He said he was from Texas. It’s a big state, he said, and he just laughed when I asked him where in Texas.

"Far enough ‘way from ‘nything ‘portant," he replied. John was big, like the Texas bumper stickers read and his dusted white cowboy hat put him at around six-four. He was the only guy I knew that used the same belt everyday but changed the belt buckles. That day he was wearing a faded brass buckle that said Lone Star. It was near sunset and the light bounced off it golden and burning.

John squinted in that afternoon light. "You boys reada?"

I said and I was and Rick was too. The three of us kicked our hoses in the ribs and they began moving after an initial snort of contact.

"Ain’t nothing like riding at sunset," John said to the breeze. He claimed he was conceived on a horse but Rick and I didn’t pursue that one. I was afraid he was going to tell me it was on the horse I was riding. I wasn’t really sure how old John was or even how old horses got but he was the kind of guy that made anything possible.

He turned to us, his head slowly bobbing to the horse’s rhythm and said, "How you boys doin’? Simba and Curious George treatin’ ya’ll right?" He smiled and the wrinkles around eyes shadowed on his red face. He was old because of the sun. rick looked at me and shrugged his shoulders; it was his idea we were here anyway, I was just along for the ride.

We were in the Arizona desert looking for someone. The guy was supposed to be a healer of sorts, a mender of broken spirits and dreams. John had agreed to take us out there, find the guy, whose name was Cotton, and get us back out in three days. It was ‘northodox, he had said, but Rick had the money and here we were. What was ironic was that work thought I was sick but it was my friend who was ailing.

The sun hung from the far off hills and it was gold and red everywhere. The shadows of even the shortest bushes were almost ten feet long. I found my canteen and took a swig.

John turned around. "You best conserve that. We’re not liable to see much drinkable watch out here."

I took another drink before putting back on my slwoly bouncing horse. We paid, well Rick paid for this guy to take us somewhere and I’d be damned if we didn’t have enough twater. I was about to say something but Rick stopped me.

"We’re just getting started," he reminded me and those worried eyes quickly shifted and squinted into the sinking light.

"Shouldn’t we be making camp soon?" I called up to John.

John and his horse stopped. He allowed Rick to pass and then grabbed onto the reins of Curious George.

"Lenny," he said. "I’m real glad you’re here and s’portin’ your friend but it’s my ride now. I can get us there and back but we got to do it mah way." His face was pleasant but serious. "We’ll have a moon out high in ‘bout an hour and it’ll be plenta light to make camp. All right?"

I nodded.

"Good, now why don’t you catch up to your buddy," and he smacked my horse’s backside. The bouncing began and in a minute I caught up with Rick.

He pleaded with his eyes. "Lenny, this was the only guy in Sedona that would take us. He seems all right." He paused and looked back at John. He nodded his hat to us. It gave me chills but then Rick said, "I need this Lenny, I need this."

I had heard that voice before. A week earlier we had been in Orange County, enjoying the cultureless existence of a metropolitan suburb when Rick had asked me to meet him for a drink.

We met at the Maya Inn. It was poorly lit and golden warm with colorful paintings and Mexican fiesta flags and banners hanging on the walls. The floor was made of red earthen tiles and the walls beige adobe looking. The paintings were of authentic scenes in small Mexican villages and it was family that ran the whole operation.

Rick and I were seated at a soft and shiny brown booth in the corner. A piñata slowly twirled above our heads. Rick ordered a margarita and was told they were wine margaritas.

"What the hell are wine margaritas?" Things like this normally didn’t bother him.

"No tequila sir, sola wine," the dark skinned beauty said. She was used to people reacting strangely when she told them the nature of the margaritas. He dad was cheap and he wasn’t ever going to pay for a liquor license.

I ordered two Coronas calmly and when the young waitress left, I turned my attention to my dinner companion.

"Rick, what’s going on, buddy?"

"Man Lenny, you have no idea." The door opened as new diners entered. Lenny watched until the large brown door closed and the people were sat before he continued. The waitress came with our beers. The limes wre peeking their heads out of the bottles and I waved her off as she placed glasses on the table.

"Too rich for our blood," I told her.

"’Cuse me sir?" she asked, befuddled.

"Mas rico para nosotros, no los necesitamos," I told her and pointed at the glasses.

She smiled, picked them up and walked back into the kitchen. She brought out chips and salsa and then scurried over to the couple that was just sat two booths away. It was always interesting to watch things get busy.

Rick was waving his arm kind of wildy and I looked at him. He was trying to motion for the waitress for two more beers, pointing at his empty one and my full one.

"Slow down, Rick," I joked. "This ain’t colleg, you drove here too so I can’t be your designated driver."

The joke fell flat; Rick was all business.

"Are you going to tell me what the hell is going on?"

