, “there’s bottled water in the cooler. Jesus Christ,
how the hell do you stay in business?”

Mr. Jerk picked up his paper again, ignoring Rj’s comment. Rj also noticed that the guy
never opened the register to put his “sale” in to.

As Rj made his way back out to the road he hoped the damn building would collapse on
the guy. He walked slowly, trying to conserve all the energy he could. Damn was it hot.
He took a sip of his water and silently prayed that the floaters weren’t going to give him
something he didn’t want, like the shits or something. Wouldn’t that be a joy? He
smiled at his humor… and stopped dead in his tracks; his water was already starting to
get warm. Then a thought hit him and sank in his gut like ice. The water would be hot
enough for coffee in just a few more minutes. He needed water to make it out here, this
he knew. Without water he wouldn’t make it far at all. He looked back towards the
store, the heat from the ground shimmering and causing the store to become distorted
in his view. “You would think Mr. Jerk could have warned me about this.” Rj
wondered aloud. Pete wouldn’t have known because the bottle was in his pack with the
few items he owned. How was he going to keep this water drinkable? He continued his
trek, making a mental note to keep his eyes open for a better container. Hell, he had
found some interesting things on the side of the road in his brief travels. Once he had
even found a five-dollar bill. So far, however, the desert was not offering much of
anything today.

His mind wandered as he walked. He thought of what he would do once he reached the
casino areas. He had heard that there was a huge construction boom out in Laughlin
and Vegas area. He was hoping to get a job in the casinos, maybe working one of the
Black Jack tables (His favorite gambling card game). Hell, how hard can it be to deal a
few cards and play with money that isn’t even yours? Wouldn’t take a rocket science
degree to do that. Of course he would have to clean up and rest up. He heard that motel
rooms and food were cheap out there; if he could get a roof over his head and a meal
for next to nothing, getting back on his feet shouldn’t be that hard.

Right now he was beat to hell. Everything ached. He couldn’t remember the last time he
had seen a bed. At least he was able to get a shower at the truck stop in Texas. He had
to put the same old dirty clothes back on but at least his hair was washed and at least
one layer of dirt was scrubbed off his body. Funny how people look at you when you
are dirty; like you have some kind of disease that they can catch. And that one diner in
Shreveport, Louisiana, Man, that waitress was visibly scared to even approach his
table. Of course, when he saw that she was judging him like she knew just what kind
of guy he was, he played on it, acting as if he had a mental problem, ready to explode at
the drop of a hat. He got her so worked up another waitress finished serving him, with
whom he acted like a complete gentleman. Yeah, that was pretty funny, “dumb bitch,”
he muttered. God was it hot! He had never experienced such heat! How long had he
been walking? How far had he gone? The store was long ago out of sight. What time
was it when he left the store? He couldn’t remember. He looked at his watch; the face
on it was black. There were no numbers or date at all. The heat must have got to it.
“Great! Just fuckin’ beautiful.” He said. “And the hits just keep on comin’!” What
movie had he heard that line from? He couldn’t remember. He took his watch off and
threw it down on the side of the road. “Piece of junk.” He stammered.

Rj also began to notice his right foot was hurting him; another blister, no doubt. God
was it hot! He took another sip of his water, getting hotter by the minute. He took his
shirt off and wrapped his bottle up in it. He needed this water; he would not do well at
all without it. He was limping now, damn blister, scraping against his sock and sneaker.
Now, where was he? Oh yeah, the Truck Stop, right outside San Antonio….

                                                     *****

Two days he panhandled the truckers and motorists in that parking lot. He would wait
for them to finish their business inside and hit them up for some cash on their way
back to their vehicles; that way, if they got pissed off the chance of them turning
around to report him would be much less. He had made a total of six dollars and fifty-
seven cents for his efforts. He spent the entire day on his feet, coming out of the
shadows to hit up his mark, and then back to the corner of the build, out of sight so as
to not get in any trouble. He had stayed up all night (not by choice) and by the second
day he was exhausted.

Rj decided to take a break and buy a candy bar and a Gatorade or something to get
some energy back. He made his way to the coolers and got his drink, grabbed a
Snickers on the way to the counter. The guy behind the counter looked to be about his
age, give or take a year or two. A trucker was paying for his fuel-up and given a
shower key, towel, and a small bar of soap; when they fueled up a shower was thrown
in for “free.” The truck driver gave the bar of soap back; cracking a joke about just
how much territory it would cover for a guy his size and made his way to the showers,
Laughing at his own humor.

