High Desert High

by Steven Schindler

  After breakfast and a shower, Paul felt good. He had a plan for the day. First thing he did was write out on a dozen slips of paper the Serenity Prayer. He was going to make sure he thought of it no matter which room he was in or what he was doing. And as he was cleaning the dishes, he said aloud, “Mabel!” He started to think that he hadn’t thanked her fully for saving his life the night of the accident. He went and got his checkbook, wrote out a check for a hundred dollars, and drove over to the ranch.

  Mabel was busy emptying giant bags of food into bowls for her menagerie of goats, llamas, donkeys, horses, cats, chickens, and dogs. Paul followed her around, mumbling about being grateful, trying to hand her the check.

  “You know who this is?” Mabel said pointing to a large pit bull mix wagging his tail as he munched on kibble in a stainless steel bowl. “This is Beast! He’s the dog who was on the scene after your accident!”

  “Really?” Paul said kneeling down to pet him. As soon as Beast saw him, he jumped up, almost knocking Paul over, and started licking him to death. “Hey, big fella! What’s the deal with him?”

  “You want him? He’s yours. I’m trying to get him placed.”

  “Um, well. Yeah! I do! And I have a donation for you,” he said, trying to get the check out of his pocket as he struggled with dog slurps.

  “That’s great! How’d you like to really help me out?”

  “Sure!”

  “You were a cop, right?”

  “Yeah. You got trouble?”

  “We all got trouble. I’m trying to get a program going with “at-risk” teens. Get kids from the inner city out here, and teach ‘em something about the outdoors, animals, and maybe a few other life lessons outside of the street life they grow up in. A guy with some experience like yours, combined with a heart, could do wonders.”

  “You know what? I’m in. What do I do?”

  “You already did it. You said yes. I’ll be in touch.”

  Beast sat in the passenger seat of the Escape, looking out the window like anyone who enjoyed the desert landscape passing by. His ears perked up, and he straightened up in his seat when he saw a jackrabbit dart back and forth. He gave out a single bark, just to let him know that he saw him.

  “Good job, Beast. You can keep an eye out for anything out of the ordinary!”

  Beast looked at him and, essentially, smiled.

  Paul stopped at the store and picked up a giant bag of dog food, bowls, dog toys, treats, and a large dog bed. Beast waited patiently in the car, and was doggie-excited when Paul emerged from the store with his cart full of his new stuff. Beast watched, turned around in the front seat as Paul loaded all of his new items in the back.

  “Now how do you know all this stuff is for you? Maybe I’m giving it to Mabel for her dogs. I’m just kidding; it’s all for you! Let’s go to your new home!”

  Beast was even more excited than when he saw the jackrabbit a little while ago, and kept turning around to look at the stuff in the cargo area.

  “You’re a very smart boy! You know that, Beast?”

  Beast smiled again.

  “What is this, now?” Paul said to Beast as he turned onto the dirt road that lead to his front gate. There was a small sedan sitting there with Nevada plates. “Holy jumpin’….”

  The door swung open, and Mickey hopped out wearing a Rolling Stones t-shirt, Yankees hat, and cargo shorts.

  “I can’t believe it! You made it!” Paul said getting out of the SUV and rushing to greet him, with Beast right behind him.

  “Paulie! What the hell is this place? It looked like I was driving across Mars to get here!”

  “Welcome to the California high desert! Is this a trip or what?”

  “You own this place?” Mickey said, gazing up on the five fenced acres and the rocky foothills just a stone’s throw away.

  “A far cry from 238th Street, huh? Let’s go in and get settled. By the way, this is Beast. My new best friend.”

  Beast plopped into his dog bed as soon as Paul placed it next to his favorite chair in the living room, as if he had done it for the thousandth time.

  “What kind of beer you got out here?” Mickey asked opening the refrigerator. “Guinness in a can. Not bad. You want one?”

  “Nah. I’m on the wagon.”

  “I’m good at going on the wagon. I’ve done it hundreds of times,” Mickey said.

  “Yeah, doctor’s orders.”

