by Ken Dickson
“On paper, huh? Okay. We’ll see what it looks like and then decide.”
“Agreed.” I responded. “How about a show of hands for Merry’s proposal?” Five of the seven managers raised their hands with John and Steve the only abstainers. “Let’s call this settled for now. Merry has some ideas on ways to test for people’s passions. When he’s ready, I’ll let everyone know. Unless there are other questions, this meeting is adjourned.”
Chapter 22
HOME ON WHEELS
I lived at Homewood Suites after Beth kicked me out until February 10, 2013. During that period, word spread that I was homeless, and offers of help poured in from changed people. Although I appreciated the thought, not having roots was unsettling. I longed for a place to call my own. What I craved even more was the opportunity to watch Primera rise from the desert, and I could imagine only one place where I could do that—at the highest point of the property near the big rock. That is where I wanted my home to be.
I didn’t want a conventional home; I wanted something simple. I visited several motor home and mobile home dealers thinking that would be the way to go, but those seemed overkill. Then, I browsed the Internet and found a trailer dealer with promise in Glendale. I jotted the address and drove there.
I turned into Arizona Homes on Wheels forty-five minutes later. From the looks of the parking lot, I was the only customer. I parked in front of the sales office: a small brown building not much bigger than a trailer and then walked up an Astroturf-covered wheelchair ramp to the front door. When I entered, bells mounted on the door jingled pleasantly, capturing the attention of a lone salesman.
“Good afternoon, sir,” I heard from my left. I turned to see a gray-haired man with an equally gray painter’s mustache sitting behind a desk that looked nearly as old as he did. A pair of gold wire-rimmed bifocals sat on his nose, and a dark blue baseball cap with “AHOW” boldly embroidered in capital yellow letters covered the bulk of his hair. He stood, walked toward me and offered me his hand. “I’m Brian Roads, the general manager. What can I do for you?”
“I’d like to look at some trailers.”
“You’ve come to the right place and at the right time. All of our 2012 models are on sale. Anything in particular you’re looking for?”
“Something that can sleep three or four people, I guess. I’ve never owned a trailer before.”
“All right, let me show you what we’ve got. Are you interested in a closeout on a 2012 or a freshly arrived 2013?”
“Show me what you’ve got and then I’ll decide.”
“Okay. By the way, everything is unlocked during business hours. Feel free to stop by any time and wander around.”
He led me on a tour, making sure to point out the most popular models. I learned the difference between black and gray water, that there were over a half-million BTUs of energy in a seven-gallon propane tank and how to level and stabilize a camper. Concerned about the hot Phoenix summer, it pleased me to hear that air conditioning was available on any model.
It didn’t take long for me to choose a favorite: the 2012 Lance 2185. It had three bunk beds at one end, a queen bed at the other that you could walk around, allowing it to be made up easily, and a dining table that sat five and folded down to form yet another bed. As a bonus, the queen bed folded to create a sofa. A gas stove with an oven, kitchen sink, microwave, flat screen TV, CD player with AM and FM and a bathroom with a shower came standard. There was no washer or dryer, but otherwise, it seemed perfect.
“You’ll need a pickup with a 7000 to 9000-pound towing capacity to tow it. A half-ton, 1500 series should do the trick. Is there anything else that I can help you with?”
“I think that’ll do it for today. Thanks for your time.”
“Let me get you a brochure before you leave.” He walked briskly back to the sales office and returned a short while later.
“Here you go, and here’s my card. Call me any time.”
I took the brochure and his card, shook his hand and left.
I next drove to the Toyota dealer to test drive a Tundra, intending to visit Dodge after that. However, after driving the Tundra, I discovered that I couldn’t bear to part with the little red car that I’d bought in celebration of my recovery from surgery and mental illness: my 2012 Hyundai Elantra. I pulled Brian’s business card from my pocket and dialed his number.
“Hi, Brian. It’s Ken again.”
“Hi, Ken. Ready to buy that Lance?”
“Still thinking about it. If I were to buy it, could someone tow it about forty miles and help set it up?”
“I’m sure we can work something out. I’ll do it myself if I have to.”
I didn’t buy the trailer right away. I needed time to think. As I did, a harsh truth revealed itself. The trailer was no problem; the things that made trailer life bearable were. Firstly, the thirty-gallon water storage containers on the trailer lasted only a few days. That meant that I’d have to transport thirty gallons of fresh water and nearly that amount of gray and black water in my Elantra on a regular basis. Secondly, a constantly droning generator, which could drive me insane by noise alone, was needed for lighting and AC. That would need regular refueling. Finally, propane bottles for cooking and hot water would also need refilling. It appeared that I’d be driving all the time just to keep things running. My dream of living in a trailer crumbled, and I resigned myself to leeching off friends. I couldn’t help but wonder if remaining homeless was my destiny.
The day seemed a complete waste—an ineffective Band-Aid to make me forget the reality of my situation. I missed my home, and most of all, Beth. I missed talking to her, long walks holding hands and the extensive history we shared. Together, we’d witnessed marriages and deaths. We’d sat by each other’s sides on ambulance rides and in emergency rooms, raised children and numerous pets. We’d bought new cars, homes and furniture. We’d laughed with and at each other, cried and made love countless times. My brief fling with Jessie paled when held up against a life well-lived with Beth. Jessie and I hadn’t even been on a proper date. With that thought, I decided to call Beth. The phone rang repeatedly until it rolled over to voicemail, just as it had many times before.