As Rj approached the counter, he was immediately aware of how dirty he was; his
shaggy brown hair was matted from dirt, his skin was gritty to the touch from the
sweat, salt and dirt it had battled with for the past few days. His jeans were a faded
yellow from the same kind of fate the rest of him suffered. His already lean frame was
feeling the strain of not eating or sleeping; things had a surreal look to them. He set his
drink (already opened) and candy bar on the counter.

“How’s it going?” The counterman asked. “Is that all you need today?”

“No, but it’s all I can afford,” Rj replied looking down at the counter.

“Having a rough go of it, huh?” The man rang up the bill.

“You could say that, I guess; I been trying to get out of this hell-hole for two days
now.” Rj opened the Snickers and dug in.

Yeah, I know. I’ve been watching you. You haven’t had a lot of luck panhandling either
from what I have seen.”

“Now wait a minute, I’m a decent panhandler!” Rj defended himself; he almost broke
into a grin.

“How much money you made so far?” Mr. Counter Man asked.

“Little personal ain’t it, pal?” Rj tried to look offended. He stepped aside as another
trucker paid for his fuel. No shower for this one. Rj almost said he’d take it for him,
but thought better of it. He might be a lousy panhandler, but he wasn’t stupid.

“So, how much you made, cowboy?” He asked again.
Rj countered with the same tactic as before they were interrupted. “Sort of personal ain’
t it? I don’t ask what’s in your wallet.

“Well, your working’ my parking lot and I have taken a risk in not blowin’ you in to the
cops so if you really did do all that good, we should split it as best as I can see.”

“Are you serious, man?” Rj asked in disbelief.

“Of course not, I’m just ribbin’ ya.

“Good, cause I only made six dollars and just spent three of that on dinner here.” Rj
stated with a grin.

“I’d buy you a meal if I could, but I’m broke till payday.” Mr. Counter Man stated.

“That’s cool, Bro, I understand.” Damnit, Rj thought to himself, so much for hitting
him up for a little cash.

Listen, go on over there in the corner, find a table and hang out for a while. You want a
shower?”

“Holy shit! Hell yes I want a shower! I’ll need two bars of that soap though!” Rj
exclaimed.

“Hold it down, what’s your name?”

“Rj, yours?” He could barley hold his excitement at the thought of hot water, shampoo
and soap.

“Shawn; Nice to meet ya. Where are you heading to anyways, if ya don’t mind me
asking?” Shawn enquired.

“Nevada, Vegas area.” Rj answered. “Hoping to get some work and straighten things
out, it’s been a rough trip.”

“Yeah, I guess it has at that. Ok, go over there, grab a table in the corner and hang out
until I get one of these stalls cleaned out and I’ll get ya the key and whatever else you
need to clean up. Do you want to grab a shave too? I can get you a razor, but you have
to shave with soap, I don’t have any shaving cream, sorry.”

“That’s ok, Shawn, I have shaved plenty with just soap. Stings a little if ya aren’t
careful but I’m used to it. Just to get clean and wash my hair would be fantastic,
thanks man.” Rj replied
gratefully.

Shawn rang up a few more truckers and some regular folks passing through. As Rj
watched the action he ran his pitch line over and over in his head. “Excuse me Sir,
could I ask you for some help….” He was so damn sick of hearing those words and
they wouldn’t shut up. Maybe he should switch careers and start robbing banks. It
definitely paid better. Ah, he didn’t have the energy to rob a damn bank and he couldn’t
afford to buy a gun anyways….

“Rj, hey Rj!” Shawn whispered as loud as he dared without drawing attention. Rj had
not even realized he had fallen asleep. Sluggishly he lifted his head.

“Sorry, I didn’t realize I dosed off. Did I bring ya any trouble? I can split, man.”

“Dosed off!” Shawn laughed, “Hell, you were snoring, dude.”

“Can’t be, I don’t snore, bro,” Rj denied.

“Yeah, ok, that must have been a semi with motor trouble, my mistake,” Shawn teased.
“Come on I got you a shower stall. Head on over to the bathrooms and hang a quick
right, you’ll see some washers and dryers. The showers are on the other side of them
through the door; towels, soap, shampoo and a fresh razor is waiting for ya, friend.
And I have another surprise for you.” He stalled for effect.

Rj bit with a grin, “Well, ya gonna tell me or do I play detective?”

“I have six hours left on my shift. I put a few extra towels in there so you can try to
make a place for yourself and grab a few hours sleep”

“Thank you, Shawn, I don’t know what to say.” Rj looked down at the floor.

