Serenity

I could tell by the way the sky was painted salmon and tangerine it would be a good day. 

“Storms a brewin,” Mac said, using the limp end of the coffee sock to lift the camping cook pot out of the embers. The coffee steamed. I bristled at her. 

“No it aint,” I growled. “Look it how pretty that sunnup is!” I pointed at the horizon beyond the distant ruins and square red bluffs - purple still this early in the morning. 

Mac looked, nodded, and milked the last of the coffee out of the coffee sock, whipping her hand back away from the steam. She gave it a shake. 

The black brew curled in oily swirls. “Heckin’ pretty,” she muttered. “Red at morn, sailors take warn.” She split it between two blue and white speckled tin mugs then rested the mugs on the campfire’s smooth red stone ring. 

“You made it too strong again.” I sat back by the fire to pull on my boots. “It’s fine I’ll just add some sugar.” My toes were cold, ‘specially the big one bursting through my patched socks. “We’re nowhere near the water, maybe it works different out here.”

“You make it too weak,” Mac murmured and refilled the pot from the waterskin without rinsing it so the oily residue flavored the grits. “And we’re out of sugar.” She broke up bits of jerky and tossed in a handful of raisins. “And that’s just how it works - don’t matter the water. Sides, the coffee has bubbles today.”

“We got cream at least? What’ve bubbles got to do with the pretty sunnup?”

“Storm’s a brewin,” she repeated. “Last of the cream used up in last night’s taters.” 

Mac dressed Dolly in her rain slicker when we saddled up for the morn. The orange fish dawn bled into a blue day and cotton candy puffs were better for cloud gazing than rain, so I saved the hassle. 

The rain slickers were makeshift black plastic things duct-taped together to be watertight, but hot and uncomfortable under the sun. Most all of our gear was makeshift or salvaged in some way; I kept an eye out for useful deleterious as we rode, but further away from the city it became more and more scarce.  

I nagged the old woman to stop being ridiculous and enjoy the beautiful day, but she readied her own slicker anyway. My mouth still tasted bitter and oily and I was mad at her for it. “There’s cattle to drive!” I shouted, but she didn’t hurry. 

The rain came on so suddenly, I didn’t have time to slicker Dave - much less myself - and the bay rebuked me by shaking his heavy neck, wet mane catching me in sprays. I looked to Mac, ready for an I-Told-You-So. She had her face turned to the grey sky, eyes closed. Rain ran in ribbons down her crow's feet and into her salt and pepper braids. 

“We’re missing Bessie and her new calf,” Mac called. I was caught up investigating an old lifted campervan; all four massive tires were flat and cracked like crumbled cookies slammed on the table. The doors were rusted so completely the only way in was through the shattered windshield. A unique ecosystem grew from the mulched front seats. 

“What?” I looked up so quickly I hit my head on custom wood cabinets - not rounded for safety. I rubbed the lump and wandered out to greet her, empty-handed. “No, I just checked; they were here no more than an hour ago!”

Mac gave me a look and I knew an hour was a long time.  “Do you want to drive the herd or find Bessie?”

I glowered like a whipped pup. “I’ll find Bessie.” I mounted Dave and spun around with a quick hiya!

The rolling high desert left plenty of places for a one-ton heifer and her calf to vanish in. When I rethought the last hour, a spot came to mind. 

There’s a point where the trail narrows between two sandy buffs and crosses a shallow ravine. If the calf was too chicken shit to hop the narrow trench, Bessie would let the herd continue without her. I figured it was as good a place as any to start looking. 

And there she was, just this side of the choke point - bleating in a fervor. 

“Shit. I’m trying to have a good damn day too.”

I rode Dave to her and she hurried away back down the path. Distantly over the sound of the rain in the sand, there was the calf mooing in panic. 

Dave hopped the little ravine with ease. Beneath us, it started to swell with muddy red water, sticks and cigarette butts swirling in the flow. “I’m coming to rescue you!” The poor thing shivered, baseball knees knocking. She mooed again. 

Thunder clapped; the water swelled again a few more inches, now surely boot-deep. “No no no no no no!” 

