The '49 Indian

by Craig Moody

  I awoke to the sound of Dr. Davis entering the room. A tall, handsome gentleman, he wobbled to the bedside, his broken gait a casualty of a botched hip replacement. He wore khaki shorts and a loud and vibrant Hawaiian shirt. His gray beard and hair caught the last fading light of the window as the sun completed its descent behind the neighboring rooftops.

  “Dustin. Good to see you awake,” he chimed, flashing his brilliant white dentures as he neared me.

  “I need your help, Dr. Davis,” I whispered.

  “It’s very important.”

  The old man listened without reaction as I detailed my request. He didn’t look at me as he moved his eyes to the window, gliding his fingers over his beard while he ran my words through his brain.

  “I cannot agree to assist in this,” he stated after several minutes of silence. “It’s immoral and it goes against the oath I took and upheld for over forty years. I’m sorry, Dustin, but there is nothing I can do to help.”

  “My dying is immoral!” I fired back, my voice somehow strong and clear. “I’m only twenty-one years old, Dr. Davis!”

  The man peered at me through glassy eyes, a worried heaviness contorting his expression.

  “I’m about to leave someone who loves me enough to sell his entire life for me,” I continued, my voice remaining clear and audible. “Most people search their entire lifetime for a fraction of what I have with Gauge, yet I have to leave it behind. How is this fair, Dr. Davis? Where is the morality in this? What did I do to deserve to die?”

  The doctor looked away, tears dripping from his glazed eyes.

  “Please,” I choked. “Please let me die with a bit of dignity. Please spare me more suffering.”

  Dr. Davis shook his head, tears running over his beard and dripping onto the bed.

  “I can’t help you,” he replied. “I am sorry, but I just can’t.”

  He turned to leave the room.

  “I will say this, dear boy,” he continued, his voice warm, yet broken and feeble. “If you decide to do such a thing, please be sure to state your plan in writing. You want to be sure the ladies of the house, or Gauge, even myself, are not to be looked at with suspicion after the fact. It’s an awful thing, but I have seen it happen.”

  He stared at me a long moment, tears still running from his sparkling blue eyes.

  “Godspeed, Dustin. In whatever you do,

  Godspeed.”

  He turned and left the room before I could respond. There was nothing for me to say anyway. There was only one final option, and it would take every ounce of waning strength I had left to make it happen.

  I opened my eyes just as Gauge entered the room. His skin glowed in the dim light, sweat, and dirt littering his flesh like dark night clouds over the moonlit sea. I watched as he removed his clothes and walked toward the bathroom.

  “Gauge,” I whispered, causing him to stop and turn.

  “Babe,” he smiled, moving to the bedside. “I thought you were sleeping.”

  “I was, but I need to see you,” I said, my whispered tone gentle and childlike.

  “What is it, babe?” he asked softly, lowering his face close to mine.

  “Will you lie down with me?” I asked, attempting to inch over in the bed to provide him room.

  He hesitated a moment, looking around as if seeking some unseen permission.

  “Are you sure?” he asked. “I don’t want to hurt you.”

  “Please, just lie with me.”

  I closed my eyes as he slowly and carefully slid into the bed beside me. The touch of his flesh against mine was cold and painful. My body ached at the slight pressure of his presence, my stomach churned, and my cough reenergized. Every hair along the side of my body that touched him stood in an alarmed arousal, the firing of the nerves below my pores raging and intense as if ignited by flames.

  “What is it, babe?” he whispered as I struggled to conceal my physical pain.

  “You lied to me,” I answered, my lips just inches from his.

  “What?” he asked, his brow furrowing in misunderstanding. “What do you mean?”

  “You promised you would take me to the Pacific Ocean,” I answered, closing my eyes as I spoke.

  “Babe,” he laughed. “I’ll take you as soon as

  you’re better. It’s only a few minutes away.” “Take me there tomorrow,” I said, opening

  my eyes to view his face.