“Hey, no sweat, I’m glad to help.” Shawn said with the same friendly smile that rarely
left his face. “Just make sure you lock yourself in and I’ll shake your tree in about five
hours or so and that will give you enough time to get your shower, and don’t worry, no
one will bother you. Just remember, my ass is on the line here so we have to be real
quiet, ok?” Shawn handed Rj the key, lucky number seven was the shower stall number.

“You got it, Brother, I will be so quiet I won’t know I’m in there!” Damn, sleep and a
shower; things just may be looking up for him after all.

As Rj made his way to the shower room he ignored the looks from the truck drivers in
the Trucker’s Lounge; there was some movie on and nice neat rows of seats where
they could lounge and try to rest before they took off on another destination. Rj thought
he was closer kin to them then they realized. He too was a traveler; he just didn’t have a
truck. Nor did he pull a paycheck for his wandering; maybe they weren’t as close as he
thought. He wished he had the cash to wash his clothes. Of course, that would mean
walking around naked as he had one other pair of jeans and they were worse than the
ones he had on. And his socks would more than likely abandon ship and run like hell to
the washing machines, trying to beat out his underwear, which were just as nasty. Oh
well, he had scored two victories tonight and that was good enough for him.

Rj put his key in the lock and turned; he laughed under his breath, “Welcome to the
Truck Stop Motor Lodge; our beds are guaranteed firm and we have running water.”
God, was he tired, bone tired. As he shut the door and locked it he threw his pack on
the floor and lay down. There were three towels and a washcloth, along with the other
toiletries, waiting for him. There would only be two towels left when he was trough
with his visit. And he didn’t want to dirty one by using it as a pillow; his pack served
that purpose just fine… “Excuse me, sir, could I ask you for some help…?” Rj was out
like a light.

A gentle knock on the door woke him exactly five hours later. “Rj, time to get up.”
Another knock, “Rj….”

“Yeah, I’m up Bro, I’m up,“ came the groggy reply. Rj tried to sit up, God was he
sore. The tile was as hard as stone and his muscles screamed their objection at being
forced to work yet again without adequate rest. He groaned as he found his way to his
feet.

Rj looked in the mirror; he gave a little chuckle, as he was surprised it didn’t crack at
his reflection. It was as if he was looking at a different person; what was he becoming?
He left a hundred thousand dollar home with his father in upstate New York for the pain
of sleeping in a shower stall in San Antonio, Texas, begging and broke. What was
wrong with him? Was he out of his mind? Rj shook the cobwebs, “get it together
asshole,” he said aloud. This was no time to be thinking about that crap. He had to take
advantage of some hot water and soap; feeling sorry for his sorry ass would have to
wait until a better opportunity, if one came along.

Rj felt about ten pounds lighter as he made his way back to the fuel desk. “Hey Shawn,
thanks, man, I can’t tell you how much I needed that. I was really feeling like shit.”

“No problem. I was glad I could help. We see a lot of hitchhikers pass through here
and you just looked like a decent enough guy. It is the first time I have done that for
anyone.” Shawn replied. “Good luck to you, Rj. I hope you find whatever it is you’re
looking for ‘cause you really don’t strike me as the type to be homeless. (A remark that
Rj would hear again and again from those who crossed his path over the years).”

“Well, I hope not to be for too much longer, Bro, not if I can help it.” Rj tried to
answer with as much conviction as he could muster.

“Well, good luck to ya, my shift ends in a few minutes and I’m heading home. I’d offer
you a ride but it won’t help ya; I live about three miles down the road. You are better
off here. I better not see ya here tonight, you can’t live in that shower stall.” Shawn
teased. “Grab a cup of coffee on me.”

“Thanks. Cya friend.” Rj made his way outside to have a smoke with his morning
coffee. His stomach growled and turned as he sat down on the curb and rolled himself
a cigarette. He had eaten one Snicker’s bar in two days; he had to get some food. He
half thought about seeing what they had in their dumpster, but was repelled by the
thought, (little would he know that he would have to eat out of one more than once
before his nomad journey found it’s end).

Rj decided to take his three dollars into the truck stop and buy a coffee at the counter
where he could sit among the truckers to try and get a ride. Not yet perfecting the art
of panhandling, mixed with the truckers being privy to his attempts, brewed an
unprofitable and frustrating venture; at this point he just wanted to get the hell out of
there.

