Out of the Wilderness

football, basketball or baseball on TV on most Sundays.

  "The Bible says it's a day of rest. I can't rest in those hard pews," he explained to Nancy. "It's so bad I can't even sleep through those long sermons."

  Gil never returned. He eventually married an Apache and lived with her in a small home. He relished fatherhood and did any odd job anywhere, any time until his reputation for quality work required that he hire one, then two, and finally three helpers to keep up with the constant demands. Eventually, he took an unlisted phone number, but satisfied customers simply passed on his new number to friends and family. A business line with an answering machine solved the problem, but soon the volume of calls meant that someone had to answer and prioritize them -- a job that his wife enjoyed. But for Gil the greatest joy in years was a surprise visit from Dave.

  "So how's the studio doing?"

  "Okay, I guess," Dave stared past him.

  "What's wrong? You know that I know when something is bothering you."

  "Nothing. I'm just bored all the time."

  "Bored?"

  "Yeah. Don't you ever get bored living out in the desert like this?"

  "Used to. But the sunrises, sunsets, stars and meteor showers sure beat TV. Besides, my work takes me into the cities around here enough to know I'd rather live here."

  "There's something else. You seem content."

  "I am."

  "Well, I'm not. Maybe I should join your Native American Church."

  Gil chuckled. "I don't attend there anymore."

  "Oh?"

  "Yeah. I got into a 12-step group. The first step was to acknowledge a higher power. The only one I remembered from church when we were little was the Holy Spirit. So I prayed and I remembered about Jesus, and then God the Father."

  "Huh?"

  "It just sort of all came back to me. After a while I saw that I had traded methadone for heroin as my crutch and then peyote for methadone."

  "But you used to rave about your visions on the peyote."

  "Yeah." Gil shrugged. "But they weren't real. I'd come down off the drug and it was the same old Gil with the same old problems."

  "You get religion like the kind Mom and Dad have?"

  "No. I think I have the same Jesus they do."

  "Whoa, bro. Is what happened to you going to hit me when I hit 30?"

  "Hope it hits you before then, little Bro."

  "What's it?"

  "That Jesus is the way, not just a way."

  Gil's words bothered Dave enough that he began to read the Bible for the first time since age 10. The Gospels amazed him, especially the claims of Jesus that He was the way, truth and life, not just someone pointing to the way, truth and life and that He was God. When Dave had finished with the gospels he kept going until the other books of the New Testament had been read and sometimes reread. He was just getting to the end of the Old Testament when the phone rang.

  "Hello."

  "Hey, Dave. It's me."

  "Who's this?"

  "Me. Sam. Your amigo."

  15

  The phone call resulted in others and then the reunion that neither had ever believed might happen. Time can dim friendships; distance is what often ends them. Relating to memories is always a poor substitute for face to face relating and Dave and Sam had years of their histories to discuss.

  "So, how was the trip?" Dave slowly maneuvered through the maze of cars surrounding LAX.

  "Okay. Only took three hours. The pilot said we had a monster tailwind pushing us all the way."

  "Want to stop for something to eat.?"

  "Yeah. Your mom still make those burritos?"

  Dave grinned. "No one on the face of the earth was ever a bigger fan of her cooking."

  "Guess you're right. Is it okay if we swing by there?"

  "Not today. I need to give her some advanced warning that two hungry taco monsters are headed her way."

  "Okay. How's she doing anyway?"

  "It's been hard. She's still grieving over my dad."

  "Huh? What happened?"

  "He had a stroke a week ago. He was gone the day after they got him to the hospital."

  "Your dad died? Why didn't you call and tell me? This is a bad time for me to be visiting."

  "I was hoping he would last until you got here. Dad wanted to see you again. He was really excited when I told him how you had called last year and then how you were going to visit. 'I want to see him,' he said. Out of all my friends, he liked you the most."

  "Me?"

  "You."

  Sam shifted nervously. "I thought he hated me because of the accident that wrecked your foot."

  "No way. When he found out it was my idea he said he wanted to break my neck. He was mad that I had talked you into it. 'You both could have been killed!' is all I heard for over a year. He said it was all my fault."

  "You sure? He didn't talk to me much after you got hurt."