"It started two weeks ago," he said, eating a chip. "Ooh, this salsa has some kick." He was still watching the door everytime it opened.

"What started two weeks ago, Rick?"

"The old man," he said.

Two more beers came and this time we ordered food. I ordered taquitos and Rick was the creature of habit. He requested a chicken burrito, wet, no cheese and black beans. I don’t know why they even gave him a menu.

"All right, so you met some old guy," I said.

"I didn’t meet him," Rick urged. He was starting to make me feel uneasy. "He came out of me."

"What?" I wiped Corona off my chin.

"I don’t know," he said, "it’s hard to explain."

"Trust me Rick, it’s even hard to understand."

"All right," he said and drank again. "About two weeks ago, I was in the liquor store buying six pack after work, okay?"

I nodded. It was something we both did often.

"And I was in front of the selection behind the glass when I saw something," he said vaguely. He asked for two more beers from a different waitress and waited patiently.

"Rick."

"What?"

"What did you see?"

"Wait," he said, "wait."

Two new beers came and the little green limes peeked their heads out again, like fish debating to be amphibians.

"Rick." I was still working on my second while he plunged into his third Corona in ten minutes.

"I saw something in the glass," he said.

"What did you see?" I repeated.

"It was me," he said. " I was in the glass, it was my reflection, but part of it wasn’t me." He drank again and searched for the words. "This older, ugly part came out of my reflection, like a whole face and body. He was wearing different clothes and there were wrinkles but the eyes were mine."

I wasn’t sure I understood.

"An older version of me came from the reflection."

"What happened?"

"Who knows? I got the hell out of there," he said.

"It’s been going on for two weeks," he said after a moment and sat fuller and deeper into the booth.

Our attentions shifted momentarily when the food came. It was hot and so were the plates; we sat and watched our food cool for a minute.

"Where else have you seen this refleciton?"

"Everywhere," he said. "At work, at the gym, the grocery story, in my car window."

"What about like the bathroom mirror?" I asked him.

He thought about that. "I don’t think that I’ve seen him in an actual mirror," he said.

It disturbed me when he referred to his reflection as ‘him’.

I took a bite of the deep friend, rolled tortilla. It was still hot inside but the cool green guacamole was refreshing. Rick still hadn’t eaten.

"That’s interesting," he was saying. "I hadn’t actually thought about seeing him in a mirror. Excuse me," he said, "where’s your restroom? Thanks," and then to me, "I’ll be right back." Rick got up and walked past a few small tables, behind a screen that shaded a booth and disappeared.

I was finally digging into my third beer when he came back.

"Nothing," he said, relieved. "It was just my face."

I laughed. "You never seemd that happy with it before."

"Hey, you didn’t see that other face come out of my face."

And we were silent and ate after that. Rick drank one more beer and I changed to iced tea. He was less stressed now but his speech was livening.

"You remember that girl," he was saying, referring to a girl in college we had both gone out with at separate time.

"How could I forget?" I was lauging. She was fun and cute but like to drink, which was essential for a fun girlfriend in college. "But she had those –"

"Hairy nipples," we both said, laughing together.

The next table looked over. The girl quickly turned around but the man sitting with her shared a secret smile with us. Rick was almost drunk.

"God, it really freaked me out the first time I saw ‘em," he said.

"Her nipples or your reflection?" I joked.

Rick stopped. "Lenny, that relfection is still there for me, it’s still something I’m dealing with. Please don’t joke about it." His face was sallow and serious, like he had been insulted.

I apologized. In the dim golden lighting he looked like a sad angel. His bushy brown hair was unkempt but his face was tanned and clean shaven and the brown eyes glowed.

Rick finished the rest of the beer. "Let’s get out of here," he said.

We walked into the purple night that hung over us and stood in front of my car.

"So what are you going to do?"

"I don’t know," he said.

"Well, keep me updated, okay?"

Rick’s face was still. He was looking past me at my car.

"Look," he whispered, "there he is."

"Who?"

"Him."

I turned and saw our reflections in the driver side window.

"Where?"

But Rick was silent, focused on what I couldn’t see.

"Rick, are you all right?"
He didn’t say anything. I looked back in the window. It was only me and a thud. Rick had fainted. I knelt beside him, even slapping him a couple of times to bring him to.

"Rick!" I yelled down on him. "Rick!"

He came to a few seconds later

"Yeah," he said drowsily.

"Are you all right?"

"Yeah."

I helped him sit on the black cement. I got him to his car, asked him again if he was okay and then I left him sitting in his car.

That was a week ago, and now Rick and I were in the middle of Arizona looking for some old guy who could help him. It was all too bizarre for me but I was Rick’s friend and a few days off work had sounded good to me.

"I think we’ll set up camp here," John said and stopped his horse. He got off Shirely and looked around. Rick and I watched him.