Rj took his seat at the counter waiting for the waitress, who must have been in the
kitchen area, maybe on a break. He was sitting next to an overweight truck driver,
clean-shaven with the smell of after-shave permeating the immediate area; Rj was
grateful for his shower and shave. At least he didn’t look all that bad. His jeans were
dirty as well as his t-shirt, but his jacket hid that. He was at least presentable.

He took a deep breath; here we go again, he thought. But he had no choice, like it or not
he needed to swallow what was left of his pride and continue the job that had left him
tired and broke from the last two days of panhandling.
“Excuse me,” Rj said in a quiet voice as to try and keep the attention to a minimum,
“could I ask you for a favor?”

“What’s that?” The driver asked entirely too loud, through a mouthful of pancakes; Rj
wanted to knock Mr. Loudmouth upside his head and take the rest of his pancakes. His
stomach gave another growl in approval of the possible violence.

“I’m trying to get to Nevada. I have been working this truck stop for two days with no
luck and I really have to get the hell outta here.” That was the first time he actually just
laid the truth out there, well, at least the basic truth. He did, after all, need to get out of
the truck stop and on his way.

The driver studied Rj for what seemed an eternity, sizing him up; Rj really didn’t care
what the guy thought of him. Hell, it seemed everyone he came across judged him. It
pissed him off. Like an animal in a cage, and please, do not stick your hands in his cage
and no feeding the animals.

“What’s in Nevada?” Mr. Loudmouth asked. Great, more questions that’s what Rj
wanted this morning, more freaking questions. The driver took another bite of food,
some of it missing his mouth only to take the plunge back to his plate, his eyes still on
Rj.

“I hear there’s work out there, a major construction boom. I’m hoping to hire on and
get back on my feet. One thing’s for sure, I really need to get the hell outta here. This
truck stop has been one shit-hole nightmare I can’t seem to wake up from.” Rj
managed half a smile; his stomach grumbles yet again, reminding him how hungry he
was, smile lost.

“What’s your name?” The drive enquired.

“Rj, yours?” He stuck out his hand in greeting. The driver accepted.

“Pete. You hungry, Rj?”

“Hell yes I’m hungry!” Rj nearly yelled, caution be damned. “I haven’t had a meal in
two days, not since I landed my ass in this nightmare.”

Pete chuckled, finishing up his plate. “Pancakes will do?” He asked.

“Pancakes will do just fine, Pete, thanks.”

“Ok then, let’s fuel ya up before we hit the road.”

Jesus, Rj thought he might pass out at the thought of a plateful of pancakes. A hot
meal, how long had it been since he had a hot meal and not a convenient store hotdog
that was simply processed parts of some animal or animals, using organs that would
make a Marine throw up had he known what they were? Longer than he cared to
remember that’s for sure.

The waitress approached the counter, casting a disdainful look Rj’s way, she addressed
her paying customer, “everything ok here, Pete?” She asked as if it weren’t she would
handle things herself and get rid of the trash.

“Just fine, honey. Another round of coffee, make that two and a plate of them fantastic
hotcakes for my friend here, if ya don’t mind.” Pete answered.

“Not at all, two coffees and a round of pancakes comin’ up.” Another dirty look
towards Rj and a smile left with her regular.

“So, where are you from, Rj?” Pete probed.

“Upstate New York.”

“How’d you end up out here?”

“It’s a long story that I’d rather not get into, if ya don’t mind, Pete. I am really hoping I
can start over in Nevada and put my past behind me.” Rj replied.

Pete smiled, “that’s ok, we all have things in our pasts that are better left where they
are. I understand. I wish ya luck where you’re going. The cards are stacked against ya
trying to do this the way you are though, Rj”

“I have had those damn cards stacked against me for a long time. Maybe out around
the casinos I can get a new deck.” Rj laughed at his own humor. Pete joined him.

The coffee came. She refilled Pete’s cup and set Rj’s cup down just a little too hard he
thought, spilling some over the edge of the cup as she poured the hot liquid; without so
much as a ‘I’m sorry’ to go with the spill. Rj let it go, he didn’t mind today, he was
about to get a hot meal and a ride out of this hellhole; that’s all that mattered right now.

The hotcakes came and Rj made short work of them; small talk the only interruption as
he ate. And Rj didn’t feel obligated too more than that. The trucker seemed to
understand and let him be for the most part as he ate. They could talk more on the
road. Pete was heading into northern California to drop his load, and so he would drop
Rj off in Blythe, California, as it was the last stop that would offer a direct run up into
Laughlin, Nevada; Needles, California being a waypoint on the run. Little did Rj know
that this decision could prove to be the last of his short-lived, inexperienced, nomad life
style….