  “Let’s sit out front,” Paul said, grabbing a bottle of water and leading the way for Mickey and Beast.

  They sat down, facing the rock piles in the distance with acres of cactus, Joshua trees, tumbleweeds, and assorted spiky shrubbery in between.

  “This is where it starts to happen,” Paul said, holding up his water bottle and pointing to the landscape. “This is where all that you knew from the time you were screaming when you were born, to the crib by the window, the school by the el train, the honking horns, the busses churning out black smoke, the cabs cursing you, the shots fired, the funeral dirges, everything becomes just a memory. Just a slowly disappearing racket of humans and machines in a big old bucket being shaken and stirred by somebody, all the time. And you look out here and see rocks, and dirt and Joshua trees reaching up toward heaven. And hear the birds, the coyotes, the silence, and it all starts to change.”

  “I was going to ask you if you’re following the Jets, but I guess you got other things on your mind.”

  “I didn’t know what was happening to me. All those years of being in the bull’s-eye of it all,” Paul said, watching a hummingbird go from red blossom to red blossom on the ocotillo tree. “You see that?”

  “See what?”

  “On the ocotillo. That spiny thing with the long green branches and the red flowers on top. See the hummingbird?”

  “Holy shit. I’ve never seen a hummingbird before. That’s amazing.”

  “You know there are hummingbirds in New York. We just never saw them. Or were able to see them. I’m seeing a lot of things, now that my nervous system has been dialed back to factory settings.”

  “Are you sure you’re not getting peyote from the cactus?”

  “Oh, I’m getting high. Higher and higher and higher. But I don’t know why. Not yet. But I’m trying. And how are the Jets doing? I just haven’t been following sports lately. I don’t know. Maybe I’m losing it.”

  “You know, I’ve been here for less than a half hour,” Mickey said between gulps of his stout, “and I think I learned more about you than I have since eighth grade. What is going on?”

  Paul looked at Mickey, who was partially backlit by the bright sunshine off in the distance, making it difficult to see his face. He couldn’t see the wrinkles, red blotches, or the scars from chasing bad guys for the past 20-something years, and chasing good times for the 20-something years before that. He could see those blue eyes, and the gap-toothed smile, the very same ones from their grammar school graduation class pictures, wild Hunter Mountain and Hamptons Polaroids, staged wedding photos, and proud Police Academy clips from newspapers. Mickey was the first real link with his own personal history. Even Paul himself wasn’t so sure about the past, given what had been happening to him the last few months, and how he felt now. Here.

  “I don’t know Mickey. There’s been some weirdness going on, ever since we landed here.”

  “Landed? I thought you drove?”

  “We did. But I feel like we landed here.”

  “Like what kind of weirdness? I mean come on, we faced weirdness for a living.”

  “Guts, blood, CPR on unconscious strangers, that’s of this world. I’m talking about another level of weirdness. Out of this world.”

  “You’re going all Rod Serling on me, Paulie. I think you need to step back, take out your police report pad, and just give an eyewitness account of what the PR saw.”

  “Yeah, the PR. Person reporting. That’s me. I think I’ll just write this up later, just before the end of my shift. For now, let’s just relax. I’ll
show you around.”

  Paul was very interested in Mickey’s reaction to the topography, sights, sounds, smells, and vibes of the high desert. The sky was a shade of dark blue like the photos from those Space X flights when they are at the edge of the earth’s atmosphere. And not a cloud or wisp of moisture in the air. They drove in Paul’s SUV up Kickapoo Road next to Paul’s property. On the right were a few mobile homes, horse ranches, decrepit sheds, and modest houses. On the left side of the road was nothing but the BLM; rocky foothills, Joshua trees, cacti, tumbleweeds, and hardscrabble. Mickey was eyeing everything with sheer wonder and amazement.

  Mickey seemed overwhelmed with the scenery as they bounced on the rough dirt road. “When I thought of the desert before. I thought of Lawrence of Arabia, you know, endless sand dunes. Now I’m thinking of those John Ford movies with John Wayne, like The Searchers. There must have been Indians here.”