"Yeah," he said, "this is a good spot."

The moon was nearly overhead and it was like a pale albino sun. There were strange looking shadows everywhere and Shirely’s coat was shiny white.

"Boys."

We looked at him.

"You can get off your horses now." John was pulling things off his saddle. He laid a large canvas over a flat spot under a couple of short stubby trees. Rick followed suit.

"It’s pretty hot," I said.

"Lenny," Rick told me, "don’t get this guy started."

"I’m just saying it’s hot."

Rick was trying hard to keep up with John, but John was efficient. He looked like he slept outdoors everynight. I got off my horse.

As John and Rick began setting up camp, I walked around. It was bright, like a partial eclipse. The terrain was red and mostly brush. There were occasionally trees but most of them couldn’t sustain themselves in the arid desert.

"Lenny!"

I walked back over towards them. They had the tent nearly set up but it looked like they didn’t have enough people to finish the job.

"What’s up?"

"Help us out," Rick said. He motioned with his head over to the other side of the tent that seemd to be wilting.

I helped get the final two rods into place and went inside to check it out. It was blue and spacious and through the canvas the moon bore a hole right through.

"Lenny!"

Rick was pulling off a sleeping bag and other things.

"You have to carry your own weight around here," my friend said. I could hear John chuckling on the other side of his horse.

"All right, all right, I was just checking out our surroundings, that’s all."

No one responded.

A little annoyed, I grabbed my things and put them where they were supposed to be. John was getting together kindling and Rick was setting pu his sleeping bag inside the tent.

"Why don’t we sleep outside?" I inquired. "The weather is pretty nice."

John laughed. "Lenny, less jus’ say we wouldn’t be able to recogneyes your face in the mornin’. Between fire ants, snakes, scorpions and other bugs, they’d be fighting just to get a snip at ya."

I threw my sleeping bag inside the tent.

"Hey watch it," Rick said.

"Rick, who is this guy? He thinks he’s Crocodile Dundee or something."

"Lenny, please."

And that was the end of that debate. I set up my bag and inside my pack I found the flask.

Out in the moonlight, a yellow and purple and blue flame was growing. I helped John get a few more rocks under the fire and offered him the flask.

"Well, all right," he said, and wiped his forehead. "What’cha got in here?"

"Tequila," I answered.

The three of us passed the small brown leather flask while we at tired in front of the crackling flames.

"So how do you know about this El Aguador?" It was the first time I had used the witch doctor’s name and it sounded artificial.

"When you live in the desert," he said, "you know about everything just like it knows me."

"But have you ever met him?"

"No." I took the flask from him. Rick was staring into the flames and they jumped in his eyes. "Lenny," John said, wiping his mouth, "let me tell you something. I know you think I’m some sun beat southerner who takin’ you boys for a joyride in the red desert but be glad I’m here."

"Why is that?"

"If I wasn’t here, then you wouldn’t know where I was." John stood up slowly and walked away from the orange light and into the pale and purple darkness.

I drank from the flask again before putting it away. I threw sand over the small fire and it choked and became orange in its foundation. Rick was still staring where the fire had been, sitting Indian style and his arms clasped in his lap. White moons that made him look like a cat had replaced the fire in his eyes.

"Rick you there?"

He wasn’t. I went over and nudged him.

"Are you all right?" I asked, looking down at him, eclipsing the moon.

"Yes," he answered blankly.

"All right." I went towards the tent. John was sitting next to it smoking a hand-rolled cigarette.

"You think Rick will be okay?"

"That’s up to El Agua unfortunately. I can only get him there."

"But what do you think?"

John put his cigarette out on a rock and put the butt into his pocket. "I think he’ forgotten that there is life outside the cities. Sure, it’s more convenient and there’s more women and jobs, and money, but there’s less happiness," he said. "You know how much that leaves for us folks out here?" He laughed. "More than we know what to do with."

"Don’t you get bored out here?"

"Bored? You see all this," he said, and moved his arm across the horizon, "this is all I’ll ever need. It’s a whole new world, ya know, at night. It’s kind of like the Mississippi River back in Mark Twain’s day. Those riverboat captains had to know the river night and day, up and down stream. It was like reading a book backwards but it still made sense." He lit another cigarette and squinted at the burst of orange.

"Do you like it better during the day or night?"

"Well, that’s the key," he said. John inhaled deeply and as he spoke the smoke came out freely. "When it’s day, you better like the day and the same gores for the night."

"What do you mean?"

"If it’s day, and you’re looking for the night, it’ll come and bite ya in the ass." He inhaled again. "You have to like what you have right then and there or you’ll never be happy."

I looked back at Rick. He was gone.

"Did you see where Rick went?"

"No, but he just went for a walk, probably, he’ll be all right."