                                                        *****

Rj was burning up. Taking his shirt off proved to be yet another mistake; his skin was
beginning to burn badly. He touched his shoulders; they were hot to the touch, dry and
would blister for sure. His water was hot and undrinkable; his shoulders sagged, his
heart beating quicker by the minute, his thoughts were a maze of confusion, like a rat
lost, desperately trying to find it’s way out to freedom. He was scared. What was he
going to do? He cursed the trucker for letting him out where he did. Surely the guy
knew this stretch of road. Hell, Rj had seen two cars pass in the last hour- was it only
an hour? Time seemed to stand still out here. Think Damnit, think. Damn piece-of-junk
watch- and both left him in a cloud of dust as they motored past.

Finally, he could take the heat no more; his throat was beginning to hurt from the lack
of water, his skin felt as if it on fire; he stopped carrying his back pack on his back and
was forced to carry it as one would a duffle bag, which added to his agony as his arms
and shoulders cried for relief.

Rj stopped as he noticed this sign, it seemed to appear out of nowhere, which posted
that Needles was 92 miles heading in his direction and Blythe lay 21 miles back in the
direction from which he had come. He stared at the sign for a long time. Had he walked
21 miles along this dirt road? How long had he actually been out here? Nothing seemed
real to him, he struggled for clarity, but she alluded him; he looked back the way he
came, the heat shimmering off the road. Nothing. There was nothing back that way and
nothing in the direction in which he traveled. Surely he was not going to die. No one
died in the desert today, not in this fashion. That was for the movies, cowboys walking
across the desert to some location, swearing vengeance on those who left them to die
in the desert. That was not for today... or was this fate? To die wandering in the
desert? Desperately he looked for shelter from the sun, none to be found. Suddenly he
stopped and listened... water. He heard water! Of course, the Colorado River ran along
highway 95,how stupid to miss such a thing!

He made his way to the edge of the road. There was thick brush blocking his path. He
pushed through it, determined to get to the river; the brush clawed at him, stabbed him,
his legs bleeding from the attacks. Rj didn't care; caution was not a luxury he had at the
moment. The only thing that mattered was the water, sweet life giving water. He
struggled farther in, looking for openings, as a football player trying to make a run up
the middle of the field, trusting the front line to make that precious hole for him to
rocket through. Rj pushed through, his arm raked across a Barrel Cactus; he cried out
in pain, the needles stuck deep in his arm. They were hooked at the end and hard to pull
out. He had to stop and pull them free from his arm. Tears streaming down his face.
"Shit, oh God, please help me!" he cried; the salt from his tears running into his mouth.
He managed to lodge the needles free. Moving slower, learning his lesson, he made his
way through the last of the brush.

He was exhausted from his trek. Rj collapsed on the edge of the bank for a break, and
eased himself to the edge of the water. God was the water cold! He would later come
to find out that the Hoover Dam; and the working of the dam, controlled the Colorado,
opening or closing the floodgates kept the water much colder than the outside heat
index.

In taking his shoes off he noticed his sock was bloody from the blister that had broken
open. It hurt like hell to pry the sock away from the blister; it stuck to the heel of his
foot and refused to let go without a fight. Gritting his teeth, Rj tore it loose and washed
his sock in the river; it didn’t do a whole lot of good but he felt it necessary. The
bloodstain and dirt were a part of his sock now; he rang it out and draped it over some
brush to dry. As he took his pants off he noticed that his legs were cut up much worse
than he had thought; the water stung but at the same time soothed his overheated body.
He drank in the water, first a small test drink to see if it was ok for him (actually he
would rather die from tainted water than die from the heat of the desert), it didn't taste
great but it seemed ok; he drank deeply, feeling his body thanking him for the gift,
soaking it up as the life fluid it was, not giving a damn if it was safe or not; He didn't
have to pay for it this time.

He filled his bottle and immersed himself once more in the water. After waiting a few
minutes for the sun to do it's thing and dry his sock, he put it back on, damp, and
began his journey back to the road. This time he kept watch for those trying to protect
themselves and lashing out at anyone invading their world.

