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Of all the sentient thoughts we humans have over our short lives, I believe the most poignant and compelling are about those we’ve loved.
I sat quietly in my car on the same side of U. S. Highway 95 as I had those many years ago when my father was dying. I remembered within the depths of my soul the one time I’d been in love and how I’d lost her. I distinctly recalled the same rare insect sounds while urgently urinating on the centerline at five in the morning about halfway between Yuma and Parker, Arizona. That was my kind of heaven then, and now I guessed. There wasn’t a car light in sight either time, and the cool, rain-freshened breeze carrying the smell of Greasewood, Palo Verde and Mesquite had been missing from my life far too long. The Kofa Mountains were barely visible in the misty early morning; recognizable like the silhouette of familiar old friends. I pitied less fortunate mortals who hadn’t stood on the Arizona Desert and inhaled that perfume.
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There was plenty of stuff in that little shack, which I thought had little or no intrinsic value. I made a list and called my cousin (of dubious reputation) in Phoenix. In the interest of fairness, to say that my first cousin Ron V. James is a “tough” guy is to encompass several meanings of the word. He has many scars over his body; all caused by something very painful, but alleviated somewhat by a tendency to imbibe various kinds of alcoholic beverages and a nefarious plant that grows wild on the “reservation”. All this is for strictly “medicinal pain relief” however. He’s a grandfather now, and was always a loving father and husband, plus a great journeyman carpenter. However, if someone were to make the mistake of thinking that his beer belly might slow him down, well ... it could be a strategic, and perhaps fatal, error.
He feels little pain, except from the improper placement of a mechanical knee. He can still bench-press over 200 pounds, is ruggedly handsome with a fairly full head of sun-bleached hair, and has wrecked more cars and motorcycles than Evel Knievel. He still drives like a damn maniac though.
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