I remember when… the trees are swaying in the wind and the cotton comes off them like strands of loose trash from the back of my pick-up truck. I drive and drive, as far away as possible, never looking back. I don’t know why I drive, I just have to get out of there, and so I do. I look out at the caked dirt and see the heat rising in invisible waves in front of me and remember an old folktale of a coyote and a spider. Then I turn on the radio and listen to the first song that comes on. It’s a country song about a girl in cut–off shorts with blonde hair and blue eyes. I can picture her sitting on top of my hood, legs spread, with cowboy boots on and her plaid shirt tied up around her tits. I keep driving. Around the next bend I have a vision of Ictomi the Spider crawling across the road and coyote following him; the signs begin spinning and I feel like a dream is washing over me. I pull over and lie down on the desert floor. I watch the world turn and the flies buzz home. The sky turns a cool shade of pink and the sun slowly disappears like a woman in a whorehouse after her shift is done. I think about that girl in her cut–off shorts and ponder the idea of being a lesbian. I think that I would have to meet just the right woman who could smile cute and fuck hard and romp in the desert, looking for old pearl glass jars in hopes of scoring some loose change. I see the holes in the sky come loose and taunt me with their twinkling glory and I know that I can’t move. I will stay here tonight. I have an old dirty beat–up sleeping bag rolled up behind my seat and I pull it out. Luckily I have fatwood in my console, underneath a plethora of cigarette butts, that my father graced me with a year prior saying, “You never know when you’ll need this.” I guess you were right Dad. So I make a fire and set up my sleeping bag among the red rocks and lizards. After the fire is good and happy I lie down on top of my bag and smoke my last square. I think it so sexy how the smoke curls out of my lips and floats up to meet the heavens. I hear a melody from a distant guitar riff in my head, and I begin to remember the circumstance of that moment when in my studio apartment I sat and wrote a piece on my laptop listening to him write the next hit song of our generation. At that moment I thought, I can write this only because of his beautiful music pouring out his effervescent soul onto my mind; I hope things get better; god I will miss him. I float up with my smoke to greet the heavens and leave my camp behind. I am in the stars now, in everlasting glory.
Rachel Boschen 2 Minutes
Published by Rachel Boschen