“Yo!” My husband yelled through the open windows of the van as we approached the only parking spot anywhere nearby, and a tiny one at that. The man standing next to the open driver’s door of his car, and consequently standing in our way within that tiny vacant spot, looked up with a defensive expression that seemed to travel from his face all the way to the tippy-top point of his spikey mohawk. There was a five second gap between him looking annoyed and recognition dawning on his face.
It is a funny business driving across the country, and then stumbling across someone you know in a parking lot. It is less funny when the meeting is planned, but a funny feeling nonetheless.
Our van seemed to blush a bit as she looked from side to side at her girth while pondering fitting into that tight space, but she did it. Nothing wrong with being a tad on the chubby side, especially when you are storing four humans, four suitcases, and some camping gear. The poor girl was a bit dirty too. She had gone on a day trip from Albuquerque to Santa Fe, and had now driven us to a tiny town for our planned meeting with the momentarily angry Mohawk Man.
The town, or at least what we saw of it, was composed of a handful of art galleries, some scattered houses, and one tavern. The backdrop of dry hills spotted with things that looked likely to cause pain in the absence of cowboy boots felt a little at odds with the colorful art galleries. Colorful metal yard art, although stationary, had an enthusiastic look-at-me feeling to it, as though each bit of fused metal would have waved enthusiastically at passersby if possible.
Our trusty chubby and dirty van looked content to have a nice rest as we closed the doors and my husband greeted Mohawk Man, a childhood friend unseen for at least a decade. We walked up to—you guessed it—the one and only tavern. There was a vague bit of unease in the air between them; there was some awkwardness at so long a gap. I wasn’t much help, because Mohawk Man is an artist.
And I Don’t Trust Artists
Sounds very unartistic, doesn’t it? What don’t I like about them, you ask? I think the word unpredictable sums it up. Unpredictability is supposed to be exciting and fun and all that, but I don’t think it is either when it is applied to morals.
A good friend of mine from high school comes to mind. She is very artsy—a mime, an actress, et cetera—and she is a nice person. But given the opportunity, I wouldn’t have put it past her to sleep with my boyfriend, or do who even knows what, not for any particular reason other than it struck her fancy. Her desire to experience something, despite my or society's disapproval, would just be self-expression to her, like just the scarlet thread she needed to accent a particular part of the tapestry of her life. Everything she might do was simply art — unpredictable, possibly immoral, but art.
Of course all artists aren’t immoral, I reminded myself as we sat down at a table. But they are often unpredictable, and that’s trouble enough.
Once settled in place, Mohawk Man looked fixedly at me. I wouldn’t call it a polite gaze, rather an unclothed one—it was a look of something like What of you, then? Despite the friendliness mingled with that probing expression, I was mentally cementing bricks together for my wall. The Great Wall of Ginny.
We made conversation; the conversation shifted away. I sat back and inhaled the ambiance of what is a tavern in a tiny town in the middle of New Mexico. It is a place with lots of TVs, but not a lot of patrons. It is a place where big shaggy dogs wander about inside, hoping you’ve dropped something good, and they nuzzle their thick musky hair to tangle between your fingers. It is a place of semi-stagnant air and bar stools that don’t look like they’ve been wiped down in twenty years, but it matters not because the waiter has a flaming red beard and a bald head, and he is giving me all of his attention. He looks a little uncertain of the men, which is great because that makes the two of us.
But blast it all, I only had my wall built up to my thighs when I forgot about it and started listening to the artist’s ghost stories and eccentric mode of living. I decided to abide that What of you? stare. Unclothed stares are much better than ones with frilly hats and designer shoes. And mohawks are somewhat becoming.
We left that night and drove back to Albuquerque through the black New Mexico nothingness of nighttime. Black nothing was readily visible in any direction just outside the headlight beams, and I hoped nothing living was planning to jump out in front of them. Well, and hopefully nothing un-living either.
“I like him,” I said to my husband. “I wouldn’t say I trust him…but I like him. He was nice.”
“He was on his best behavior,” my husband said with a smile.
I leaned against the window and looked up at the blackness above, and around. The silence in the backseat suggested the children were sound asleep. I tried to soak up the desert blackness for all the horrid dawns that come too soon, and all the horrid early-morning alarm clock ringings when all you really want to do is fall back into the blackness of a desert at midnight.
It had been a beautiful, unpredictable night.
And it was a lovely break from traveling state to state. Soon it would be Colorado time…
So clearly you took a right at Albuquerque, just like Bugs Bunny did. Although...maybe you're too young to get the reference.
One of Florida's most unvisited places. I have one too, but mine uses my own name because, I'm so not a Ginny.
Yep, too young for that one. I'm sure following in Bugs' footsteps is a good idea though.
Really, you don't have a Ginny wall? We are both G's - we could trade if you like. Mine will keep all of my enemies out - the artists, those guys that drive trucks with the front end jacked up, my drunken neighbor, and a few other miscellaneous characters. I'm sure that will be useful to you. I don't know that I can get any benefit from yours though - you get along with everyone, right? Your wall is made of cardboard, isn't it? Sigh. This is a terrible trade.
