markwildyr.com,
Post #58
Well, let’s see what happens between Alan and Dally after
they agree “hands-off.”
*****
 |
| Courtesy of Pixabay |
DALLY CALICO
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.
My contact
information is provided below in case anyone wants to drop me a line:
Website and blog: markwildyr.com
Email: markwildyr@aol.com
Facebook: www.facebook.com/mark.wildyr
Twitter: @markwildyr
The
following are some buy links for CUT HAND:
Thanks for being a reader.
Mark
New blogs posted at
6:00 a.m. on the first and third Thursdays of each month.
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