This was a section cut from the recent 3k word narrative at Matador about this summer’s travels through the US.
Colorado
Terrain notes:Cinquefoil, Aspen, Douglas Fir, Ponderosa, Limber Pine, Lodgepole, Wallflower, Penstemon, Pussywillow, Wild Currant, Wild Rose, Bear Berry, Lupine, Scorpio, Juniper, Columbine, Indian Paitbrush, Golden Banner, James Creek at Bankfull, Osha, Prairie Dogs, Fireweed
4th of July Parade, Wind*
Segundo drove one of the fire trucks. We sat on top of coiled hoses and rescue gear. The truck in front was testing its sound system. A loop of Hendrix’s “Star Spangled Banner.” The truck behind tested a water cannon. Becca walked around passing out squirt guns. Everyone in some sort of costume. Dano with buckskin leggings and a chainmail shirt. Some sort of Gaelic war paint. A broadsword on his belt. This one kid with skate shoes and surf trunks, but then a leather vest ( no shirt underneath) and a miner’s hat, carryiung a small radio that played Dead Prez. The squirt gun war began. One kid weaved around the fire trucks on a trail bike, taking direct squirt gun shots to the face as he stood up skillfully, breaking off in to the aspens. Segundo called Damo over and asked if the chainmail really worked. Damo pulled out a dagger from his belt (beside the broadsword) and started stabbing himself in the chest and stomach, the blade making a click-click-click sound as the point got caught in the metal rings. A snow-like drift of “cotton” floated across from all the aspen catkins. Fireworks went off at random intervals. Beside the fire trucks an old man with a grey beard and a Crested Butte fire dept. hat stood with several people passing a bowl, occasionally shooting their squirt guns.
Jacob, shirtless and wearing a kilt, jumped into the fire truck playing Hendrix. As we started moving forward, a huge rockcrawler rolled down from the dirt road and got in front of us. The huge exposed wheels, springs, roll-cage, and fuel-tank strangely reminiscent of Mad Max. Two school age kids with stripes shaved into their heads (one a reverse Mohawk, the other a double Mohawk) setting off bottle rockets from the fire truck in front.
Japhy, Kieran, and some other kids were waiting in a kind of bunker by Utica. As we approached they ran out with water balloons. The guys behind us completely doused them with the water cannon, setting off a loud cheer as cyclists from Boulder scurried away holding their road bikes.
Traffic was stopped on Lefthand at the last turn up to the library. In the main meadow, as we all rolled past, Dano’s brother Derek was swinging a kind of long-handled bludgeon or tomahawk-looking weapon in big circles reminiscent of guys directing airplanes into the gate.
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*name changed for privacy
On Friday, July 22nd at 8PM, Juanele AR will host a Matador Meetup in Buenos Aires. I’ll be reading* along with Matador Nights editor Kate Sedgwick. There will also be a drawing for a $100 peso gift certificate to Walrus Books in San Telmo.
On the night of the event, Juanele AR will be selling cheap drinks, the proceeds of which will go to Juanele editor Rick Powell‘s cancer treatment. Juanele AR HQ is located at 1011 Montevideo.
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*my first official public reading ever
NNYC’s harbor’s Liberty Island’s gigantic Lady has the sun for a crown and holds what looks like a huge photo album under one iron arm, and the other arm holds aloft a product. The product is changed each 1 Jan. by brave men with pitons and cranes.
— David Foster WallaceMicael: 4 months old now. Sick all last week. The antibodies built up so much he had this skin eruption. Still kept smiling mostly. Smiling with red splotches all over his face. Today in the shower I held him on my shoulder and we had a serious beat-boxing session. This kind of victory dance when you see and feel whatever sickness it is going away. Later putting him in the baby-carrier and walking out with Layla. A couple horses loose in the barrio. Should we go look at them nena? It’s a mare and her foal. They’re feeding on Adela’s fallen apples. They broke free, see? See that cut rope on the horse’s bridle? Layla stays back. She’s been scared since we were up on Piltri a week ago, ran into a small herd of cows, one approaching, mooing loudly, wanting us away from her calf. See their tails, all full of briers? They’ve been left out in fields. Nobody’s taking care of them. The way they flip the apples around with their lips. I approach the foal but she’s heads down in the apples, hungry. Working around the dead leaves. Later Micael will fall asleep as we walk in the woods near the airstrip. Layla and I take turns with her dolls, showing each other where they live, their houses in the rocks and brambles. 3:38 am now and I can’t sleep. Feeling this sickness coming on. Maybe Micael’s. Adela’s dogs barking outside my window. Probably at the horses, still feeding out there somewhere. The mare dragging along her rope.