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13. HAMAHIRU
- University of Nevada Press
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| 73 »« I made a list of things I needed to get done before I left for France. (1) Get passport. “Smile,” Mrs. Fickle said as she took a photo of me. “Foreign countries like happy tourists.” Then I drove into Phoenix and turned in the paperwork . The lady behind the desk at the state travel office said it would take at least a week for me to get my passport. When I asked her if there was any way to get it sooner, she said, “Yeah, drive to DC. Next.” (2) Check on sheep. I drove up to the etxola. Dad had paid Luis and Diego through the summer, so that was set. But since I hadn’t seen or spoken to either of the shepherds since the accident, I thought I better go up. Besides, I knew Dad would have wanted me to. The sheep were the same as always. They ate, went “baaa,” and continued on as if nothing had happened. Lucky sheep. Both Luis and Diego told me how sorry they were about the loss of my father. Then Diego reached over and touched my head, right where the bruise from the crash had been, and said, “Mi dios.” I don’t know why he did that. There was no trace of the bruise anymore, and I hadn’t said anything about it. On the way up to the sheep camp, I drove past the “spot” without even knowing. It wasn’t until I saw a mile marker that I realized it was behind me. And I felt guilty because there had been no icy-chill sliding down my spine when I passed over the place my father died. Coming back down the mountain, I made a point of looking for the “spot.” But I couldn’t find it. There was no broken glass. No twisted metal. Everything was swept up or blown away. Like it had never happened. 13 h a m a h i r u | 74« » (3) Talk to Jenny. While I didn’t exactly talk to Jenny, I did spy on her. Every morning, I parked across the street and watched as she moved past the diner’s front window. I don’t know if Jenny saw me or not. I was hoping she would. But if she did, she didn’t make any sign of it. No little wave to invite me in for breakfast. Not even a flicker of a smile to tell me that—while I was still an idiot—no more punches would be thrown. So I just sat in my truck waiting to be forgiven for something I wasn’t even sure I needed forgiving for. (4) Tell Mr. Steele he was an asshole. I decided to do that when I got back. I pictured myself waving the signed quit deed in his face and saying, “Who’s clever now, asshole.” The fact that I hadn’t exactly figured out how I was going to get my aunt to sign over the ranch to me didn’t stop me from imagining different scenarios of my triumphant return. A couple of times I even had Mr. Steele crying. (5) Pack. Mrs. Fickle told me I would need clothes for warm weather, cold weather, wet weather, and dry weather. “And every other kind of weather possible.” When I asked what other kind of weather was possible, she said, “You’ve never been to Europe.” I jammed most of everything I owned into a backpack , including the journal I hadn’t written in since the accident. I didn’t intend to write anything on my trip either. I had decided to leave a number of blank pages to mark the time from when Dad died until I left for U of A. I would start writing again when I got to Tucson. Until then, the empty pages held what I wanted to say. I had another reason for bringing the journal that had been a Christmas present from my father. When I first saw it under the Christmas tree, I thought it was a gag gift. The tag on it said, From Santa Claus, and I was thirteen. When I pulled off the wrapping paper and found a book with no words in it, I was sure there’d been some kind of Christmas-exchange mistake. “What am I supposed to do with this?” I asked Dad as he unwrapped the compass I got him. I would later point out how...