  He stared at me curiously, the wheels of his brain spinning wildly behind his eyes.

  “But, babe, I don’t think—”

  “Please, Gauge,” I continued, closing my eyes again as the pain of the breath that carried my words stung and burned my swollen throat. “Please, just take me.”

  Again, he only stared, a tornado of emotions spiraling in his frightened gaze.

  “Okay,” he agreed, resting his head against mine. “If that’s what you want, I’ll take you.”

  “Thank you,” I whispered, a rare tear falling from one of my eyes.

  Gauge never left my side for the rest of the night. He wrapped his arms around me, pulling me close. My skin throbbed and ached in an excruciating response, but I ignored it. Instead, I focused on the gentle beating of his heart, the soft touch of his skin, and the warm breeze of breath that swirled around my neck and into my nose. I fell asleep with the familiar smell of him dominating my senses. Gone was the frailty of my bones, gone the lesions and sores across my flesh, and gone the lingering foulness of my leaking body. All that remained was Gauge, his loving touch easing my spirit, and his protective embrace assuring my soul.

  ***

  We slipped out of the house before daylight, the soft purple glow of the rising sun faintly illuminating the side of the house where the Indian was stored. Tightly wrapped in a mound of blankets, I rested against the front gate where Gauge had gently placed me while he retrieved the motorcycle. I stared at the dawning sky as the stars began to fade beneath the growing approach of the rising sun. I thought about our first time at the lake and how brilliant the stars were, how I had never seen the heavens so intense and powerful. I thought about our first kiss in the back yard, the memory of Jack Daniel’s warming over my dried and cracked lips like an invisible balm. I thought of the first time we made love, how natural and comfortable it was, as though our bodies gave way for our souls to fully reunite as they had done in so many lifetimes before. I flashed back to the miles we had traveled on the back of the Indian, Everglades turning to mountains, grand lakesides morphing into canyons, stretched deserts reaching beyond the horizon. What felt like a thousand lifetimes flickered before my eyes in mere seconds. I turned my head slowly as Gauge appeared from the shadows.

  He didn’t speak as he propped the Indian on its kickstand and moved toward me. I looked into his eyes as he squatted down, my reflection staring back at me as it had done so many times before.

  He scooped me into his arms, my fragile weight causing him no struggle. We boarded the bike, Gauge carefully securing me in front of him. My body screamed and cried its discomfort to my brain as the touch of the cold metal poked my bones through the padding of the blankets. I didn’t speak or flinch, closing my eyes as Gauge steadied the Indian and kick-started the familiar growl of the engine. With a final, reassuring alignment, he secured his arm around my waist as he twisted the throttle, moving us into the dawn.

  The wind stung my eyes and challenged my lungs as I struggled to breathe as we accelerated from the street and onto the highway. Cars littered the road in sparse numbers as we easily sailed west toward the Pacific.

  A woman stared at me curiously as we passed her car, her eyes twisting in fear as she focused her vision. Like a skeleton wrapped in a blanket, I steadied myself in Gauge’s firm grip as he twisted the handle tighter, forcing the engine to respond with a deeper grumble and noticeable acceleration.

  It wasn’t long before the dark blue stretch of the ocean dominated the horizon. The sun began to signal its arrival with a gentle warming as it followed our movemen
t from the east. The highway became a city street that ended at the sands of a beach. Gauge guided the Indian over the soft sugar-white sand and toward the water. I could see distant mountains spilling over the sea in the brilliant rise of the sun. A few bystanders paused to watch as Gauge slowed the engine to a gentle idle, allowing the descent of the sand to pull us to the tame crashing of the waves.

  Gauge waited a long moment before cutting the engine. The sound of seagulls screeching overhead replaced the familiar purr of the motor. Carefully, he lowered the kickstand into the wet sand, assisting the bike as it leaned to the left. Just as the pedal touched the sand, the bike paused, its weight supported by the buried grounding of the stand. As if gripping glass, Gauge lifted me from the Indian and into his arms. I could hear the bystanders scoffing and mumbling amongst themselves as Gauge lowered the blanket from around my head.

