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ONE BOY'S LIFE (excerpt) Richard Talbot Hill 2008 Copy Right
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I had just turned sixteen when I signed up for a week long field trip in the desert over Easter Vacation. The morning of departure, a standard yellow school bus was waiting for a dozen or so students. A capacious Biology teacher was in charge. The first time I saw the desert through the bus window in the late afternoon of a long day's drive, I stared at the barren mountains spewing motionless alluvial fans and was filled with a contentment completely new to me.
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When the bus pulled over for the night, we rolled our sleeping bags out on the scrub scattered hardpan. The mountains were turning a deeper and deeper red. I was transfixed then suddenly flooded with deja vu. After a dinner of grilled hamburgers, the Biology teacher took us on a walk in the dark with a portable blacklight. After announcing to us all that we were to refer to him as Dan from then on, he turned on the light and the ground came alive with scuttling, flourescent green scorpions.
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When I fell asleep, I dreamt of a fan turning slowly as my father carried me out of the baking darkness of the trailer. The green ford was too hot to touch so we tumbled in. My father sped off, windows open. The car raced along like a frantic insect in the desert.
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The military base where my parents worked raised slowly out of the landscape. It supported a bar, a gereral store and a huddle of out buildings. We pulled up in front of the bar. My father hoisted me onto his shoulder and we stepped out of the screaming desert sun into the bar.
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Voices bellowing out of the darkness scared me. I held on to my father. A large, sagging face came into focus. It asked me my name. The mirror behind the bar picked up the light and the bottles beneath it glowed in dim colors. Above the mirror, the hairy head of an animal stared into eternity. More faces crowded around me. My father stood me on the bar. A rheumny eyed woman jagged with lipstick touched my hair. Someone poked me. I could see everyone now smiling and smoking. A drink was placed in my hands. My father lifted his drink and everyone followed. I lifted my glass.
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I was shaken awake. Dan's broad face dimmed the glare of the desert morning as he leaned over me. I looked into his smiling eyes . He sat by me at breakfast and I walked by him as he led us through a gully a flash flood had cut through ancient, river polished sediment. Burrows pocked the eight foot walls just inches from our shoulders. He stopped us at an eye level, fist sized hole and prodded it with his rolled up hat. A huge tarantula sauntered out. He turned his wrist and let it stroll out onto his hand. It inspected his arm like a neighborhood cat. He tipped his elbow back into its burrow and it disappeared with a lazy shuffle. My heart was pounding. No one said a word.
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In the late afternoon, the bus pulled up to a sea of sand dunes that stretched to the horizon. A wind was picking up. We ate a cold meal quickly, huddled our sleeping bags against the bus and covered our heads. I dreamt my father and I were playing five card stud. He was swigging wine from a gallon jug. Oak branches that framed the window were covered with thousands of caterpillars. A gust of wind blew open the window and carried them in like rain.
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I awoke very cold. The sky was white, the horizon yellow. The ground was covered with a thick frost that held the dunes in unnatural peaks. I pulled my shoes on and wandered into them
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