The Desert Dream

The chill of the desert morning awakened Paul, who was wrapped up in his worn sleeping bag. He hastily jumped to the smoldering fireplace to rekindle the fire. Paul enjoys sleeping under the desert floor, under the stars, but now, at daybreak, he needs coffee. His gummy and blurred eyes focused on the beauty around him. He set up camp last night and could only hear, not see, what surrounded him. He was now observing an orange and red luminescent reflection across the landscape. The light was shooting in between the canyon walls before him. It is a deceivingly peaceful sight. Paul knows that soon it all will test him. It will change, much like aging, becoming gray and wrinkled. The youthful glow becomes withered. He also knows the fight is ahead of him, much like the futile effort to stay young. He must continue: get up, get dressed, eat, and find his trail to the end.

As predicted, the cloudless sky became a brilliant blue, and the early morning dew brought with it a soft, shimmering glow. Moisture on the branches of desert sage, with its silvery-gray leaves, reflected the sun on him. He could smell the aroma that always brought him back to his youth—a smell designed to keep plant eaters away. Like most living things in the desert, it needed a form of self-protection. It also brings him back to his roots. When he grew up, not far from here, playing with his friends, searching for lizards and horny toads. His early life here taught him about the deadly afternoon heat, which, even now in May, could turn an unprepared tourist into a fight for survival.

As Paul sips his coffee and listens to the birds cavorting in the sagebrush and cactus, he wonders what his wife is doing now back in Chicago. She is probably getting ready to go to work. The kids were able to get themselves off now and are usually gone early. Judy would also be alone, like him, wondering about her future with the man she is married to. A man who seems to be in another world, out of touch with her feelings. She made an initial mistake by allowing him to go on these trips alone, thinking he would get over it. This is now his third one. And what about the argument that ensued before he left, Judy calling it another ridiculous trip to rediscover his manhood? She walked out of the house mad and threatening to leave him. Nothing resolved, Paul walked out, leaving the bleakness of an empty bed and an uncertain future.

This self-indulgence was something she despised. Paul always thought of this activity as a means of soul-searching, a way to escape the chaos and noise that his stress-filled job, along with living with teenagers and a dog, brings. After he left home, graduated from college, and met Judy, a metamorphosis—a gradual one—began to take over him. Whether out with friends at a four-star restaurant, attending a professional football game, or just relaxing with the neighbors in his backyard —where kids were swimming in the pool and steaks were on the grill —Paul would sometimes be reminded of this change that made him who he was today.

"Hey Paul," someone would yell out after too many drinks, "When you were just a kid living among the Indians and rattlesnakes, did you think your future had this waiting for you in your life?" He says this while standing and opening his arms as if all the material and human entities on this patio make the world go around.

He is reminding Paul of how fortunate he is, something Paul had always acknowledged. They didn't mean anything to him. His wife and kids were all that mattered in this life.

Of course, this would draw everyone's attention at his barbecue directly to him because most didn't know the CEO's past. A company that seemed to be growing, beyond expectations, every month. Paul was the son of a doctor who worked at the Zuni Indian Reservation. He grew to love the atmosphere, people, and culture. He loved to hike and camp. Sometimes, leaving for days with just some water, dried food, and a blanket. While growing up, Paul learned how to take care of himself and survive in the harshest of circumstances.

All of this history from his past. And there was plenty more. Judy's continuous argument is that if he finds himself in trouble playing what she considers a young man's game, getting help and getting back could be challenging. After cleaning up the area and knocking out the campfire, he looked at the map and the trail he was taking, deciding he was going to embark on the long loop this time. Judy was right about one thing: he was not getting younger. He needed to make this trek, a twenty-mile loop, before there was no more time in the bank for him. This extension includes a walk through some old Indian ruins that sit at the bottom of a canyon. A small brook sometimes flows through when it is not too dry. Paul is hoping the spring rains may still keep it running.

The campground was empty when he initially drove in, except for an older man, weathered and wrinkled, with a long, dirty beard hanging down. He seemed to have created this dusty spot into his final home, with the only amenity being the water spigot up the road. His tent next to an old rusty truck was his only possession. Paul drove into the park service campground as the sun was setting over the horizon, and was soon getting ready to build a fire when the older man called out, waving for him to visit. He sat down next to him on an old stool. He seemed to enjoy the company and offered to share some of his rabbit that was roasting over the fire. Paul refused the offer and watched the old timer cut a piece of meat from the rabbit, its face locked in a grimace, dark and menacing, indicating to Paul how the rodent's final breath was realized.

The next morning, Paul was on his way. An old, weathered post had an arrow pointing the way. He would travel this way until he reached the fork, which wouldn't appear until he covered about five miles. The sun was now higher up, already blistering hot and agonizingly bright, a glare that would eventually burn your corneas without sunglasses. Reality sank in. The dirt and sand had small glass particles born here, lucent sparkles soon untouchable by a passerby. By the time he reaches the fork, he notices his body starting to react to the heat, sweating more, and feeling a need for a drink sooner than expected. Paul is still now alarmed, however, because he has five two-quart containers snuggly packed away in his backpack.