“Hi, Beth. It’s me again. I just wanted to say I’m sorry, that I love you and miss you. I guess that’s it. I hope that we can talk soon.”
Chapter 23
SECOND SON
Frank’s decision to leave the knife in after he was stabbed on June 23, 1997, nearly cost him his life and resulted in a complicated and lengthy surgery at Phoenix’s St. Joseph’s Hospital. Afterward, he was placed in intensive care where he was listed as stable but unresponsive. On June 24, 1997, he awoke, clueless as to his whereabouts but otherwise keen and alert. Doctors soon cleared him to leave the intensive care unit and moved him into a regular hospital room to recover, the same room in which Jose Rodriguez was recovering.
A few days earlier, Jose had donated a kidney to save his sister Rosa’s life. Rosa’s transplant was successful, and Jose’s open nephrectomy at first appeared to have gone without a hitch; but instead of improving after surgery, his vital signs worsened by the hour. Tests confirmed that he was bleeding internally, and his doctor rushed him back into surgery. The second surgery was a success, but now, a stubborn infection racked his body.
As Frank waited for bowel sounds to return to his repaired intestines and Jose fought his invisible foe with the help of strong antibiotics, the two men had plenty of time to get to know each other. Frank learned that Jose had lost his son and only child a year earlier in a drug deal gone wrong. He had been a bright kid with a promising future and unfortunately, the wrong friends. The death of his son left a void in Jose’s life that seemed he would never fill.
Before losing his son, Jose felt compassion for no one. That loss apparently changed him, however. As he listened to Frank’s stories of a drunken, abusive mother, a father who abandoned him and of how Frank, who’d once aspired to be a
journalist, had sunken to a hard life on the street, he felt compassion for the first time.
As the days passed, a strong bond developed between the two men. Sometimes, they even walked together through the hospital halls, pushing their respective IV racks loaded with pumps, and bags of antibiotics and saline. Jose saw in Frank the son he’d lost, and Frank found a father he wished he’d had.
Six days after Frank arrived in the room, doctors cleared Jose to go home. “When they spring you, give me a call,” he said to Frank as he left.
“I will,” Frank promised.
A day later, Frank’s bowels returned to normal function. Two days after that, he walked out of St. Joseph’s. The first thing he did was call Jose. “They just released me. Could you, by chance, give me a ride?”
Jose gave Frank more than a ride. He made sure that Frank never spent another day on the street and that he felt part of a family again: Jose’s family. With his guidance, Frank finished high school, went on to college and accomplished things he never dreamed possible. All that he asked for in return was an occasional favor.
Chapter 24
WALKING IN A DREAM
I’d arranged to meet Emma for a surprise on February 20, 2013 and had just rung her doorbell. As I waited for her to answer, I thought about Jessie. She was kind, a great listener and a wonderful friend. Despite that, our relationship came to a grinding halt after the fiasco with Beth. Not because of anything Jessie had done to me, it was just that whenever I was with her after that, I thought of Beth, the kids, the dogs, rats and as pathetic as it sounds, even the goldfish. I felt awkward and two-faced. At one point, she asked if it would help if she talked to Beth. “You wouldn’t look very pretty with an axe sticking out of your head,” I replied jokingly.
I had been talking to Emma more often, though, but it was different with her. We were partners in suffering. Both of us carried torches for our spouses and former lives. I was still attracted to her, but the possibility of screwing things up worse kept things in perspective.
Emma opened the door. “Cameron, stay,” she said. He obediently backed down on his haunches and awaited her next command.
“You look nice,” I said, admiring her white floral print skirt, peach blouse and sandals. “But I should have asked you to dress for hiking.”
“We’re going hiking?”
“More like strolling, but on dirt. It’s a little rough for sandals.”
“Okay. Wait right here.”
I stepped inside and stared mischievously at Cameron. His eyes darted to me and then to Emma. As soon as she was out of sight, he strode over to me, his tail wagging, and licked my hand. When she returned, she admonished him, and he sheepishly walked around her and sat at her left side. I thought she might change clothes, but instead, she replaced her sandals with white socks and hiking boots. Although her attire might have seemed odd to the fashion conscious, it seemed perfectly suited for her in my eyes. “Nice getup,” I said.
We drove out of her neighborhood, turned south toward Pecos Road and then took Pecos west until it ended. We followed a few more streets until we arrived at the former location of the stout wooden barrier. In its place stood a heavy steel gate that was locked at the end of every workday. I got out, opened it, and after driving through, locked it behind us.
“Where are you taking me?”
“You’ll see.”
The rutted dirt road was no more, replaced by a graded and graveled two-lane road one step removed from paving. As we drove toward the land, I marveled at how quickly things had transformed. Gone was the brittlebush where I’d watched the butterflies and tarantula hawk. Its former location was now at the center of the new road. Conner’s team was certainly masterful at making things happen.