  "You've got to understand something about him. He had to work another two years before he could retire to pay off the hospital's and doctor's bills. Once or twice I heard him mumble to my mom that if Sam were really Dave's friend then he wouldn't have gone down that hill with him. But he got over it."

  "But we were just dumb kids."

  Dave chuckled. "That's exactly what she told him. It took the wind right out of his sails."

  "I can't believe he's gone."

  "He was 75. Had a good life."

  "That old? He didn't look it."

  "He always said hard work kept him young so that he could be a father even after 50. Mom would tease him that it was only because she was so much younger than him that kids kept coming."

  "When's the funeral?"

  "It was yesterday."

  "Think we could swing by the cemetery?"

  "Sure."

  They rode LA's freeways quickly because the rush hour traffic had not yet begun. Neither one spoke as Dave let Sam reflect on his father and study the changes that made the city so congested. At the grave Sam stared intently at the headstone. He waited until they were on the road again before speaking.

  "I didn't know he was in World War II."

  "Yeah. He served as a Merchant Seaman. He loved telling about how God spared him so that we could be born. He saw a lot of ships go down because there were so many U-Boats torpedoing American ships."

  "Wow."

  "Ready to eat?"

  "I lost my appetite. Mind if wait till we get to your place?"

  "Sure."

  Sam returned to studying the buildings along the freeway. "Isn't this the way we went to Disneyland that time?"

  "Yeah. I think it is."

  "Where's all the fields? This used to be all farmland."

  "Welcome to the new Southern Cal, Sam. The land of milk and honey is now the land of concrete, cars and glass. I'm just glad we moved further out while we could still afford it."

  "Good move, man. It's way too crowded around here. So how's the recording business?"

  "It's got its ups and downs. By the time I got into it, most of the English groups had broken up or faded away, acid rock was gone and Motown wasn't cranking out near as many hits. It seems like it went from you had to have a hit single so you could get on the radio to having an album to get on the radio."

  "The day the music died."

  "You talking about Don McLean's song?"

  "Yeah. It started to die in September 1970 and was history by the following summer."

  "You're just a few years off. He was talking about the plane crash that killed Buddy Holly, Richie Valens and the Big Bopper back in the 1950s."

  "Maybe. But I think he was also talking about Jimi, Janis and Jim.

  "Hendrix, Joplin and Morrison?"

  Dave cackled like a rooster, a sound he made only when encountering the bizarre theories that seemed to have outpaced urban legends. "Morrison wasn't even dead when American Pie came out. What have you been smoking?"

  "Think about it. McLean was being prophetic. It's called life imitat
ing art or something like that. And I haven't been smoking anything. Gave it up for my girlfriend."

  "Girlfriend? Why didn't you bring her along? We've got two extra rooms."

  "Dammit. You sound just like her."

  "Huh?"

  "When I asked her if she wanted to go, she said I just wanted to get her alone in some bedroom. We had a fight and I haven't seen her for a while."

  "Well, was she right?"

  Sam let out the longest sigh Dave had ever heard before spending 5 minutes describing her. He ended his monologue with, "Yeah. I can't figure out what's wrong with her. Don't women believe in sex, drugs and rock and roll anymore?"

  "So she's not the first?"

  "Nah. There's been others. Maybe I should try the peace, love and dope scam on them."

  "So you think it's a scam?"

  "I don't know what I think. All I know is when I try to have some sex with them they drop me real fast."

  "Can you blame them?"

  "I told them I'd use protection so they didn't have to worry. Even said I'd pay for an abortion if it came to that."

  Dave let out a long low whistle. "Dude, you take the cake."

  "You saying I like to have my cake and eat it too? You got that right. Looking out for Number 1." After a long silence, Sam restarted the conversation. "Nothing wrong with that is there? You make me sound evil. You think I am?"

  "Isn't getting your girlfriend pregnant and then killing your son or daughter evil? I thought you were a Catholic."

  "I am. Kind of."

  "Well, don't you believe in your church's doctrine?"

  "Most of it. I just don't want to impose my morals on anyone."

  "Well isn't that what you're doing if you get her pregnant? Aren't you imposing a life-changing situation on her?"

  "Uh, never thought of it that way. So you think if I tell them I'll help raise any kid that comes along they'll go to bed?"

  "Are you willing to be a father?"

  Sam froze. Fatherhood scared him, even more than being a soldier had. "Guess not. I'd just say it and then ditch