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I pull up to a gas station in Hopiland behind a guy in a
nice ride
who's honking at the man with the medium length black hair in the
attendants booth.
There's a restaurant behind him.
I remember having had
a Hopi taco or a Navajo taco
I never remember the difference.
And a
salad.
The man in the car's hollering out his window,
"Could you hurry
up? I got places to be."
"I'll be out in a second."
He's looking down
concentrating on something and there's a glow surrounding him.
I cut the
motor and go in and get a soda to go.
Somewhere between lukewarm and
cold.
"Hurry up," says the man in the shiny car.
"Hold your horses," man
looking down.
I come out, pop the soda top, wander over to the man looking
down.
Still aglow.
"Wow," I say, "whatcha makin'?"
"Kachina," he tells
me.
"Gotta get to a stopping point for some belagonna."
"I know whatcha
mean," I tell him,
and "Wow, that's wood? It's beautiful."
"Thanks," he
says. "I'm trying to finish it today."
He smiles and looks at me for the
first time.
I smile back.
I go back in my van and play some guitar.
In
a little while he comes out and starts pumping gas for me first,
so the guy
in the shiny car calls him a "fucking injn bastard I was here first."
The
man in the medium length black hair waves to him and doesn't look up,
just
finishes my gas, makes change,
and goes back in to put his money away before
waiting on the guy in the shiny car.
I drive off wracking my
brain,
trying to remember who in my family taught me to hold my horses.
I
don't remember til the next day I'm herding sheep.
It's my Swedish
boatbuilder grandfather,
the carpenter in Connecticut.
He's about 85
now.
Lives in one of the Masonic Home and Hospitals.
We don't agree on
very much.
Just taking deep breaths first thing in the morning
for a long
time before starting your day.
I can't wait to visit him this
December.
He's one of my heroes.