  “Take it off me,” I managed to rasp.

  He stared at me before nodding in agreement.

  Placing my withered and useless legs onto the beach, he held me in one arm as he untwisted the blanket with the other. I gasped as the cold December air pricked at my skin like formless ice. The smell of the Pacific water stung and cleared my nose as the chilled winds raced into my nostrils.

  In a cautious and strategic motion, Gauge lifted me back into his arms, cradling me like an infant. I looked up at him, his face shadowed by the glaring spotlight of the sun.

  “Let me feel the water,” I said hoarsely, my throat aching and frozen in the cold sea breeze.

  Gauge hesitated, his hair blowing wildly with the speed of the wind.

  “Gauge, please.”

  He nodded, slowly sliding his feet until they met the gentle lapping of the waves. Despite the wind, the Pacific was calm and still, as though it were a massive lake. Gauge moved until his ankles were submerged, and then stopped.

  With his head now blocking the sun, I could clearly see his face. His eyes overflowed with tears, water soaking his skin as if he had dipped his head in the ocean. I could feel his arms begin to shake under the weight of his emotion.

  “Put me in the water,” I urged, afraid he might accidently drop me.

  “Okay,” he slurred through his tears, dropping to his knees.

  Immediately, the cold grasp of the Pacific poked at my backside like hundreds of frozen fingers. I closed my eyes as my body adjusted to the extreme change in temperature.

  When I opened them, I saw Gauge, his face twisted in sorrow, his eyes closed tight in an attempt to grip his tears. I felt him struggle to breathe as his arms continued to tremble.

  “Gauge,” I called to him, my voice weak but

  stern. “Gauge, look at me.”

  He could only sob, unable to open his eyes.

  “Gauge, please, I need you to look at me.”

  He took in a deep breath, lifting me from the water as he inhaled. I winced as his exhale lowered me back to the edge of the liquid ice.

  “Baby,” I said as his eyes finally connected with mine. “We made it!”

  He smiled, his face swollen and red from the assault of his tears.

  “Go get the Indian from Officer Jenkins,” I continued, unblinking as I stared into his watery eyes. “I already spoke to him. He agreed to let you stay with him while you work and save up the money to repay him.”

  His face pinched with confusion.

  “Do this for me, Gauge. I can’t rest easy until I know you are back with the Indian.”

  He only stared.

  “Okay?” I questioned, my voice shaking as my frail body chilled in the water.

  He nodded, closing his eyes to prevent more

  tears.

  “Hey,” I shouted, the squalling of the overhead seagulls rivaling my soft voice. “Lower me further.”

  He opened his eyes and stared, his face frozen and vacant.

  “Let me go, Gauge.”

  He shook his head, water gushing from his resealed eyes. Even with the saltwater surrounding me, I could still taste his tears as they fell across my face.

  “Do this for me, baby. Please.”

  He sobbed, his mouth twisted in agony.

  “I love you, Gauge. More than I ever loved anyone. You gave me a life. You made me special. I can never tell you how much you saved me.”

  He blinked rapidly beneath his tear-heavy lashes and nodded, his body convulsing from his breathless crying.

  “I will love you forever,” I whispered, seeing my face as it used to look before the illness appearing in the mirror-like reflection of his dark eyes, those mysterious yet gentle eyes I had so easily fallen into that humid summer day on the Florida sidewalk.

  “Do it, Gauge. Lower me.”

  I could feel my body shifting in his arms, the enormity of emotional pain overwhelming his physical control.

  “Now, Gauge. Now!”

  My voice ceased, and my throat went numb as the icy foam of the sea filled my mouth and covered my face. I opened my eyes, seeing Gauge as he lifted his head toward the sun, his throat tight and vascular in the midst of a wail.

