Way Out There: Raised Arizona

The old man always took me to the desert.

It was apart of our lives

we were always out there

riding three wheeler ATC's

taking out the sandrail

shooting guns.

When Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles II came out

as a promotional item they had those little pocket pies

you know, the regular ones had apples & cinnamon flavored gelatin

or chocolate, cherry, etc.

well these Ninja Turtles ones

had neon green slime inside

and the pocket pie was green too.

I ate three of them before we got to the desert.

On the sandrail

we quickly bounced back and forth

side to side

every which way

so many times

for so long

I couldn't keep all those green slime pies

down.

Green slime, came flying out of my mouth

and my nose.

It was incredible how quickly

the sandrail was cleared out

my Dad stopped that thing so fuckin' fast

they unbuckled and jumped up and outta there

watching me from a safe distance

as the three green slime pies

splattered all over the frame of the sandrail.

"Daniel! Out the side! Out the side!"



Then when I got my first three wheeler

a little ATC just for me

I was seven.

I sat with the engine, idling

my Dad buttoning my helmet strap with a snap

listening intently to what I was being told

"Now son, LISTEN TO ME, okay? Stay to the trails right here

DON'T....I said DON'T go into the grassy area right there. You could

fall into a hole and really get hurt...so BE CAREFUL. Okay?"

"Okay."

"Alright, go on boy."

"See ya, Dad."

I stuck to the trail for a minute, but

I just had to ride in that field

it was so much bigger

than the little trail

and I wanted to go fast.

So I turned right into the field

I could hear my Dad start to yell

I pushed the throttle faster

his yelling getting louder

I drowned him out with the sound

of the engine

then I felt myself jerk forward

and up

and over

and over again.

I found myself

laying on the ground

under some rocks and yellow grass

my hands on the pedals

and my feet under the handlebars

it was then that I saw the cuts on my hands

the blue and purple skin

the blood

"Ahhhhhhhhhhhhh!!!"

I wailed.

From upside down

I could see the campsite

my Dad was running towards me

his beer on the ground

pouring out into the dirt

He got there and pulled the little ATC off me

throwing it aside, like a toy bike

"Are you okay?" he said, that wild look in his eye

"I don't knowww..." I cried.

His expression was

something I'd never seen before.

This look .

He was scared.

My Dad carried me back to our little campsite

setting me down in the lawn chair he was sitting in

checking my head and feeling to be sure nothing was broken.

I remember my Mom had her hand over her mouth and her body was shaking

she started snorting

and then laughing.

"It's not fuckin' funny, Rhonda! He could be hurt!" The old man snapped.

"Ha ha ha! I'm sorry! It's just..Danny you threw your fuckin' beer all the way over there...Ha ha ha!"

"It's not funny Mom!"

"Hey!" My Dad said, getting right into my field of vision

his dark eyes piercing into me, his Budweiser breath right under my nose

taking my full attention

"Now what did I tell you? What did I JUST tell you before you drove off?"

"Not to go in the grassy part..."

"Okay then. See? That's what you get. Now get back on and go ride..."

"But Dad I don't wanna..." I said, still crying.

"Go back on or I'm gonna sell it..."

And I walked back to the bike, picked it up, and got back on.

I stuck to the trails

and went slow.

The old man picked up his empty beer can and tossed it into the bed of the truck.



Sometimes when we were out there

shooting the guns

we wouldn't leave

he'd stay there all day

until I successfully hit a series of target placed on a big dirt hill

usually either potatoes or eggs.

And he bought a gun just for me

a single-shot .22 Chipmunk.

He trained me well

I'd hit all the targets

and the old man would smile so big.

And

on weekends entire families would go out there

everyone shooting in the same direction

side by side

different tailgates

different guns

different beers

different dads

but one common interest.

One day there wasn't anyone else there

it was just us.

My Dad, my Tio Gerardo, and me.

We were shooting at the targets on the dirt hill

like always

when I heard gunfire from the other side of the hill.

"GET DOWN!"

My Dad yelled and I hit the dirt.

Then more shots came

a whole bunch

whizzing and whipping above my head

just like I'd seen in the movies.

My Dad returned fire

with me under his arm, as he trotted low

Gerardo started shooting back too

and we got in the truck

my Dad started it up and made a huge dust cloud

kicked up a bunch of dirt

and under it's cover

we got the hell out of there.



The desert feels like home to me

I'm comfortable there

it's honestly the only place I feel like a human being

like a real person

a man.

way out there

It's not money

it's not social status

it's the way it should be

not my mother or my father's child

but me.

In my natural state.

Not glued to a screen of one form or another

no

TV

Phone

Computer

Work

but to actually look up & around

seeing nothing but

blue sky, mountains, trees, leaning cacti, animals,

and even the people you're out there with

they all seem to shine brighter

laugh longer, smile more, take bigger breaths,

because

there's less bullshit

than back at home

between our walls

under our roofs

in our little boxes.

The boxes they've put

you

me

and

everyone else into.