A Horse Named Sorrow

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259 59 I­ headed south (what color was that? And I ­ looked at my fin­ ger­ nails: red). I fol­ lowed the Big Horn River, ­ through a town ­ called Basin and past moun­ tains that ­ looked like heaps of ice cream. Kiss­ ing Eu­ gene. He too, dis­ ap­ pear­ ing and yet ex­ pand­ ing into every­ thing just like Jimmy. I ­ pressed on, sing­ ing pop songs in order to pull . . . Care­ free High­ way, let me slip away, slip away on you . . . and hear­ ing Eu­ gene hum­ ming those In­ dian songs. All the way to Wor­ land, where a big green high­ way sign got my at­ ten­ tion. It read: “Buf­ falo 97 miles.” “Huh?” I took a left and ­ headed for it. Al­ most made it too. Miles and miles I rode, right ­ through a town ­ called Ten Sleep— named for time, a lady in a mini­ mart who I ­ bought a bot­ tle of Crazy Horse from told me: “Num­ ber of ­ nights ­ between one In­ dian camp and an­ other.” But there were no In­ dians out on that high­ way—just ­ big-rig­ trucks, and lots of them. I ­ white-knuckled my han­ dle­ bars, ­ clenched my jaw, ­ gnawed on my ­ tongue—like a hand it was, run­ ning down the brick wall of my teeth. Too many ­ trucks. Buf­ falo herds of them. Me run­ ning, run­ ning hard like a horse, hear­ ing the deaf­ en­ ing sound of an enor­ mous mi­ gra­ tion, like drums, and then ­ voices, like birds—crows caw­ ing, 260­ finches whis­ tling, and fi­ nally geese honk­ ing loud right be­ hind me—and I was ­ pulled into the song of it all—I ­ sprouted wings, great black wings—and I flew. . . . Oh shit,” in the im­ mor­ tal words of Louis No Wind. But I was the deer this time, air­ borne and on my way into the ditch on the side of the road. Which, as I flew out­ ward over it, I re­ al­ ized was more than a ditch. More like a whole creek bed, deep and slop­ ing down, down, down. A beau­ ti­ ful cot­ ton­ wood, like a great green ­ flower, sat in the vase of the lit­ tle can­ yon, and it whis­ pered a koan: Hoka hey. I let go of the bike and ­ leaned back, ­ strangely calm, time ar­ rested. We sep­ ar­ ated like a ­ rocket from its ­ booster. Me the ­ booster, left to fall away, while the bike con­ tin­ ued on into the great green, sil­ very blos­ som of Venus, un­ du­ lat­ ing in the ­ breeze. I ­ landed hard on my butt, to­ ward my left side, and as I did, I felt a ter­ rible pain stab ­ through my left leg. I slid ­ through stone and brush, grab­ bing for any­ thing I could get my hands on, try­ ing to slow down, my leg now throb­ bing, send­ ing shoot­ ing ar­ rows of pain into my brain, as a dusty brown cloud rose ­ around me. In the dis­ tance I heard a crash and knew that that was the bike. It had ­ reached the base of the tree and the water next to it, as I’d heard a ­ splash among the ­ sounds, which were crash­ ing and me­ tal­ lic, ca­ coph­ o­ nous with bounc­ ing rub­ ber, the­ thrown-sack thud of the pan­ niers, rocks and dirt and brush dis­ turbed. I ­ waited for every­ thing to stop—for the si­ lence—to as­ sess the wreck. I ­ waited until the cloud of dust ­ floated above me ­ through the ­ branches of the cot­ ton­ wood, where I heard the birds again. They flew in and out of its ­ branches, which ­ spread out over and above me. There was the wind too, and grass­ hop­ pers, bees, flies, the water bab­ bling—and all along the creek bed, choke­ cherry and wil­ low. Eden, the se­ quel. And then the pain, like a stone, an enor­ mous heavy glow­ ing hot stone right in the cen­ ter of my left thigh. Flat on my back, I ­ didn’t want 261 to look. In­ stead I ­ rolled my head back and ­ looked up be­ hind me, from where I’d come. The road. Dear lost road. It was at...