“I haven’t had health insurance since leaving California at the end of February.”
I said this out loud. It wasn’t meant for anyone.
The blood ran down my arm as I walked back toward the dried creek bed south to where I’d parked the jeep. I’d packed a spare set of everything and thought I could use the water to wash off the blood and dirt, then change. Blood doesn’t come off easily. I was accompanied by the sound of dried brush and dirt underfoot, and a dry chill.
I noticed a hawk circling above a mound along the ridge line a half mile or so from the creek. I was reminded of that line from Jeremiah Johnson about the hawk and the musselshell. It ends with something like, “Hell, he’s there already.” I thought it would be great to hear that at any memorial service that might be held in my memory.
I said it as I walked, unsure of whether I’d actually spoken or just heard it in my head.
“Hell, he’s there already.”
I cleaned the wound and replaced the t-shirt with a long sleeved nylon shirt that I sometimes use to go for a walk when it rains. It served to hold the bandana I’d tied around my forearm. I rested for a moment and watched the sky change from red to purple through the cracked windshield I’ve been meaning to replace for years.
I ask myself questions. I feel it is necessary. “Is peace of mind a worthy pursuit? Is it worth sacrificing, or holding above all other responsibilities?” Sometimes there is one answer, sometimes another. Most often, there are several.
When I checked the messages on my phone I became tired of it. The phone itself, I mean. It lacked features I wanted. It wasn’t enough. Right then, it became my focus. I wanted a new phone. I kept it on the dashboard as I drove along the 84 to remind me of my purpose.
The mall was still open when I came back into town. I discovered the location of the AT&T store just past the Teavana and a storefront full of bra’d mannequins. The benign nature of mall architecture made me aware of the dust that trailed me and the weeks’ worth of scruff on my face. When I entered I had the good fortune of receiving help from a new employee. She seemed kind, serious, and for lack of a better word: genuine. She wasn’t constantly in the sales pitch mode, which I observed in most of the people around her. Unsurprisingly, those same people were obviously falsely tanned, overly hair-streaked, or gelled up to the ceiling. Their grins and chipper words unsettled me. I do not begrudge any man or woman that certain desire to excel and earn more or look better, but there are ways of going about it that I like and ways that bother me. I cannot explain it as anything more than personal preference and experience.
This is all to say that this salesperson—Vanessa, who’s tangible as the sand and trees—helped me feel better through her easygoing approach to sales and kind yet serious demeanor. I was left with a bit of old wisdom. No man is an island, but some men float out there for so long that they forget the feel of the sand or the sound of wind rustling the leaves. The sound of voices can be a shock. I wished, for a few moments, that I could know her better. It would have been easy to engage her. But, I decided I couldn’t afford to fuck it up. It was not a time to seize an opportunity.
This all ends in an expected fashion. I bought the new phone, left the mall, and drove home to shower and sleep.
It can’t all be what I want it to be.
“Land ho.”