Minutes later, we arrived at the top of the hill. I parked on the side of the road beside a backhoe loader, a dozer, two bobcats, a dump truck and a metal shed that secured numerous tools. The road continued downward into Primera, but I wanted to show Emma the view from the rock.
“We’re here. Welcome to Primera!” I exclaimed proudly.
We stepped out of the car and she looked around. “I don’t see anything. What’s Primera?”
“Remember the BRI project I talked about when I was over for dinner? This is it. What I didn’t tell you is that it’s an experimental community for people like us: people who’ve changed. It’s a place to see how we’ll live together away from traditional society to determine how to design communities of the future.”
“It’s a little primitive. Is it a campground?”
“No, a real community is being built from the ground up. Come on, I’ll show you.” I led her over to the rock and helped her up, then climbed up myself and stood next to her. “Down there.”
She looked in the direction I pointed. There, commencing about one hundred yards from us lay just over twenty of the thirty-five acres, cleared of vegetation. The road, still dirt below the top of the hill, dissected the cleared land and ended in a cul-de-sac. On either side, eight leveled pads awaited foundations for a total of sixteen homes.
“I need help to make it beautiful. Although we already have a landscaping team, I can’t imagine anyone more qualified than you to really bring it to life. I want your green thumb. I want your swimming pool, garden, palm trees and cactuses.”
A smile spread across her face. “I can see it. It’s almost like I’ve been here before.”
I wondered if she had also been a victim of strange dreams. Just then, a screech captured my attention. Kreee! “Ah, my friends are back.”
“Red-tailed hawks?”
“Yes. They visit me on occasion when I’m here. You’re familiar with them?”
“They’re saying ‘pay attention, something big is going to happen.’ Or maybe, ‘a message is coming.’ Did you know that people favored by the red-tailed hawk are intense, passionate, visionary and creative? They go after their dreams and achieve them. Does that sound like anyone we know?”
“You never cease to amaze me. How do you know all this stuff?”
“Friends. Otherwise, I swear I’d be clueless.”
I laughed. “I don’t believe that for a minute. So, what do you think? You’d be working for BRI just like me. You’d receive a salary and benefits. I bet it’d be a better package than you have now.”
She didn’t say anything for a while, so I helped her off the rock and led her down the road and into the heart of Primera. She studied everything as we walked, and I could sense her thrill at a new adventure—at this particular adventure.
“I’ve been thinking about what you said at dinner,” she finally said. “This puts a face to it. It’s one thing to imagine and another to see it in person. And how can I ignore red-tailed hawks screeching at us? You know what? Count me in. Let’s do it—you and me.” She put out her hand, and we shook like consummate professionals.
“Emma, there’s something else I wanted to discuss. Recently, my wife and I separated. I had an affair. I didn’t think of it as an affair, but that doesn’t make a difference. I’ve come to realize that even people who’ve changed have an obligation to live morally and carry a good example going forward, or whatever new society we create will be handicapped from the start. I love my wife more than anything, just as you love your husband, and we both are in the same position now for different reasons. I’m just telling you this because—”
She interrupted, robbing me of a perfect opportunity to stick my foot in my mouth.
“It’s okay. We’re not perfect. All of us are trying to find our way in this new world. I do love my husband, but things are happening that are beyond my control. I’m coming to grips with it now, but what I’ve learned about being changed is that you don’t have to spend time dwelling on the past or worrying about the future. The past is unchangeable and the future unpredictable. Let’s just leave it at that and enjoy the moment.”
I certainly couldn’t argue with that. I didn’t say another word.
While we walked, I breathed in the fresh desert smells, so different than the smells of the city, and appreciated the silence, broken only by the occasional buzz of an insect or chirp of a bird. We walked the entire quarter-mile length of the future main street of Primera, the only street of Primera. It wasn’t going to be big, but it was going to be grand.
I loved the new world. Everyone was so bold, so blunt, so unafraid, but mostly, I loved what Emma had said: “Let’s do it—you and me.” It brought back fond memories of us working on her gardens together at Gracewood where, despite my confinement, we were a team with intention, and the beauty of the gardens was our crowning achievement. As we walked, I fought back an urge to reach out and take her hand much as I had Beth’s for many years. Why ruin a good thing? Had I been paying attention instead of daydreaming, I might have noticed her hand reach tentatively for mine.
Chapter 25
FROM EXPERTISE TO PASSION
On February 25, 2013, five days after introducing Emma to Primera, I met with Merry at his office for a demonstration of his new software application to assess resilient passions. “It’s similar in function to the Minnesota Multiphasic Personality Inventory Test,” he said as he tapped on a familiar icon on his iPad touch screen to open the application. “That’s a standard psychological test used to determine personality traits. I’m using similar techniques to uncover our latent passions.”
“I like the icon.” It was a smiling sun peeking through clouds. “How does the app work?”
“The MMPI has around four hundred true/false questions and provides interpretive results about personality. This app has thousands of true/false questions, but adjusts queries based on preceding responses. Ultimately, it requires substantially fewer questions to achieve our objective, and instead of taking hours, it takes minutes.”