By the time Rj made it back to the road he was dried off and hot again; His water bottle
getting hotter and hotter by the minute, almost at the point once again of being
undrinkable. And once again, his hope of making it to Needles without suffering more
was dwindling away with every step. Limping badly, he continued his trek along
highway 95. A car approaching, heading his way. Rj turned and stuck his thumb out,
"come on, man, please stop." He prayed. The car passed him doing at least eighty. "You
son-of-a-bitch!", Rj screamed, tears once more ran down his face. He picked up a rock
and threw it at the car, not even coming close to it. "You bastard," he moaned. His head
swam with nothing more than shadows of thoughts, brushing past his minds eye,
unable to catch them and see clearly.

Rj limped on, every step shot pain through his right foot and up through his leg, the
blister demanding his attention. He fought the panic that was gripping his heart. The
meal that he enjoyed with Pete at the truck stop a dim memory now, the shower he
had, a dream. He was beginning to shut down. He couldn’t take anymore. The trek
across the continent was extremely demanding and now the desert laughed as she stole
the last of his strength and determination. He was tired, tired of traveling, tired of
begging for money, tired of sleeping on the ground, in brush cover, only to wake up
sore and un-rested. Why had he felt the need to do this? What was he trying to prove?
The answers eluded him, laughing at him in the shadows. He took another drink of
water from his bottle and revolted at the hot liquid; anger once again overtaking him, he
threw his glass bottle to the ground. It shattered sending shards of glass in every
direction.

“Well, you idiot, you really blew it this time, asshole,” he cursed himself in a horse,
broken voice. It hurt to even talk now, fresh blood, warm in his shoe, reminding him of
how far he had walked this day.

Rj crossed the road, his reasoning (if you could call it that) was simple: it was closer to
go back to Blythe and beg the guy there for help than it was to keep going in the
direction he was walking. He had enough, throwing his pack to the ground he plopped
down on top of it utterly exhausted. “This is it loser, your going to die out here in this
God-Forsaken place, good job, fool.” He muttered. Tucking his knees up under his
chest he laid his head in his arms and propped up one arm with his thumb out. “God,”
he prayed in desperation, “If you’re up there I sure could use some help here. I can’t
take this anymore; I’m so thirsty….” Rj had never felt more alone in his life.

He woke in the cab of a Mexican’s pick up truck. The man smiled at him and pointed
to the cooler between them. “Where are we headed?” Rj managed through blistered lips
as he reached in and found the coldest soda pop on earth. His body screamed in
protest; the sunburn leaving him raw. He popped the lid and nearly finished it in one,
continuous swallow, only stopping to hold the can to his face in relief. He ached from
head to toe; every movement caused him pain. He wondered what he looked like, he felt
like one big red blister.
“Needles.” The Mexican replied in one word, the same smile on his face. He wore a
long sleeved cotton shirt, jeans and a cowboy hat, a bandanna tied loosely around his
neck.

“Good. Needles is good, friend.” Rj finished his cola and looked at his new friend who
pointed to the cooler again. Gratefully, Rj gave a nod and reached in for another round.
“Thank you.” He said.

“Si.” Came the friendly reply.

Rj pulled out his second cola along with a piece of ice to help sooth his blistered lip,
which had split open. Rj started in on his second soda more slowly than the first. He
sucked on the piece of ice, parking the cola between his legs, Rj passed out again.

The second time he awoke it was to the gentle prompting of his Mexican friend. They
had in fact reached Needles California and it was time for Rj to begin the next leg of his
journey and on into Laughlin. His friend handed him two more sodas, a full canteen of
water, an old, dirty ball cap and an old army blanket rolled up and fastened by a thin,
frayed piece of rope. Rj thanked him again; the guy had saved his life, and got out of
the truck. The Mexican nodded and with his trademark smile, drove off to wherever he
was headed himself.

On shaky legs, Rj made his way to the side of the road and once again made a chair out
of his pack. As he attempted to gather his thoughts his prayer to God came back to
him. The whole day seemed like a dream, like none of it were real; it was as if it had all
been a mirage of sorts.

As dusk began to set in, Rj began to shiver from his sunburn. He was getting colder by
the minute. He dug in his backpack for his long-sleeved shirt and pulled out his jacket
as well. So, he had made it to Needles after all, with a new respect for his
surroundings. He surveyed the area and sought out a small brush patch where he curled
up in a tight ball, his teeth chattering from the cool of the evening against his burn.
Catnaps were all he would manage through the night. And when he did manage a few
minutes sleep the events of his journey haunted him. He prayed to God again, thanking
Him for the help, wondering what was in store for him as he journeyed on….

Mirage

RjsWritingLoft.Com

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From: "The Memoirs of a Tramp"

"A Professional Writer is an
amateur writer who never quit."
(Richard Bach)