The Unswung Bat

Monday, March 28, 2005
In Medias Res!

There we are in the middle of the Mexican side of the Sonoran Desert. I prefer to call it by its other name, which is not a name but 5,000 square miles of silence. This would require much more paper, and an indefinite amount of time, compared to the thirteen letters, one measly space, and the glide of an eye it takes to pass it along this way. An indefinite amount of time was just what we were facing then but now I've got other things to do and am having none of it. Keep it in your head, that this neat little epithet doesn't convey the agony of knowing that cracked and bloodshot endless scorchbed. Neither you nor I can tell a rapist from a saint by their names. I'm not sure which the desert was. I'm also not sure whether the Mexicans call it Sonoran, or what. Around here they probably just say "El Desierto." Hell, 'round here they probably just say "over there." What the Hell are people doing here, anyway?

We'd come from the north, rearing at every pothole aboard a bad suspension that bounced the upholstery like a mattress, flush with the universal confidence derived only from a full tank of gasoline. It's a very good thing I can keep a level head in adverse circumstances, both for driving purposes and for what came later, which I'll go into as it comes up. Our primary route split the gnarled stem of Highway 15, dividing the desert cleanly into what lay on my left and what on her right. Sometime after San José we left off on some promising-looking corollary, bound east. It may have been the 2, but perhaps it's merely by my orderly subconscious processing that I even assign it a number. It might have been indicated by a blank green sign, or one so sunbleached and chalked over with dust as to be illegible to all but those who stopped to read it. Had we gone and brushed it off for a better look, even if we'd then continued along our unadvised way, at least our handprints would have remained to testify to our existence until the next wind picked up. Then maybe I could have relaxed a little while we were stuck there.

"You know I have no idea whether or not this will work, right?"

Her eyes were charming as she said that. But I'm getting ahead of myself.

- - - -

There is more, and I'll tack it here as it comes up, but now it is late in the sense that I am tired. It is not actually late, if the hours I keep normally are taken as a standard, but that schedule has tired me out such that I wanted to go to bed at 10:00, but found myself writing this story and accordingly am still up at half-eleven. Let's see if I can finish this thing.

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