John finished the cigarette and put the new butt in the same pocket. He opened the blue flap door of the tent and began crawling inside.

I followed him, after brushing my teeth and looking for a good place to spit out my toothpaste.

"Did you find him?" John asked from his side of the tent . It was like a small room in there.

"No," I said, "I wasn’t looking for him."

"Good. The boy’s got to find hisself," John said.

I fell asleep fast and awoke with a start the next morning, a rush of pain to my head and I was disoriented. It was already bright. I was the only one in the tent.

"Lenny," Rick called to me as I was peaking my head out of the tent.

He was sitting next to the place where the fire had been. The land past him was red and golden, and now the shadows laid facing the other way. It was morning in the desrt and it was perhaps the most peaceful thing I had ever seen.

"Did you sleep in the tent last night?"

"No," he said, standing up to shake my hand and greet me.

"Did you sleep?"

"No."

"What did you do?" I was rubbing my eyes.

"I walked around all night. The moon was so bright that I could see fine. It was amazing Lenny, I found something so amazing, I’ve got to show you."

Rick waited while I put my shoes and threw on a shirt. "Where’s John?"

"I don’t know," he said, leading me past the tent and down a small hill. It flattened out and there small, waist high, hard-looking shrubs and scraggly foliage weaved around our impromptu path.

"Where are we going?"

Rick didn’t answer. He was walking faster and faster and as we got close he started jogging. He ws fifteen yards ahead of me. When I caught, his shoulders were slumped and he was standing in front of an old tree stump.

"What’s wrong?" I asked. It was already warm and the shadows were becoming shorter.

"It’s different," he was muttering, "it’s different."

"What’s different, Rick?"

"It’s different. Last night, this tree stump had the most amazing design on the top here. It was incredible. I must have looked at it for an hour. But it’s different now."

"Yeah, that’s what John was saying about the day and night out here in the desert."

"Who?"

"Our guide, John," I said.

"Oh."

"Rick, are you okay?"

"Yeah, it’s just different, that’s all."

We walked back slowly and when we got back to camp John was there putting things in the saddle bags hanging off Shirley. She was clam and patient with him, like they were old friends. The blue tent was still up.

"Mornin’ boys," he said, folding over a beaten leather flap.

"Mornin’." God, I thought, I’m even starting to sound like him.

"How was your night?"

"All right," I answered.

"Great," Rick said. "I walked the desert the whole night and it was like a dream."

John chuckled. "Yeah," he said, "I remember the first time I walked ‘round the desert all night." It made me wonder about the third or fourth time he walked around the desert.

"It was great," Rick was saying.

We broke the tent down and somehow folded it into a small manageable blue heap. Rick and John shoved it into its pouch and put it in one of Simba’s bags. She whinnied softly and lifted her head up.

"Make sure we got all the trash ‘n things," John said to Rick. "We got leave it how we found it."

The day’s horseback riding was painful. My head was aching from last night’s tequila and the bouncing of the horse jarred my brain repeatedly. Still though, it was good to be away from work, and cars, and buildings and traffic and people I thought.

It was hot by lunchtime and we sat under the shade of a pair of Chilean Mesquite trees eating beef jerky and fruit and drank water from our canteens. I was getting low on water and asked John about refills.

"Well that’s the beauty of this El Agua character. He supposedly lives right next to a huge natural reservoir so if we can find him, we’ll be in good shape."

"If we find him?" I asked.

"Yeah, I was telling you last night. Iknow about him and he probably knows about me but we’ve never seen each other."

"Well, what do I do if I get thirsty and I don’t have any water?"

"Here, suck on this," and he tossed me a penny.

"You want me to put this in my mouth?" I had worked in a bank for over a year and knew how dirty money was.

"If you get thirsty," he said.

We sat in the shade and relaxed. John said we would probably be there around this time tomorrow.

"Great," Rick said. He had seemed livelier since being out here so I knew this was good for him.

When we began up again, it was slow going. John took the point and Rick and If followed. Ahead, and to the right of the horizon was a mountain range, burnt red and brown. It was rocky at the top, and it shined against the hot sun. We were all sweating and John had a handkerchief around his neck. We spent the whole afternoon bouncing on the walking horses, and sweating. My face felt like it was in a frying pan and the sweat was cooking oil. Then a breeze would come along and cool me. Conversation was sparse and I thought of the first time I ever rode a horse. She was a lot like this one, the brown shiny coat and the gently disposition that came with age and domestication. My dad had still been alive then, and as we hobbled along the path’s in San Juan Capistrano, he tried to teach me what it took him nearly a lifetime to learn. He was always talking to me like it might be his last day and I remembered squinting and sweating and burnt, what he had told me that day.

"Leonard," he had said, "you see the ocean out there, and how it meets the cliff and the beach down there.

I must have nodded because he kept talking.