I'd be happy to swap G-walls, no issue there at all. But don't be fooled, mine may seem like cardboard but it's not. Besides, behind the wall is a pile of claymores and a couple CIWS Phalanx installations...You may need to googlerise them. I don't think you'd be let down by the G-wall swap.
You can rest assured that none of your wall thingies will be damaged because I will not be playing with any toys that start with abbreviations. CIWS sounds like something that needs a user manual and I only read novels. I can't guarantee some of the claymores won't be used for slicing bread and cheese. I am fond of bread and cheese behind my wall.
I like bread and cheese also, so when the swap happens I'd say I'll be #winning
Oh how I miss a dark desert. Soon.
I used to have a chubby van. I put my couch in it and drove to the north rim of the Grand Canyon and camped with my two dogs. Van's are fun adventuremobiles.
Camping with dogs and a couch in a van. That sounds about perfect. I love our van for camping. It is a traveling house, and I just want to pat it lovingly and whisper home sweet home every time I climb in.
I am already missing that dark desert too. Not soon for me. Will probably catch some dark Everglades soon though.
My cousin just moved to Palm County so one of these days I will come out camping in your direction in my little orange home-sweet-home.
I love the smell of the desert at night. I don't know if it gets stronger or if it's because the other senses are on high alert with the vision being limited but there's something about it.
Nice. Lots of cool places out here to check out when it isn't mosquito/humidity season.
Isn't that always?
Not exactly. Camping is reliably great here between November and May. Great mild weather (January tries to be cold sometimes but often fails), not a lot of rain, and mosquitos are minimal. We do all our trips then. The springs are great beginning of May - hot enough to enjoy it, but before the humidity hits hard and the mosquitos get organized.
Oooooo, good to know! Makes sense, too. If a place was all humidity and bugs year round nobody would live there and certainly nobody would brag about how beautiful it is. Maybe my journey will be in late April. One of these years. I have so many places to go....
The Artist, I know a few and I don’t trust most of them either. Many people flock to them because they are so alluring, but that’s exactly how predators hunt.
So let me just build that wall to join forces with yours 😁
Yep, the age-old sociopath cover-up: a beret and some paintbrushes.
I would love to share my wall with you 😘
I think between you, me and @galenkp we can cover quite a lot of ground on this planet 😝
Excellent point. You just need a nickname that starts with a G, and then we will have this world covered in G-Walls. I like the sound of that.
I'm not staring. How far west are you going?
As far northwest as midway through Colorado, then started looping back, taking a more northern route back than before for a visit to my grandma in the Nashville area.
No worries. I finished my wall. Nobody can see a thing through all this concrete.
I won't recommend some of the best food ever then in Los Angeles or Vegas.
Nashville, though, believe it or not in a city where everything's deep fried and smothered in gravy butter is a Mediterranean joint called Fattoush Cafe. You'll be glad you did. = } So good.
I am not much of a city person, so I am always trying to avoid them. Unfortunately lots of good things are at big cities. We will have to check out this Nashville place. Yes, Nashville is a city of deep fried everything. My 93-year-old grandmother has lived her entire life on the same property in a small town outside of Nashville, and going out to eat is a fairly new concept to her. Fast food friend chicken is incredibly good to her - so exotic. She no longer drives, so she generally wants us to take her out somewhere once while we visit, and is blissfully oblivious to the cringe I have on my face when we make it to the restaurant of her choice.
I'll keep an eye out for your review. = }
Always an enjoyable read @ginnyannette seeing the world through your eyes.
I've been all over N.A. but the first time I was in a desert was last week...after experiencing it I now see the attraction.
Yes, deserts are uniquely cool in their hot dryness. This was my second trip, the other being 15 years ago. 15 years is probably too long to go without a visit to a drastically different terrain. Very nice that you have been all over this continent. Have you made it to Florida?
Thanks for stopping by.
I’m going again only to Sedona for New Years..
Yes I’ve been to FLA many times, it’s a Canadian tradition drive to Florida for a week during Winter… lol
Haha!
You must have noticed us … rental car, top down and it’s 55F …. Lol
Oh yes. Ha. Mainly we see Quebec license plates. I'm not sure why. Maybe they have more distinctive plates, or it's just that people from Quebec really like NE Florida and the rest of y'all head farther south.
A lot of Quebecers go to FLA, but true most from Ontario go South, Ft Meyers, Lauderdale, Miami.. etc..Just about everyone goes for a week or so during Winter.. I moved to Alberta, so I'm going to Sedona over New Years.....lol
It made me laugh when you said you don't trust artist and the story of your high school friend.
"The great wall of Ginny"..... I've built a few walls like that.
Glad the visit went well.
Maybe the Ginny Wall and the Jacey Wall can meet some time and talk about the best mortar, how to repair cracks, that sort of thing. Seems to me walls are probably pretty sociable with each other :)
I am glad the visit went well too. Thanks for reading.