  “Oh yeah!” Paul said, sharply turning the wheel towards the rocky road that went deep into the BLM. The same road he chased a UFO and crashed on that fateful night. This was no well-traveled washboard road maintained by the county. This was more likely an ancient trail with much of the loose sand and dirt blown and washed away, leaving sharp stones, volcanic rock, and the edges of subterranean boulders just above the surface. “We take this road a couple miles, and then up those boulders over to the left.”

  “You’re kidding, right?”

  “No, I’ve done it before.”

  “Please don’t pull that famous line on me: What’s a redneck’s last words: Hey, y’all. Hold my beer and watch this!”

  “Nah. But hang on.”

  Paul skillfully directed his all-wheel drive Escape up a ten-foot rocky incline, and onto a path that led to some rock formations in the distance. It was hard for one to get a feel for the rock piles from a distance, but once they were about 50 yards away, it was evident that the rocks were gigantic boulders precariously balanced on one another in an impossible Alexander Calder-ish rock sculpture.

  “How the hell does something like this happen?” Mickey asked, dumbfounded.

  “Well, they say these are leftovers from a glacier that passed through here millions of years ago. Maybe part of the Lilliput Glacier that still exists a few hundred miles from here. I want to show you something.”

  They were up on the boulders, now in the shadow of the biggest one just in front of them.

  “Wilmaaaaa!” Mickey yelled in his best Fred Flintstone voice, as he got out of the vehicle.

  “Over here, Fred.” Paul said, leading Mickey around the side of the largest boulder and up around the back side of it. They climbed the steep side of another boulder, and then up a smaller one. At the top of that, there was a large flat area, about the size of a basketball court. “Stand here in the middle with me.”

  Mickey stood next to Paul, and from that vantage point could probably see five miles in each direction.

  “See that just in front of your feet in the top of the rock? What does that look like?”

  “Oh yeah, it’s like a bowl has been carved out of the rock.”

  “Yup, that’s where they built their fires. Now look over here, and here, and here,” Paul continued, pointing to small, circular holes about the size of a silver dollar going around in a circle every few feet. “These were where they put their poles for the teepees.”

  “You yanking my chain or what?” Mickey asked, scoffing at him.

  “This very spot is where they lived and died. Look around, you’ll see the same set-up for around six other teepees. Now come with me over here,” Paul said, leading Mickey over to a large boulder at the edge of the flat area. “Look in here,” he said pointing into a crevice. “Shade your eyes, and look on the right side here.”

  “What is that? Graffiti?”

  “Those are petroglyphs. Ancient writings. They survived only because of where they are located. I wish I knew what they said.”

  “Wasn’t there some TV show about the ancient petroglyphs and UFO’s and all that crazy stuff? How do you know all this Indian lore?”

  “A friend of mine who runs a horse rescue ranch up the road is Native American. Her people have lived in these parts forever. A lot of this area is holy, even sacred to them.”

  “Kind of like Visitation was to us,” Mickey said referring to the grammar school and Catholic Church parish that was the center of their lives.

  “What do you mean was?”

  “You didn’t hear? The Cardinal closed the church and the school. It looks like it’s going to be a Walmart or something.”

  “Are you kidding me? And the people of the parish just let it happen?”

  “Now you’re really kidding. Go up against the Cardinal and the Archdiocese of New York? That’s as bad as the Indians going up against the U.S. Government.”

  “At least the Indians went out with a fight.”

  Mickey and Paul were back in the SUV, driving through the dirt trails of the BLM. Mickey was enthralled with the landscape, soaking in the vistas, mentioning every rustle in the brush from a jackrabbit or chipmunk. But it was Paul who was in another world. Visitation was closing? The school he graduated from. The church where his parents and so many friends and relatives, young and old, had their earliest get-together at First Holy Communion, and final get-together at their funeral mass. Where he laughed as an altar boy and wept as pallbearer. He even thought that if he died out here at the other end of the continent, he would still have his funeral at Visitation.