"They are different, Leonard, but they can still meet, but there has to be an overlap." He pointed again to the beach and the tiny white wash. "They can collide, but one has to dominate the other. It’s just how it works."

We had rode on, quiet in the perfect blue ageless afternoon.

"It’s like people," he said. "You can be friends with anyone, Leonard, but know that sometimes you’re the water and sometimes you’re the beach. Do you understand? One’s not better than the other but for them to exist together, that’s just how it is."

I understood then as I did that day in the hot and red Arizona desert. The thing that confused me was whether it was my ass or the horse’s back that was on overlapping. I was numb in the pants and I called up to the other two so we could stop.

"Let’s ride up to that ridge," John said and pointed to the base of the range.

An hour later we were there and I needed Rick’s help getting down. He had been quiet all afternoon and the glaze in his eyes was one of dehydration and hope. I was somewhere closer to the former.

It was late enough in the day that the sun was partially hidden by the far off mountains and we found shade under the ridge. I changed my shirt and took the dirty one and put it over my head. I massage my groin to get the nerve endings working again.

"Wait ‘till you have some private time for that," John said and he and Rick laughed.

"Aren’t you guys numb?"

John grabbed his crotch. "Nope, don’t think so, but cold water is always the best test."

"Or a woman," Rick said.

We all laughed. They were tired laughs let loose by the heat exhaustion. I felt like the Germans who had gone too far to turn back. They froze to death and starved and I perished from dehydration. I felt myself dozing.

"The desert does funny things to a man," John was saying. "I once saw a man lying face up in the sand trying to bury himself, thinking it would cool him down. So there he was," John said amidst Rick’s laughing, "scooping sand on himself by the handful onto his chest."

"What happened?"

"I took his water and left. I was going to die like him."

"I pulled the white shirt off my head. "You let a man die?"

"No, he let himself die," he replied.

"But."

"But what? Look Lenny, I’m sorry to break this to ya so far into the journey but I’m only the guide, not your baby-sitter."

I looked over at Rick. H was tying his shoes and looking down.

"I’ll keep that in mind," I told John.

"No," he said, "keep your mind in that."

I put the shirt over my head again and it was quiet for awhile. I was too tired to care. I daydreamed of women in cold water throwing sand into my mouth.

Footsteps scurried toward me.

"Look!"

It was Rick, he was running, struggling up the ridge to our temporary camp.

"What’s up?" I asked him drowsily.

"Look!" He pointed to his left and I looked right. I couldn’t see anything. "Come here," he said, "come here." He hopped back down the ridge and down to the right. I got up and followed him, though with less enthusiasm.

"Look!"

Up ahead, down in a small, incredibly fertile looking valley was a small lake, shaded by trees that seemed lost in the high desert.

"Where’s John?"

"I’m over here," he called and we looked up the ridge. He was standing there, naked in only his hiking shoes.

"What the hell are you doing?"

"I’m keeping cool," he said, pulling up his pants and hopping down the ridge and coming towards us. "What is it?" he asked when he got close enough.

"Look!" Rick pointed it out for him.

"Do you think—"

"Well I’ll be damned," John said to himself. "I can’t believe it actually exists."

"What?" I asked.

"Come on," he said, "let’s get our stuff and get down there before dark."

We picked up our pace and made a gallop while still on the downhill. Rick passed John, kicking up dust and racing for salvation. The lake below us was becoming more blue and the valley was taking shape, the individual trees arising from the forest. It wasn’t near as hot and we were moving fast enough that the breeze chilled our sweat.

Rick was far ahead of us. I caught up to John and we nodded to each other as we bounced along the hillside. The bushes were becoming small trees and up ahead the lake was bordered on one side by trees that looked foreign. Hell, I thought, the whole place looked foreign.

We stopped about fifteen minutes short to look for signs of life or someone’s camp or home.

"Do you see him?" Rick asked eagerly.

"Let’ head down that way." John pointed to a bay no bigger than a football field under the trees.

This time John took the lead again, with Rick and I behind him.

"This is great," Rick told me.

"Be prepared we might not find this El Agua guy," I said as Simba and Curious George trotted into the compact forest. It was much cooler now, and the only sun we could see shot down in thin yellow spears from the tops of the tall evergreens. We were no longer in a desert.

"You guys hang up here for a minute."

We waited. Rick got off his horse and walked toward the water.

"Rick," I called after him. I got off Curious George and followed him.

At the edge of the trees was the bay. It curved softly and we were at its mouth. Water trickled slowly in and out, as if breathing or taking a midday nap. I took my shoes off and the sand was cool.

"Don’t!" John came over a rocky hill to the right of the bay. He was talking to me. "This is someone’s drinking water, Lenny," he scolded, walking towards me. "Would you want me to put my feet in your drinking water?"

