Borrow Pit

It was hot in the old wooden garage. Wet with sweat, he had to get out from under the vehicle and move the large, dirty fan that he''d had for twenty years. He was amazed the thing still worked.

Montana. Just the thought of the cool mountains and cooler breezes kept him motivated enough to crawl back under the motor home. Installing new U-joints had busted the skin on his hands wide open. The grease and dirt in the cuts and scrapes burned like Texas fire ants. The old man had practiced several dance steps, trying to rid himself of the ants that infested the garage. Since he hardly used the old building except for junk, he''d made the mistake of lying on the floor to check the motor home''s undercarriage. The ants had him up and hopping, tearing off his shirt. The war against the insects took a week and he finally won by driving all the way into town and buying a plastic bottle of ant killer at the feed store. He''d added a six-pack of long-necked Lone Star beer to his purchase and drank it as he watched the powder slay the enemy. He added an extra day to the war just to let the hot, west Texas wind blow stale air out the garage. The breeze did an even better job of clearing his head; he wasn''t used to any kind of alcohol.

Before going back to work with the fan and a broom he''d decided to put the place in some kind of order. He found things that had been missing for years and got more than a few lumps from stuff falling on him. The old wooden playpen that fell from the rafters banged him up and the metal beach pail and shovel inside the playpen opened a bad cut to his head. The bike had come down at the same time as the playpen. Limping badly, he moved the motor home completely out of the building and continued the cleanup.

One of the first things he found was his old bayonet from Korea. He wanted to find a rifle in the junk. His fanciful thought was, so I could fix the bayonet on it and kill the fuckin'' garage. Instead, he started to make piles of everything. The stuffed animals were the worst; ripped and torn, they bled dirty stuffing everywhere. Just moving them to the burn heap made him sneeze all the rest of the day.

He piled the good stuff that he wanted to keep on the covered wooden porch up at the house. He wondered what pile he should put the never-used lawn mower on. The yard in front of the old house had never been cut, mainly because he''d never been able to grow any grass. All he got when he tried were the most beautiful weeds he''d ever seen. The mesquite tree had grown very nicely on its own. The garage cleaning took two days because he kept going back to the burn pile and moving items to the porch. He figured the bonfire could be seen all the way to El Paso. It was still smoldering the next morning.

He felt wonderful, backing the motor home into the now clean garage. He''d bought it on a whim. It had been used to transport drugs, seized, and up for auction. He''d gone to the auction just for something to do, bid on the RV and was surprised that his was the only offer. He had the time of his life driving the thing home. The forty mile an hour breeze had him wandering all over the interstate, like some of the drunk drivers he''d pulled over. The passing eighteen-wheelers scared him and by the time he managed to get home he was shocked that he hadn''t even scratched the paint. He was sure he''d bounced off at least two of the semis, but from the airhorns blowing and the truckers throwing him the finger he''d figured they got their licks in, too. He''d let the thing sit there until he retired, still not sure if he was brave enough to try taking it anywhere.

After a year of retirement he still hadn''t figured out what he was going to do with himself. Relaxed, letting Carmen''s dinner settle, he was reading when she turned on the TV. Most of the time he ignored the "noise box" but for some reason the program about Montana caught his imagination. It got him fired up enough to start planning a trip. It also led to another fight with Carmen. He wanted her to go with him but she wasn''t going unless he married her. Thirty fuckin'' years I''ve been coming around and hell, twenty of those years we''ve lived together, and she still isn''t satisfied.

Lindy Lou kicked his ass every chance she got. He never had a chance against his daughter. Then Carmen got her licks in. As soon as Lindy Lou left for college Carmen moved out and got a place of her own. He was still scratching his head over that. When she came for a visit, his own daughter stayed at Carmen''s and just to piss him off the ladies would speak Spanish, even at the dinner table. She didn''t even come by the house on her last visit home. He wouldn''t have known Lindy Lou was in town if he hadn''t seen her convertible at the grocery store.

The ladies had decided he was going to give up on the Montana trip. He had news for them: Carmen would be going with him. He alr