Thursday, April 19, 2018

Dally Calico, Part 2 of 2 Parts, Post #58

Well, let’s see what happens between Alan and Dally after they agree “hands-off.”
Courtesy of Pixabay
          Things gradually eased between us as I applied myself to work the next week. Dally, employing an unexpected courtesy and easy charm, arranged interviews with reservation old-timers, who gave me the Indian perspective of the battle. I was well pleased with what I had learned by the time we went for another trip to the canyon.
          In view of the information we had gathered, this visit was even more impressive. I visualized some of the individual personal dramas we’d heard, finding locations where we believed they likely occurred.
          We slept in bedrolls again that night, and the next morning I began talking into a digital recorder as we walked the terrain. I described the Battle of Bloody Canyon as I saw it in my mind. He hovered close but remained silent as I continued my monologue. I saw the richness of my voice and the clarity of my description had gotten to him. The battle between his forebears and mine was real to him now, and he regarded me as a historian, not as a lecher lusting after his ass.

          It only took one more day for me to screw things up royally. We were finished with my research and heading back to tribal headquarters when we stopped for a bite to eat. I paid the tab while he went to the men’s room. As I waited for him to emerge, an interesting-looking kid walked past and gave me the eye. I watched as he climbed into a beat-up old Camero. When Dally came out, we headed for my car. I offered to drive for a change.
          Five miles down the road, I spotted the Camero in a roadside rest stop.
          “I should have hit the head back there like you did,” I said, wheeling off the highway. Dally grunted and waited in the car while I rushed to the men’s room.
          Camero kid was standing at the urinal about halfway playing with himself when I entered. He gave a slow grin and slid his trousers to the floor. I walked up behind him and leaned into him, feeling his heat excite my heat.
          The guy  suddenly looked over at the door, his whole body tensing. Then he relaxed. "It’s okay. It’s just your sexy friend. He can do me when you’re done.”
          The look on Dally’s face dumped a bucket of water on my desires. I abandoned Camero guy  and rushed after my friend. I found Dally squatting on his haunches behind the building near a clump of mesquite. My uneasiness increased as I saw the muscles in his shoulders trembling.
          “Okay, I’m ready to go.”
          He rose in one fluid movement and faced me. His eyes went from dead to enraged. “I’m warning you, MacFarland. You come any closer, and I won’t be responsible for what happens. You raped that kid right in a public restroom!”
          My own Irish began rising. “Raped? What are you talking about? Nothing happened. Something would have, if you hadn’t stuck you nose in. Besides, it wouldn’t have been anything he didn’t want.”
          Dally advanced on me. “Nothing he didn’t want? Yeah, like I didn’t want it.” A dangerous gleam in his eye, Dally came at me, telegraphing his intent. I sidestepped his rush and snagged him around the neck. He fought me briefly, then sagged against me, almost bowling me over. He held onto my arm while his chest heaved.
          “He raped me, Alan. Caught me right out of the shower, standing at the sink. Rubbed my shoulders. Massaged. Then… then he touched me. And I just stood there and took it. Didn’t fight or anything. Just like that kid in there.”
          “He wanted it. Besides I hadn’t—”
          “Yeah, like Coach said I wanted it.”
          “Your coach got to you? Hell, Dally, all you had to do was say no. Get dressed. Leave. Anything but stand there and take it.”
          A sob built in his chest and escaped as a wail. “T-that’s what I…I’ve told myself for five years. Maybe I did want it? Did I, Alan?” He leaned against me harder and writhed.
          “I don’t know, Dally. But what if you did? You’re still the same guy.”
          The sobbing lessened, but the anguish was still in his voice. “Maybe he was right. Maybe I’ve wanted it all along. Take me back in there, and let’s find out.”
          Aware that I was reacting to the firm buttocks pressed against me, I stepped away and spun him around to face me.
          “No, we’re not going in the men’s room in a rest area. We’re going to get in the car and drive to the motel. And when we get there, we’re going to do one of two things. We’re either going to pack our things and check out or we’re going to make love. And you’re going to be the one to decide. Okay?”
          He dropped his eyes and nodded.
          The drive to the motel seemed longer than it was. Neither of us said a word. He huddled in his seat and stared at the floorboard. When I parked before our room, he bounded out of the car and walked stiff-legged to the room. When I entered he stood facing me.
         “What do you want, Dally?”
          He swallowed hard. “I-I want you to put an end to my fear, Alan. Help me find out who I am.”
          My head spun as if he’d clipped me on the chin, but I manfully straightened my shoulders and walked into his arms knowing just one thing for certain. From now on, my life would be measured as before Dally Calico and after Dally Calico

Wonder how it went in that motel room in tiny San Rosario. Did Alan show Dally who he really was? I get an ache imagining how one man taught the other something so intimate.

Please take a look at my novel Cut Hand. I really would like DSP Publications to bring out River Otter and Echoes of the Flute and Medicine Hair, as well as the unpublished Wastelakapi… Beloved, we have to generate some sales in order to get it done. Amazon permits you to read a short passage.

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