A Different Blue(22)

for me, and I worked diligently in the shade of the ragged canopy that stretched ten feet from

the camper door, providing blessed shade in the 110 degree heat. We were camped at the base of

Mount Charleston, just to the west of Las Vegas. Jimmy had wanted more Mountain Mahogany, a

scrubby evergreen tree that looked nothing like the rich dark wood most people associated with

mahogany. Wood from the Mountain Mahogany was reddish-brown in color and hard, like most of the

wood Jimmy worked with when he was sculpting.

[page]The day dragged on. I was used to being alone, but I was afraid that day. Night came and

Jimmy didn't return. I opened some re fried beans, heated them up on the little stove in the

camper, and spread them on some tortillas we had made the day before. I made myself eat because

it was something to do, but I found myself crying and swallowing my food in great gulps because

my nose was clogged and I couldn't breath and chew at the same time.

There had been one other time when Jimmy stayed away all night. He had come home acting strange

and stumbling around. He had fallen into his bed and had slept the day away. I had thought he

was sick and had put a cold rag on his head, only to have him push me away, telling me he was

fine, just drunk. I didn't know what drunk meant. I asked him when he finally woke up. He was

embarrassed, and he apologized, telling me that alcohol made men mean and women cheap.

I thought about what he said for a long time.

“Can it make women mean too?” I asked Jimmy out of the blue.

“Huh?” he had grunted, not understanding.

“Alcohol. You said it makes men mean and women cheap. Can it make women mean too?” I didn't

know what cheap meant, but I knew what it meant to be mean and wondered if alcohol had been part

of my mom's problem.

“Sure. Mean and cheap both.” Jimmy nodded.

I was comforted by that thought. I had assumed that my mom had left me and Jimmy because I had

done something wrong. Maybe I had cried too much or wanted things she couldn't give me. But

maybe she drank alcohol and it made her mean. If alcohol made her mean, then maybe it wasn't me

after all.

I fell asleep that night, but I slept fitfully listening even as I drifted off, trying not to

cry, telling myself it was alcohol again, although I didn't believe it. I awoke the next

morning, the heat seeping into the camp trailer pulling me from dreams where I wasn't alone. I

shot up, shoving my feet into my flip-flops and stumbling out into the blinding sunshine. I ran

around our camp site, looking for any indication that Jimmy had returned while I'd slept.

“Jimmy!” I shrieked. “Jimmy!” I knew he hadn't come back, but I comforted myself with

calling for him and looking in outrageous places where he couldn't possibly be. A muffled whine

had me running around the camper in jubilation, expecting to see Jimmy and Icas approaching from

the direction they had headed the day before. Instead, I saw Icas, still several yards off,

limping, his head hung low, his tongue practically dragging in the dirt. There was no sign of

Jimmy. I ran to him and scooped him up in my arms, blubbering my gratitude that he was here. I

wasn't a big girl, and I staggered a little beneath his weight, but I wasn't about to let him

go. I laid him down awkwardly in the shade of the canopy and ran for his bowl, splashing

lukewarm water into his dish and urging him to drink. He lifted his head and tried to drink from