Birthing Hill

The rain of the past two days had me thinking about where to stay in the wash—it was called a “wash” for a reason. The place I’d been staying near Laura was fine until the blue cooler showed up, and the stench of decayed meat filled Monolithic Bend.

I knew I couldn’t go back there.

Buena was about to give birth, and I did not want the puppies born into the stench of death. Although…when we are born, we are born into the long walk toward death, but that was a philosophical thought for another day. For now, I needed to figure out where I would be camping for the long haul for Buena to give birth.

Belinda followed me in my Corolla, while I drove the RV. She’d gotten off work at Walmart at two and offered to help me move vehicles. Not sure yet where I wanted to park, I pulled into the first campsite available so I could drive her back to her car at Walmart and finish running errands: chiefly, getting the license plates for the new vehicle.

The new vehicle had something wrong with the front end. The seller said one of the tires needed to be balanced. I seriously hoped that was all it was and determined to bring the vehicle into the repair shop next pay day. After that, I had to have someone look at the window that refused to roll up, except for a half inch in 20-minute intervals. Then, I’d need to purchase a tow bar and figure out how to move both vehicles when the weather got warmer. I needed to work a lot of hours at Walmart to get that accomplished, but once Buena had the puppies and we fell into a new rhythm, I would pick up more hours.

Returning to the wash, I drove past my RV to go further in and find a place. I started at Laura’s tent site.

“Laura!” I called, stepping from the car and into the little gulch in which they were nested. I worried about them in the small wash in the rain, but they’d been living like this for years and didn’t seem too concerned.

“What?” Laura called stepping from her tent.

“I’m back, but I’ve got to figure out where to stay. I can still smell death in this little valley!” I said, trying not to inhale too deeply.

“I know. I want to move, too, but Rigo hates moving. He just wants to stay.”

“That’s okay,” I said. “I’m going to bring the RV back, but I’ll be over on that side of the hill. I’ll be as close as I can but out of the smell.”

“I understand,” she said as we walked toward the Corolla. “What’s this? Did you go get your car?”

“Nah, the Xterra is still up in Colorado. I bought this on Saturday.”

“You’re renting it?”

“No, I bought it,” I said, opening the door. “It was a good price, so I took my work money and investment money and bought it. I can sell it for more in Colorado.”

“Oh, that’s smart! It’s so tiny!”

“I know! It’s completely not my style, but it’s what I could afford. And…for right now…it will help me get to and from work and allow me to check on Buena.”

As I drove down the wash, back toward the RV, I looked for close parking and found an open space atop a small hill where I parked the Corolla. I’d just started to walk back when an older man—“Cowboy’s the name,” he with crooked teeth obscured by a too-long grey whispy mustache—offered to ride me back down the wash before the next rain cloud burst broke open. The big grey clouds in the west were followed by a band of grey-black over California. The storm was coming, so I gladly took the ride, retrieved the RV, and climbed up the small mound to Birthing Hill with only a small amount of damage to the RV’s bumper. I should be able to bend everything back with a wrench.