As quick as I could I tossed a rope around the calf, but she dodged my first attempt. I was certain we had less than a minute before the little creek would flood and become impassible. 

With the calf trapped, I hopped off Dave and hoisted the little bovine onto my shoulders. Under her weight, my back pulled in a hot tinge of pain. With a groan, I shuffled her onto Dave’s rump and secured her there behind the saddle. She squirmed and kicked my ribs. 

I grabbed Dave’s reins and hobbled back up the trail as quickly as I could.

Thunder broke. Dave bolted. 

The calf cried out; Dave’s long legs broke through the shallow water, splashing his rain-soaked cargo, then they were both safely on the other side with Bessie. 

I waded in and water pooled into my boots and soaked my socks. Suddenly it swelled again rising to my chest, lifting my soles off the muddy bottom. I flailed; weightless and off-kilter, the cold current swept me downstream. 

The world went quiet; my body moved on instinct. I spread my arms. Floated to point my feet downstream. The current buffetted scraps of old plastic into me, reds and blues and whites. They started to pool near me, caught up in my wake. Soon they’d become too dense and trap me. 

I let the water push me under, readied my boots for the muddy bottom, and launched myself through the plastic film to catch a breath. I took a big gasp, plunged back under, and started swimming diagonally toward shore. 

Gasping and soaked through I emerged on the rainy beach, perhaps a half mile or more downstream. 

I rested a moment, caught my breath listening to the soft shhh of rain landing in the sand. Aches riddled my arms and torso. I had a tantrum; I beat divots into the sand and screamed. 

“It’s gonna get better,” I sighed. With a weary heave, I picked myself up and started back upriver. My boots squelched in the mud. My big toe felt strangled, like a bulging zit from the rest of my sodden sock. 

Dave and the cows weren’t where I left them when I managed to trek back. I was so eager to return to the saddle and finally get off my tired feet, but now I was miles behind Mac and the rest of the herd. There was nothing to do but march onward, sodden as a swamp log. 

The rain finally stopped and through the god rays on the trail ahead, I saw Mac and Dolly leading Dave back my way, escorted by saguaros. 

“Found you!” Mac said with a smile. “Kiddo you look sodden as a swamp log.” She only called me when she was trying to be nice; I was far too old for it. 

I should have been grateful but I scowled and mounted the stallion, my buckskin pants squeaking against the salvaged saddle. “What took you so long?” I griped. 

“Relax yer britches I knew you wouldn’t be too far behind. Besides, I had to get that calf off Dave before the poor thing scared herself to death.”

“It wouldn’t have crossed the crick any other way and I was out of time. I got swept downstream like a mile.”

“I’m glad to see you’re a-okay. Strong as an O-A-K I’ll say.” She playfully slapped my knee and I forced a smile, determined to let the day get better. “C’mon, let’s get back and get camp set up for the night.”

Mac built a fire and started dinner while I dried Dave and stripped. I left my boots to dry by the fire. I went for warm clothes from Mac’s saddlebags and stepped on a cactus in the dark desert night.  

I hollered and hooted and hopped my naked ass back down to tend to the barbed thing in my foot. “C’mon! Today was supposed to be a good day! It started out so pretty!” 

“It was a good day,” Mac said, raising her brows. She ladled a meat and veggie stew from the beat-up old pot. 

“No, it wasn’t. Everything went wrong.”

“It was a great day. Started off with good strong coffee, finally got a desert thunderstorm - you know we needed that rain. Besides,” she chuckled. “There ain’t a more beautiful smell on the planet. 

“You found some old stuff you like to poke around, you found Bessie and the calf and you’re just fine. No broken bones, you still have all your limbs. Even get a good story out of it.

“Now that cactus there,” she said empathetically and nodded to my foot. “That’s a real bummer.”

“You had a good day,” I growled, watching the dying satellites race through the milky way.

“Here,” she handed me a steaming bowl. “You’ll feel better when you eat. 

“Listen kiddo, the day isn’t bad just because you made shitty decisions with it. There’s no point in fighting things you can’t control, and no use blaming fate for your own dumbassery.”