I was sitting in the cool shaded sand putting my shoes back on.

"I found him. He’s over this rocky bluff behind me," John said. "He’s got a little camp up set up. It’s pretty nice, actually."

"What did he say?"

"I didn’t see him," he told Rick. "You’re gonna have to go over there and wait for him."

Rick got his things together and started his trek.

"Rick." I walked over and we shook hands. "Good luck, man, believe in yourself." I thought it sounded foolish but he was earnest.

"I will," he said and then turned away.

When he was gone up over the bluff, I asked John, "Now what?"

"Well, we’ll set up camp over there to the left and wait for him."

"How long do you think he’ll be?"

"I have no idea but let’s hope he gets what he needs in one night, we’re getting low on rations." He was getting on his horse. "Now would be a good time to fill up that canteen."

God, I’m definitely a city slicker, I thought. Here I was thirsty, and when I see water the first thing I wanted to stick my feet in it.

"Priorities," my dad had said another time. "Other things get in the way, trust me."

We were in the garage, with it’s black and white checkered floor, and it’s large red tool boxes and white cupboards. The garage was the one room that was considered his and he made it immaculate. He was cleaning a piston rod with a red shop rag and I was sitting on a stool, bored.

"Leonard," he said, "what’s important to you? What are your priorities?" He wasn’t looking at me. He was examining his piston rod and blowing out dust, and wiping it vigorously. I think it had been summer then, too.

"I don’t know," I finally said.

"Exactly. But that’s all right," he said to the dirty rod. "What, you’re seven years old now?"

"Eight," I corrected.

He stopped. "You’re eight now?" He went back to cleaning. "Damn, time flies."

"What are you priorities, Dad?"

"Bills," he said. "And you, and your mom, and me somewhere down the line."

"Bills?" I had asked.

"Leonard, be glad you don’t make any money now because when you do you start buying things and then those things need upgrades. And then you keep wanting better and more until you owe people money to people you don’t even know." He chuckled at his ridiculous life.

"Dad, you don’t even know the people you owe?" I was playing with my Luke Skywalker action figure and the Tantan animal you could stick Luke’s legs in so it looked like he was riding it.

"You’re a smart kid, son." He wiped his hand on his dirty weekend jeans and patted me on the my head. "Now my priority right now is this piston rod. Why don’t you go out back and show your little Luke Skywalker the backyard?"

"He’s seen it," I said quietly but my dad was already deep in piston rods.

John and Shirley trotted over to me and Curious George.

"What ya’ll think? This is a good place to camp?"

"Sure," I said.

Setting up the blue tent was more difficult but with the previous days’ practice we were able to get it up. It got darker, quicker that night because the mountains and the trees standing over us choked the sun and extinguished its flames. We were just getting the camp fire lit when darkness was upon us.

"Hey, you got any of that tequila left?" His face was red and flickered orange and shadowy against the growing fire. It was mesmerizing and it had the visual stimulation that stemmed from unpredictability.

I passed the flask to John. He took it and tilted it.

"Hmm," he said, "what is that, Patron?"

I drank from it and nodded. "How did you know?" I could feel warmth sliding down my throat and it smothered my heart. I laid on the ground, but not before John grabbed the flask and drank and talked.

"There’s no other land in the world like this. Sure," he said, gesturing with the flask and his fire like eyes, in other latitudes the terrain and temperatures are the same, and maybe even some of the same trees." He was quiet for a moment. "But it ain’t nothing like this. I remember in Texas when I was a kid, it would be hot as all hell during the day and then when the night came it was cool and a wind swept across the whole state."

I sat up. I took another drink and it burned my throat raw. The fire was hot and crackling; I moved back where it was cooler. John was still talking.

"We used to take them sand bees, ya know them? Yeah, we’d take their wings off and make a sand cage, just build up the walls and they couldn’t make it out." He drank from the flask and handed it to me. "You want the last swig?" he asked.

I tilted it but it was empty. I didn’t care. I laid back down on the soft pine needles.

"Sometimes I think we’re like the sand bees," he was saying. "Like we used to have wings but they were clipped at birth and we were condemned to walk the earth. I think that’s where our fascination from flying comes from. Lenny?"

"Yeah?"

"What are you thinking about?"

"Nothing," I said and it was true.

"Wow, you’re lucky. This brain o’ mine," and he knocked on his head, "it’s always working. I’m glad though, the other way seems kind of boring.

The fire crackled and John talked and ate and I just laid there. I had begun this trip to be there for a friend and it had turned into my own journey. Maybe life was always like that, I thought. Selfishness leads to a clarity. When the struggle is personal, one’s mind is clouded and looks to close in front, never far enough ahead. Or is it the other way, I wondered.

"What do you think, John?"

"’Bout what?"

"Is it better to look close in front of you or far ahead?"