A sun-bleached wooden post with a faded arrow pointing to the west has a sign attached: "Make sure you are carrying enough water before taking this loop." An obvious note keeps the park service from any liability. As an additional measure of safety, Paul had registered at the Park Service office to do this particular hike. He quickly calculated the amount of water he was carrying versus the two days he thought it would take. He was more than covered. A raven was sitting on the signpost, with black, blue, and purple shimmering colors reflecting off its feathers. It was challenging him with its dark, beady eyes. It stood its ground as he slowly walked towards it. The raven is not indigenous to the desert and lives on whatever humans leave behind, so he is planning to follow, hoping for some dropped morsels. His eye reflects his presence as he approaches. He flew off with a loud screech, the rustling and sweeping feathers adding to the hot air that surrounded him.

Paul looked off in the direction the trail was headed, noting the sinuous line that seemed woven in a continuous pattern similar to a sidewinder. It eventually went off into the surface of the horizon. This was his path that he needed to take. He walked for about ten miles, disturbing a few lizards and a roadrunner along the way. Not many living creatures are out in the heat of the day. He was soon working towards his tenth mile, finding a place to sleep, and resting up to finish the final stretch tomorrow—all according to his Apple watch.

The sun was beginning to set as he started his camping stove and heated some water for coffee. The dried food took care of his hunger, but not much would help the loneliness he felt. He knew his wife was just about done with the marriage, and his kids hated him for their perceived mistreatment of her. And soon he was listening to the desert come alive, brought on by the coolness and protection of the sun going down. The desolate cry of the coyote and the hooting of the owl was the background music of his evening, enclosed within the confines of the sleeping bag, ready for the desert chill in the morning.

Paul's first night in the desert began with a dream. He was having another fight with his wife. He had come home early from work because he wasn't feeling well, and he found his wife in the bedroom with another man. The stranger was trying to apologize, saying his wife told him she was separated, but Paul did not listen, and he just started punching. This was his dream, mostly the fighting, but somehow his wife came back and entered the picture with a gun. She aimed it at him, and as she pulled the trigger, a loud crashing sound could be heard. The noise was real; it wasn't a gun but thunder, marking the beginning of a thunderstorm. Paul quickly found a heavy plastic tarp to get under and sat for a few minutes watching the sky light up around him. When the light flashed, it soon revealed a flow of water about a hundred yards away; this was not there before, and the sight quickly disappeared in the darkness. But every time there was a brilliant flash of light, like a lightbulb on a camera, his vision was impaired, first blinded by the flash and then further by the dark. But he could hear the water getting closer, and he could smell the dirt, angry at being disturbed. Taking anything it could along on its journey. By the time he had packed up his equipment and was looking for higher ground, avoiding this mess was getting tougher.

The raging river was soon to be just another dried-up gully, but for now, it was enjoying its new and wild life. And in its short life span, it was taking Paul on a trip. He found himself desperately trying to offload, yet he was still sinking and floating, speeding up and slowing down according to the currents' dictates. He was fighting to avoid collisions with animals, trees, cacti, and an old rusty car shell. He saw a coyote desperately trying to swim to shore. Rattlesnakes were flowing past him, Paul was getting beaten up, the water was unbelievable, and it was over his head; he had no control or ability to get to the shore. He allowed the raging river to decide his life's future.

The river carried Paul far beyond the comfort of a marked trail on a map in a place he knew well. It finally slowed, and he crawled up, out of the river that was still moving but at a much diminished pace. He had no idea where he was; his backpack and sleeping bag were gone. He knew he was in trouble now. His initial thought of trying to find the trail was taken over by the need to find water. Luckily, he was at or near the exit point for all the water that forced down the valley, and he soon found a small patch of shaded vegetation with small pockets of water in indentations in the nearby rocks. He scraped off the surface of the water, reached down, and sucked it up. The storm he just survived must have left it. He found a place to settle, a small overgrown area on the side of the Mesa. Paul knew he might not find his way back. Dying out here was not his choice for leaving this world. He wondered if his wife would ever miss him.

The next morning, after cleaning some of his scrapes and cuts from his ride down the river, he thought through his predicament and picked the one direction he felt had the fewest drawbacks. It was like a general trying to decide whether to attack or retreat, knowing either way he would lose. He started hiking down the canyon to where it opened up. It was mud now, so he kept near the side of the gully. After about a mile, he picked his head up and looked off into the distance. He thought that maybe the break in the clouds in the distance seemed to show a way to travel. Light traveled down through the clouds like a beam on a Broadway show, giving him hope that maybe something would be there to greet him and show him a way home. As he approached the open field, he found the area filled with plants that brazenly displayed a variety of colors to the sky, from purple to red.

The smell of sage from the rain and the desert flowers awakened him like a kid at Halloween. He walked into the sunlight and watched a new world unfold before his eyes. The desert trail was just a memory, and his new world was here now. A man, his face weathered from time and the sun, walked up to him from somewhere. He wore a wide-brimmed hat and carried a walking stick. He looked into his eyes; no word was said, and he took in the wondrous sight; he found hope. He found himself. He felt like it was a dream. He studied Paul for a couple of minutes, looking deeply into his eyes without saying a word. Language was unnecessary at this time. The older man found him acceptable, took the staff, and waved to him, silently telling him to come. Paul knew he was a Navajo Indian, a man with a herd of sheep not far. A Hogan was seen on the horizon. He was leading him from Paul's nightmare, not only to a place of shelter but away from his true home and all the things there that made him miserable, a job with no meaning to him, a wife who Paul knew was unhappy. He was not living there, just surviving. Paul was following his man out of his old self, out of the canyon, and into a new place. It all seemed unreal. Maybe it is.