Just As Soon Blow You Away

I stopped looking for trouble round about twenty years ago. I remember it was a sticky, messy night in Buckeye, right outside of the pool hall. I got too big for my britches, and some mean son of a bitch gave me a trip to the hospital and a yard of stitches right down the middle of my torso. It was all my fault. I thought I was funny or something. Turns out not everybody thinks I am as funny as I do. Not everybody has the same sense of humor. Needless to say, that version of me wasn’t the real me anyway. I was playing a part. I play all kinds of parts. Before yesterday, that was as close to a body bag as I’ve ever been.

Yesterday, I was driving Carol down Route 10 from Chandler. Carol was a mess as usual. I’ve been hopelessly in love with her for as long as I can remember, but she loves another type of man. She likes 'em skinny, mean, and addicted to pills or whatever other substance is the current flavor of the month. She likes the ones who grab her right under the shoulder near the bicep; the ones that grab that bicep a little too tight and hold on a little too long. I accepted the fact that Carol ain’t ever gonna change, but as it turns out, neither am I, well, not when it comes to her, at least. So, when I get that inevitable call that one of these mean boys crossed a line, I jump in the old Pacer and make that drive to wherever she ended up.

I arrived early, grabbed Carol’s duffel bag, took care of a few loose ends, and we were driving back along Route 10 before the sun hit its peak. I’ll spare you the details about her fella as he won’t be appearing again…anywhere. The Pacer doesn’t have AC anymore, so we have the windows down. We both are chain smokers anyway, so six of one, half a dozen the other. Arizona is hot as the dickens, though. I’ve got Robert Earl Keen’s “A Bigger Piece of the Sky” in the tape deck. Carol bought me this car stereo for my birthday a few years ago. I didn’t have any 8-tracks left, so she told me, “You deserved some music.” It was very sweet of her. She even kissed me on the cheek that day. I nearly told her how I felt about her, but I stopped myself. I figured, why ruin the moment?

I had that v8 pegged at the top of the speedometer. It only went up to 85, but I wager I was closer to 100 when I saw those flashing lights up ahead. Some state pig was pulled over on the side of the road. I slowed way down. The speed limit on that stretch wasn’t a big concern, but I wasn’t sure why that pig would be out there. He had put some cones out by the road and was standing off a ways all by himself. As I crested a bit of a rise, the blacktop and sand got a bit greener. I saw a huge dust devil rising about 30 or 40 feet straight up. The pig was standing off the road, staring up at it and talking into his tactical vest. Carol leaned in to let me know, casually, that she had nothing on her. She clicked her seatbelt in because she was lying. Good thing she did, though, because a second later, I slammed those brakes and screeched to a full stop. That pig had pulled his service revolver and was firing off into that dust devil.

I stared at Carol as she tried to get both under and behind the seat at the same time. I said, “What the hell is that pig doing?” I am not sure if I said it out loud or in my head, but I am sure I said it. Carol started screaming like a fire alarm and pointing out her window. I followed her finger right to that dust devil, and I think I started yelling, too. I started doing something, for sure.

There was a thing swimming around in that funnel. Something that had the shape of a person, only it was huge. Maybe 15 feet tall.

You know that thing when a fan is spinning so fast it looks like it is moving slowly—well, whatever this thing was—it was spinning like that. I could make out a few of its features in between the swirling dark sand and soil. It had long arms stretched out almost in a Christ pose. The ends of its arms looked like bushels of barbed wire or clusters of sharp thorns. The thing was lean, wispy, barely there at all; it's hard to say if it had a shape or just the shape of a shape.

Maybe my mind was filling in blank spots, but I’m just reporting. I am saying what I saw. There is a head and a face—two bright white holes for eyes. But oh boy, the mouth on this thing! The mouth was like a torn burlap sack filled with broken glass. It ran across its head shape — vibrating and shaking. Moving up and down. It was almost like it was talking or yapping…yap, yap, yap.

A sound like a train whistle hit me right behind my ears. Carol and I started laughing at this point, laughing or screaming. I had tears rolling down my face. It felt like we were caught up in something big. I can’t really describe how I was feeling. I guess it was panic or chaos, but it felt good too. It felt like life. That scar down my torso burned like dry ice under my shirt.

I watched that pig empty his revolver into the air. I shit you not, I swear he threw his gun at it. Like he was in some 50’s spook show. That was it for him. He was done protecting and serving. He tried to run away, but before he could even turn around, that dust devil's outer edge kissed him, and he burst like a balloon; bloody pigfetti all over the sand.

The sounds were all mixed up. I couldn’t tell whether Carol was going off like an air-raid siren or if there was a train coming. That v8 was gonna split in two. I had the hammer down so hard my foot felt like it was made of pins and needles. The Pacer was shaking like a cat passing a peach pit. I felt the bumper get torn off. I knew if those back tires lost traction, we were done for. I was saying Hail Mary and expecting a grizzly end.

I kept looking in the mirror, and those white eyes were lined up right in the rear window. That thing's razor mouth was almost smirking as it smouldered and raged down Route 10 behind us. I was losing ground. But just then, four cherry tops came screaming up the other side of the road, sirens blaring. That dust devil stopped dead and waited. The pigs hit the brakes, but it was too late. Those cruisers got tossed all around. The devil was like a toddler chucking toys out of the crib.

The train whistle pitch got more shrill and combined with the shattered sirens and busted steel. I kept the hammer down. I smashed that gas pedal so hard for so long, I think I shattered my foot. Carol and I were hooting and hollering like the Dukes of Hazard, punching the roof of that Pacer and laughing. I didn’t slow down or look back until we hit Buckeye.

I stopped and got two bottles of mescal. We went to Carol’s mom’s trailer and told her everything. She cackled at us. Only it wasn’t like she didn’t believe us, it was more like she did. She said, in the way only her sun-bleached brain could, “Well, no real people got hurt, and you’re out a bumper, sounds like you got a good story outta the whole thing.”

She was right, I suppose. I reckon it's just one of those things, and I am just one of those people. Doesn’t matter if I ain’t looking for trouble, it will find me.

Before I left Carol that night, she hugged me a bit longer than normal. She put her mouth by my ear and whispered, “I am gonna stick around Buckeye for a bit, I think my mom needs me.” I left the Pacer parked by her mom’s trailer. I didn’t think about that fucking dust devil once my whole walk home. I was walking six feet off the ground.