He was eating sunflower seeds and the cracking of the seeds complimented the fire. "Depends on the terrain, I reckon. Road, or off road, or in one of your crazy towns," he said. "I think the more people around, the closer you have look in front of you. But out here, in God’s country, it’s just you and god and you know you don’t have to worry ‘bout keeping an eye out for God because he’s looking out for you."

"What do we have to eat?"

"Sunflower seeds," John said, cracking and spitting one out into the fire. "And I think we got some apples and oranges."

I ate an apple as John had his seeds and after awhile he went over to his horse and brought something back.

"Here, try this." He handed me a leather bota bag, greasy from years of human contact.

"What is it?"

"Drink it."

It was awkward at first but I turned the bota bag upside down and warm liquid filled my mouth. I swallowed it and it burned like the tequila, but different.

"Evan Williams, whiskey," he said as if it was a name and occupation.

I was coughing. "Damn, that’s harsh."

"You’ll get used to it." John was already hadning it back to me. "This is what we used to get the girls in high drunk on."

"What about you?"

"What about me?"

"Didn’t it get you drunk too?"

"Yeah," he laughed. "Two for the price of one."
It wasn’t more than ten minutes later we were eating the next night’s dinner of gruel. John had to explain to me what it was.

"Well, you take whatever kind of dried foods you have and mix them in a pot and cook it."

"What are we eating tonight?"

"Gruel," he answered.

"What’s in it?"

He had been pouring various packets of powered food into the old black pot which sat in an orange embered edge of the campfire. "Let’s see," he said, "refried beans, cheese enchiladas and lasagna."

"Lasagna?"

"Yep," he said and poured the rest of it into the pot. "Here, get some water."

The lake was cool and the breathing ripples were minute but they curled up back and forth a few inches. A bird flew just above the water and the risen moon reflected fully on its wings. It looked like a slow shooting star.

My knees ached when I stood up and walked back over to John and the campfire.

"I just saw a shooting star."

"Oh yeah? Here, have ‘nother drink." John’s drawl was loose and it started growing on me.

"What is ‘ya’ll’ mean, anyway?"
John laughed. "All you Yankees talk ‘bout how slow we all talk. So ‘ventually," he said, wiping his mouth, "we had to put a few words together to speed up our sentences."

"John, pass me the bota," I said. I drank from it and passed it back to him and said in a drawl of my own, "Don’t worry about it, maybe we Yankees should slow it down a bit. You all might have something there." I drew out the sentence ridiculously long; I was drunk.

"Ya’ll."

"What?"
"It’s ‘ya’ll, not you all. Damn Yankees never listen, only talk." John shook his head and stirred the thick pot of gruel.

"You know the South lost," I said.

"Is that what you think? Like I got me a Confederate flag on my ceiling?"

"John," I said.

"What?"

"I was only kidding, pass me the whiskey."

He stirred the pot and said, sorry, I guess ya’ll hit a nerve on that one."

"It’s all right, man." I grabbed the warm silver spoon and stirred it.

"I’m gonna hit the head, I’ll be back." John walked off into the blackness of the forest. I could hear him singing a song and pale moon spears sliced his shirt and pierced the ground as he was walking away.

I was singing the chorus to the song when he stumbled back.

"You know ‘The Night They Drove ‘Ole Dixie Down’?"

"Hell yeah, I dig The Band," I said.

"Woulda never figured."

"Here, take the reins of this meal." I handed him the spoon. "How long ‘till it’s ready?"

"About three more drinks each. Number one," he said and took the dark brown bota bag and drank freely.

I grabbed it from him. The stars above were faint and blurred. Smoke from the fire was grey and dissipating up into the night. I tried to watch the smoked until it was gone.

"Lenny, we’re never gonna eat if we don’t get those drinks down."

I thought it was the funniest thing I had ever heard. I took another drink. "I’m drunk," I said, "we might never eat."

"The hell with that, I’m hungry, give me that, I’ll drink yours if I have to."

"Would you do that for me?" I was still laughing when I handed him the whiskey. Everything was warm and rushing in smooth streams. "Hey John," I said, "where’s that bathroom?"

Two more drinks and I would have peed myself when I fell. I tripped over a root and lay face down in the cool pine needles, laughing.

John helped me up and handed me the bag. "Here, dinner’s almost ready."

We ate in silence, two drunk men out in the wilderness eating a thick brown pasty food. It was good thought and shoveled it in. I was drinking water now but John was still with his whiskey.

"This is the life, isn’t it John?"

"No," he said. "This is Life." He took another bite of his gruel and said, "So many of you city fook come out here and it feels like you’re getting away, but what you don’t realize is that you’re getting back to what it’s all about."

"Ooh, John, very deep."

