sighway 101

1. For lengths unknown—a plain scraped path of dirt lay flat below an entirety of sandy dunes washed in the wind-tides that give roller-coaster rise to mound slope til grains upon peak perch tumble tipping off avalanche dust down to pile at foundation in wait to ride the adjacent hills of glass-blown perfection in gentle procession, less come violent gust t gash t gush—dusty genies in float, sweep in wait, awaiting... A Mule, following a Pony, following a Stallion—a body saddled on each—had been forking at irregular odd and even miles... “Miles,” said Mouse. “Miles, oh so many to go, and all under this hat—gat!” He slashes his arm upward, rips it off—his hair shaped like heap of flame beneath the gaseous ball above that burns on hot—pulls the brim apart, stretching the fabric, while a fresh layer of sweat is already percolating to speckle his brow. “I’ll tell ya, never! In all my years—never—never yet have I met the kinda woman who knows better than to treat me wrong...That hat-lady—no diff’rent,” he said, downwardly wrenching it over his head, whence sitting silent, with the tight fit constricting his temple blood flow, his face bottling the color— “27 miles, roughly—past back thatta-way—I’m talkin’ before I met you two at Laundromat—27 miles, roughly prior to thereabouts—that’s where I hit, The Last Territory. “I pulled up, tied Stallion to a spiny weed, had me a look around and right away, I spot an indian, with bandana round forehead and no shirt on, climbin’ up a palm tree, dagger clenched ‘tween teeth, fetchin’ after his boomerang that for all I know musta performed it’s hoopin’ swivel-return with a flabby amount of restraint, got caught in the top, and hell—seein’ that, ya think sights could any longer hold me still? “You could not first off begin t know how set I was on gettin’ me a Cowboy Hat—I stepped right in, inside The Last Territory, before the mirror, found myself trying on every Slouch Hat I could grab at, that is, til Trina stepped over. Trina, was the one sellin’ hats; Trina, broke the ice, by right out questionin’ why I was so adament ‘bout tryin’ on only the Slouch models. ‘Your manners a penny slim, or are you just curious?’ I asked, and think I hurt her feelings, caught her off guard just as she did me, but before any stammerin’ could begin, I told her— ‘Once, I had me an old Slouch Hat...’ and briefly described it, hoping I’d be able t find one to match it’s splendor in detail, when she raises her finger, like, ‘Ah,’ and walks off, and just when thinkin’ she’s gonna be some kind of help, she returns— ‘Try this on,’ she says, a Sombrero in her hand. ‘No,’ I tell her, haltin’ her ambitions before she had a chance to think ‘em through. ‘No?’ she asks, not with attitude, but as if she had a right to an explanation. ‘It’s too big.’ ‘Too big?’ she questioned, lookin’ at all the heat waves miragin’ right out that open entrance door, lookin’ like she was imaginin’ the size of the Sun, and failin’ to understand how any given pair could better complement one another. ‘It’s a Sombrero!’ I yell, and without another word, she walks off, her motives of makin’ a sizely commission draggin’ behind her, like toilet paper stuck on shoe-sole. I wish she hadn’t stepped off so quick, leaving me with the chance t tell her to leave me alone t choose a hat on my own, but she came back, and when she did, in her hand, one that didn’t right away strike me half-bad. ‘That’s a Dorfman Brim,’ she said, and began noddin’ before I had it settled rightside-up on my head, tellin’ me it ‘Matched my look,’ and whether not she meant it, the hat did feel a solid fit, a nice mid-size, with smooth simplicity I could appreciate—a flat brim that gracefully transitioned to form the square top, which had a thin lace of leather strap wrapped round it’s base, from where the flowing 90 degree frame encircled. ‘I’ll take it,’ I said, and $32.43 later, was sportin’ a new me, felt as if I were entering the next phase of my life—and she wanted to bag it up. ‘I’ll wear it out,’ I said, and before I could take so much as two steps, she asked me where I was headin’. ‘West,’ I said with a smile, but she didn’t smile—she winced—winced! I couldn’t believe it, and I might add, it musta been one the most exaggerated winces ever humanly displayed, as if she were yellin’ hopes I’d readily extinguish. ‘What is it?’ I asked, and you wouldn’t believe it—she winced again! Two winces, back to back, and she wouldn’t muster the least of efforts to explain, but rather kept me waiting there, til finally I decided the thing to do, was husk up my voice a notch. ‘Well damnit, Trina,’ I began, ‘I ain’ got all day.’ ‘It’s just...the Sun...the Sombrero...’ I waved at her worries, began walkin’ out, when a passing glance at a mirror caught me peculiar...I stopped...turned, saw Trina lookin’ me after. ‘This ain’ a woman’s hat, now, is it?’ ‘A woman’s hat?’ ‘You know, a Cowgal Hat?’ She held her head still. ‘Trina...Is it?’ She shook her head. ‘No.’ Sure, her answer was awful plain, lacking any and every form of reassurance she all too easily coulda granted, but who was I to know what style differentiated a Cowgal Hat from a Cowboy one? And heck, I figured, she’s the one runnin’ the place. ‘You’re sure,’ I stated with all finality of matters pending. ‘Yes.’ ‘Okay,’ I said, tipped it her way, walked out the doors, got on Stallion, trotted off, leavin’ The Last Territory in my wake, and gradually, as my Dorfman Brim continued to heat, absorbin’ all that sweat pourin’ out my head, I coulda swore it felt as though it were tightening up—and ever since I rinsed the dust and dirt off at that Laundromat, and resumed travelin’—this damn thing hardly now fits!’ Ripping it from his head, he held it at his lap, stretching as if to rip it apart, when he noticed the tag. ‘One size fits most!? What a crop ah crap! My slouch hat wouldn’ta shrank on me this way, no-way, no-how. I’d storm back there now, get back my money if we three weren’t so set on forward motion.” Mouse waited momentarily, then, with the lack of reaction suddenly brought to his attention, he turned, squinting back at the black shades protecting Charlie, then leaned a little more over the side of his saddle in order to see the kid at the tail end, with head drooped in a snooze. Mouse’s face sludged with boredom, when looking down at the hat in his lap, a grin began to take form. He gripped the brim like a frisbee, practiced the motion of trajectory his arm was to follow, and then disced a toss that curved in the air, the arch peakin’ to the left of Charlie, landing smack dab over Johnny’s forehead, makin’ him appear as if the comfort of his siesta had been planned. “Hee-hah! Hee-hah!” went the Mule, taking the celebration right from Mouse, as he stared incredulously at the animal, debating the timing of these coinciding incidents. He moodily faced forward, the Sunlight hard on his face. “Least a jackass is still with kicks to get,” he muttered. “One step short of journey, and my followin’s already out—coupla punk sleepies, no company for me now ‘cept these bared heat waves instigating their delirium tremors...” It didn’t take long. 2. ...Just look at her! My Hollywood Sweetheart in the middle of desert nowhere, hitchhiking! on the sensuous back-step, slender arm out-holding the thumb, not even advancing eye on me, but staring down highway road trekked—behind us, past, and oh, fit; ‘We’re goin’ the same way! I’ll give ya my horse, I’ll walk alongside!’ I confide, but she no listen me either and so be it fine, long as you’ll be my moment’s amusement I’ll manage, cause really! The right-now full blown radiance of your snowflake face remembers me to that one movie, where they had you painted with too much pure seductive beauty—too much! for any mortal to bare—had to turn off the television and go for an evening walk to try to clear you from my head, while with every step I silently cont