  “Where are we headed now?” Mickey asked, with enthusiasm, snapping Paul out of his funk.

  “Oh, just a little side trip to the energy vortex of planet earth housed in a structure built with plans designed by aliens from Venus to attract UFO’s.”

  “You’re not kidding, and that’s what scares me.”

  The gate to the Integratron parking lot was open, so Paul pulled inside. They looked at the Integraton’s blazing white walls against the deep blue desert high-noon sky in silence. And suddenly a huge tan and black-spotted snake whipped past them and slithered into the nearby brush.

  “Holy shit! What was that?” Mickey yelled.

  “No matter how otherworldly things seem sometimes, nature has a way of keeping you involved with planet earth. That was a gopher snake. Beautiful wasn’t it?”

  “Is it poisonous?”

  “No.”

  “Then it’s beautiful. Do they have rattlesnakes around here?”

  “All over the place”

  “What kind of place is this? I’m in front of a freaking UFO magnet built by Venusians and I gotta worry about a freakin’ rattlesnake biting my ass! Klaatu barada nikto!” Mickey shouted with both hands held high in the air.

  “That’s what I said when I got here and everybody thought I was nuts!”

  “Well they got that right. Can we go in?”

  “Let’s find out.”

  They walked around the building, with its UFO-esque lines, protruding poles and wires, and ordinary Home Depot-esque doors and windows.

  They both turned when they heard another car pull into the gravel driveway. It was a 1960’s era VW bus driven by a skinny hippie.

  “I know this guy. His name is Ranger.”

  “You are way deeper into this lifestyle than I thought.”

  Ranger shuffled through the gravel towards them, with his recyclable grocery bags in each hand. “I’m sorry, we’re closed right now. I left the gate open accidentally.”

  “Hi, Ranger. I don’t know if you remember me. I’m friends with Kate and Jasmine.”

  Ranger looked stumped.

  “And Ash,” Paul added.

  Ranger immediately perked up. “Oh, yeah! I remember you! Let me put these away and I’ll just show you inside real quick,” Ranger said, entering the building.

  “Ash is his weed supplier,” Paul whispered to Mickey. “More on that later.”

  “You know, when I first heard you were settling in the desert, I pictured you living next to a gol
f course in Palm Springs riding around on a golf cart and dating rich, too-tan widows, living the life of Reilly. Not the life of Hunter S. Thompson for chrissakes!”

  Ranger popped his head out the door, “Come on in!”

  Ranger gave them a short tour of the lower-level displays with a rapid rundown of the Venusian plans, energy vortex, universal UFO beacon, shady Giant Rock connection, and sound bath full-body vibration chamber.

  Mickey looked as though he was listening to a lying defendant in court.

  “I’d love to give you guys the full tour, but I’ve got some secret celebrities coming in later for a sound bath and I have to get the place ready,” Ranger said, leading them to the door.

  “No problem, thanks so much for the look-see,” Paul said, waving goodbye as they headed for the car.

  “Secret celebrities. Yeah, like who? Gomer and Goober?” Mickey said, dripping with skepticism and ridicule.

  “You wouldn’t believe who’s already been here: Oprah, Robert Plant, Moby….”

  “Here? Out here in the middle of the Sea of Tranquility on the moon?”

  “Yup.”

  “What else you got? You know I’ve only got today, really. I gotta get back to Vegas in the morning.”

  “Okay. We’re going to a couple of neighborhood parks.”

  The next several hours were spent with Mickey’s jaw dropped and eyes wide open as they checked out the giant oversized Jesus and bible icons in Desert Christ Park, and the magical miles seen while rolling through Joshua Tree National Park, from the Joshua tree forest to the Ocotillo pastures to the vistas rivaled only by pictures sent back from Mars by Viking.

  “I feel like an idiot,” Mickey said, standing near the edge of a high roadside turnout in Joshua Tree National Park. “I didn’t know any of this existed. You could just picture a herd of brontosaurus walking through here. How could something so ancient be so surprising and new? It’s like a secret world revealed. A revelation.”