  I twisted my fingers into his hand, feeling him grip in response as I steadied my body for one last breath. In the stillness below the surface, I saw a vision of my mother and father, their faces warm and smiling. I inhaled, the salt-heavy rush of the ocean filling my lungs.

  The watery image of Gauge above me quieted my mind as I felt myself fade. Feeling the weight of my bones sink into his arms, I closed my eyes and smiled, the flashing memories of the love we shared etching into the tender flesh of my heart as it took its final beat.

  January 18, 1985

  Aunt Mert,

  So, here’s the last letter. Sorry for sending so many at once. I guess I just never felt it was time to send them till now. Maybe a part of me was waiting till I could give you a happy ending or something. I know that doesn’t make much sense, seeing how sick Dustin was and all, but in a way, it’s kinda true now. At least the ending part.

  I lost Dustin a month ago. Those nice ladies we were staying with let me bury him in their family plot. They covered the cost of everything. I called Dustin’s parents to tell them about the funeral, but they only listened and then hung up. I could never understand how they turned their back on Dustin so easily. He was a good boy. He loved his mom and dad. It broke my heart to see how they just threw him away. I guess in the end, he found peace with it, but it’s always bothered me.

  I’m back in Barstow. Officer Jenkins is letting me stay with him. I’m apprenticing at Byron’s shop again. This time, I hope to make it long enough so I can go to trade school and do it full time. I should have enough money to pay Officer Jenkins back by the end of the spring, but I have a feeling he isn’t going to let me pay it in full. He doesn’t say too much about what happened, and I never bring it up. I mostly just keep to myself. Every Saturday evening, I ride the Indian out to where Dustin and I camped one time. I stay there all night just talking to him. I really miss him. That boy was my whole world and more.

  I feel him with me, though. I swear, sometimes when I’m on the Indian, I can feel his arms wrapped around me and his face pressed tight against my back. I’m sure it’s just my imagination, but it feels good, and I like it when it happens.

  I’m going to try to come down to see you in the summer. No promises, though. I don’t know if the Indian can take another trip that far. I do miss you and want to see you, but I need to stay here for now.

  I had my blood checked again, and I’m still not sick. I don’t know if I ever will be. It doesn’t make sense to me. I don’t know why it took my Dustin the way it did. He didn’t deserve it, Aunt Mert. No one does. I watched a young, healthy guy waste away to bones.

  I would’ve spent forever with him. I guess in a way, I still will, though he isn’t here for me to see or hold anymore. I’ll try to go on, but I don’t really know how to. I dream about him every night. I see his cute face and hear him nagging me. I wake up wishing he was there, but he never is.

  My hea
rt broke when I lost Pop, but it wasn’t anything like this. A piece of me is gone now, lost to the Pacific Ocean along with my Dustin.

  Well, I guess I better wrap this up. I need to go fix Officer Jenkins some grub. He pays the light bill, so the least I can do is cook for the guy.

  Well, take care of yourself, Aunt Mert. I hope to see you soon. You know I’m not much for talking on the phone, or I’d give you a ring. I promise I will soon, though. In the meantime, I hope you liked my letters and aren’t too mad at me for taking so long to send them to you. I’ll see you soon.

  Love, Gauge

  Craig Moody was born and raised in Pembroke Pines, Florida, a suburban community that edges the beautiful Florida Everglades. From an early age, Craig displayed an artistic passion and natural ability as a wordsmith. After several years of pursuing modeling and acting ambitions, Craig has finally returned to the core of his creative soul to heed what he believes is his life’s true calling: writing. The result, his debut novel, The ’49 Indian. Craig currently resides in Fort Lauderdale, Florida with his boyfriend, Gable, and twenty-one-year-old cockatiel, Alley.

  Table of Contents

  I. Summer, 1983

  II. Spring, 1984

  III. Winter, 1984