It was a full night sleep, and I think I snored. It was cooler that night and the sun rose later, or didn’t beat on the tent as early. John was already up when I awoke. There was an empty space in between the sleeping bags. Outside John was sitting perched on a boulder that sat on the edge of the lake. I stretched, reaching for eth sky and yawned.

"Mornin’."

"Mornin’," he said. John jumped from his perch and walked over. "This is a fantastic morning."

John and I ate breakfast among chirping birds and an early morning breeze that sifted through the trees. Somewhere towards the end I saw Rick. He was walking over the small hill that squeezed into between the trees and the still lake. I walked over to him.

"Rick, how are you, did you see El Agua?"
"Shh," he said. "The morning deserves respect." He was wearing different clothes: baggy brown pants and a green shirt. They look homemade."

He was quiet while John and I packed up camp. I was curious about his experience and what El Agua was like but I would have to wait. It wasn’t until the three of us rode away from the oasis that he spoke.

"What?" I wasn’t hungover but the whiskey sloshed while I bounced on Curious George.

"What was the old coot like?"

"He was calm and giving."

"What did he tell you?" I asked him. Rick was a new person, complete with new demeanor, manner of speech and even his clothes.

"He told me I would be all right."

Hell, I thought, I could have told you that. We rode on into the heat of the red desert. No one talked, it was too hot. However, Rick seemed to reappear the further we got from El Agua.

"You want to go to the Dodger’s game this weekend?" They’re playing the Gaints."

"All right, Rick, sounds good." I was sweating, my ass hurt and I was curious what the hell had happened to my friend.

The three of us continued into the afternoon, and through the night. We were low on water and out of whiskey and food. Rick didn’t seem to mind and John mentioned a rendezvous with a more than willing beautiful young lady with a tanned face and turquoise painted nails. He told me that her name was Serena and she had been raised on a reservation near his home outside Sedona.

I was done with the journey. It always seemed exciting but once the return was inevitable, it was necessary and imperative to get back to civilization soon. There were calls to be made, emails to return and work to catch up on. I wasn’t looking forward to it but I was ready to undertake it.

John bid us farewell at the trailhead that had Rick’s car and John beat up pick up truck. He told us he would take care of the horses and that we were all right for city slickers. I gave him my card.

"Yeah, maybe I’ll get out there and watch my Astros kick your Dodgers asses," he said.

I was putting some of our things in Rick’s trunk when Rick came over. It was somewhere short of noon and a little past a hundred degrees.

"Let’s get a beer with John before we head out," he said.

Rick’s willingness to return to the communicative outweighed my urge to cross the yellow desert.

It was a small dark warm bar across the street called the Silver Jigger. John was already inside at a stool, his cowboy hat resting on the red stood next to him. There were two Indians playing pool near the jukebox. The jukebox wasn’t on.

We ordered three beers and three waters and sat facing straight, only making eye contact in the mirror behind the bartender.

"Ya’ll got any munchies?" John asked him.

The smokey, wrinkled bartender returned with some peanuts in one bowl, and chips and salsa in another. We ate them in fervor.

"Do you guys want to know what happened?"

"Hell, even I’m curious at this point Rick. And I never care what customers do or see out on the trips."

"He was old all right, and short. I don’t even think he stood up the whole time I was with him."

"That’s funny," John said. "Someone told me once that the guy doesn’t stand but I never really thought much about it."

"He told me to go by the water and look down into it." Rick drank from his beer and continued. "I saw my reflection and it scared me I would see the reflection again."

"Did you?" I asked.

"I did, it just kind of separated from me and moved to the left." He was using strange arm movements to show us and a few peanuts from his right hand fell onto the bar.

"Then what?" I asked. John excused himself to the bathroom, which surprised me but then I realized he really didn’t care about the city folk, not in a negative way but he probably thought of it as their experience."

"It was El Agua," Rick said and turned to his left to look at me. "He was the reflection I had been seeing. Then," he said more excitedly from the memory, "El Agua threw a rock into the lake and it just shattered the reflection. It scared me. I asked him what the hell he was doing, ya know? You know what he said, Lenny?"

I didn’t and it was then John returned.

"He said that he did that to show me it was only a reflection. He said that even though he was the old face I was still in control of me." Rick drank and said, "I’m in control of me."

The three drinkers, I thought. Or maybe even the three men from any time, living, the same lives that will always be lived. There will always be the Confused, the Yearning, and the Knowing. None of us can be all three nor would want to be. To know the answers to your questions would make for a lonely man, I thought. We only desired what we’re not sure we really want and we scare ourselves as a way of pinching our mental skins, a poke in the ribs of the lackadaisical. And hopefully, sometimes, we find that we are only human and it is the time we think we are more than that that disappointment sets in. That red afternoon in some year in some foreign place, we were three men who were too busy to understand each other but were willing to take the time to share a story and a drink or two.