Trailer Trash: chapter twenty seven

letters from an empty trailer

the Valley of Decision

chapter twenty seven

The second Axle lifted his leg over the saddle, his horse kicked and reared sending him hard to the ground. Angela in her excitement to ride her horse excitedly galloped ahead on the black horse, until she heard Axle yell and fall, then saw his mare gallop off. She stopped and turned, when she saw Axle was slow to rise. “You alright?” she yelled out, riding back to him.

“Nothing’s broken, I don’t think?” replied a shaken Axle dusting himself off.

When Axle looked around for his horse, it was far off grazing. Angela rode over and retrieved it. “I don’t have to tell you whose idea this was, do I?” said Angela returning back to him. We’ll take the bikes instead, I’ll start finishing her training tomorrow,” offered Angela.

“My father is a revengeful man,” she continued. “He’s letting you know he’s not happy with you.”

“Well, we can add that to the list, I’m just happy that he’ll never know if his trick worked or not.”

“What makes you think that cowboy isn’t still watching?” she asked. Axle, now silhouetted by a red-orange sunrise.

“The old woman would have told us. I took a walk up past her prayer stone earlier, your message was still on it.” “That’s a relief!”

Angela lifted off her horse’s blanket and saddle, removed the bridle and spanked him on the ass, sending him out to graze. Axle did the same. The bikes were a mess, but both started easily. They emptied what was left in the saddle bags and followed their tracks to the creosote bush with Axle’s bandana waving slightly in the early morning breezes. The ride was much easier in the deep desert sands with empty bikes and even halfway enjoyable.

They stopped in a dried up ancient creek wash when they saw a Moon Flower in bloom. Axle was about to take a step toward the sweetly scented bush, that hadn’t been in bloom yesterday. Or he had missed it in his weariness the previous day? She grabbed him by the shoulder, as he was about to step on a pair of mating horny toads. “Thanks!” cried Axle. “No one wants that happening to them, especially when you’re in the middle of business?” laughed Axle.

“I should say not!” Angela replied, smiling.

They both were drawn to the large plant with the large white flowers, hanging out from the ledge of the river bed.

“Amazing, what an enchanting sweet smell,” sighed Angela, sticking her nose into the petals. “So beautiful, yet so poisonous.”

“Isn’t this the one that blooms at night?” asked Axle.

“Ya,” she replied’

“No wonder I missed it!” piped Axle.

“It has many names. I’ve heard it called, Angels Trumpet. But I was introduced to it as Moon Flower.”

They rode through a section of Bee weed, and red flowering Ocotillo, branching out skyward in long thorny stems that looked on fire. Axle didn’t remember either on the ride in, and if it weren’t for their tracks in the sand he’d swear they were lost.

At the stash, Angela checked the robbed road runners nest to find one egg had been lain, since they were here. The adults were gone, probably hearing the Harley engines approaching. Although they seemed unafraid of humans walking nearby and she could hear them calling to each other in the brush.

Saving the old woman miles of walking, Angela cut some long spiny Ocotillo branches to use for medicine, wrapping the harsh needle thorns into a shirt to carry. Riding back to the trailer, it was funny how the light played tricks and changed the scenery with the direction of travel. The chaparral seemed duller to Axle on their return to the trailer.

Night horse and the mare came into sight halfway back; it was obvious they were following Angela. “What are we going to do now?” piped Axle, rubbing his head in wonder.

“He’ll follow us, and she’ll follow him…!” she replied confidently.

Off they went and sure enough they turned and followed. “Nothing a little love and a few apples can’t conquer!” yelled Angela. “It’s growing on to noon. I wanna get them into the cottonwood shade fast.”

When they returned, a coyote was sniffing around the smouldering campfire, and bolted like a sneaky thief when it saw them coming.

Angela took the Ocotillo branches to the prayer stone, along with some salt and Lemon juice from this mornings haul. Axle took the horses to the cottonwood springs and left them in the shade.

Angela noticed, in their absence, the prayer stone had been wiped clean and a bag of mesquite flour was left for them. Angela knew the work and time the old woman must have put into grinding it, not including the time and energy put into picking the pods, then toasting them. She felt guilty and wanted to leave it for her. But she knew that it would be a great insult, no matter how thoughtful her motives were.

Angela made mesquite tortillas on her rusty flat cast-iron fry pan, hidden under the trailer. She always felt bad when she saw it, hoping the old woman would use it, but she never did. Angela filled the golden tortillas from a can of Boston baked beans, while Axle broke open a bottle of whiskey, and they dined like royalty.

The baking noon sun drove them into the trailer for some temporary relief. But later they were forced to join the mustangs and horses in the willows and cottonwood spring. They lounged in a hammock in the humid shade tied between two perfectly spaced and ancient Palo Verde trees. The state trees of Arizona, now housing a growing family of morning doves.

Rocking in the arms of her lover serenaded by natures myriad of bird calls wasn’t enough to keep her mind off her father, Rosa, and her growing baby. Her thoughts just kept circling, endlessly one to another Axle could sense her fears no matter how she tried to conceal it.

Later that afternoon, a strong lonely wind arose, making eerie haunting sounds in the cottonwoods, and whistling through the huge saguaro cactus, standing guard out in the baking hills. It spooked the coyotes into barking and yelping until you couldn’t help but feel it in your soul, and rattled the wild burrows so much, they came galloping into the lush oasis, ears pointed high, madly braying and honking, as if they were being chased by demons.

The wind reflected her thoughts, and seemed like it was specially ordered up for her? Finally, they were forced to vacate the hammock, as all the mustangs, horses, and even the two burrows, surrounded them for apples and carrots. Bringing with them hordes of flies. It was fun at first until they began to get bitten.

After the cowboy incident, Axle continually kept his eyes out for trouble, and sweeping the hills with his eyes, caught sight of the old medicine woman leaning over her prayer stone chanting. Her small voice carried away in the wind.

Angela had never seen her do this before and wondered if it was because of the strange hot wind? They came up from the oasis behind the trailer so as not to disturb the old woman’s prayers. But the braying burrows followed them up and tipped her off. She waddled over to them. “You come tomorrow, early,” she said, pointing to her cave, on the other side of the rock outcroppings, without any explanation, then slowly waddled back and forth, back up through the sand, up past her prayer stone, like a little wind up toy, with her traditional beaded moccasins, poking out from her red maxi skirt sweeping the ground. Then she disappeared like a ghost. Her face was wrinkled, and strangely cool, like a dried-up prune but ageless at the same time. Angela wondered what it would be like out here alone for years?

Axle could see concern for the old woman written on Angela’s face and just shook his head. He knew that the old woman was happy to be there on her own. Axle turned and chased off the pesky burrows and began breaking up an ancient dried up fallen 50-foot Saguaro cactus. He was intending for it to be the nights’ kindling but the wind was picking up as evening approached and they might not be able to have a fire after all.

Dan Ger