Dream Ride

On a Friday afternoon, Mill sat at the table outside of an Asian coffee/tea shop on Mission Long Street in Tucson, Arizona. At the site, young Mexican landscapers just finished cutting the property’s grass, loaded the tools and bags, and then all five drove off to another place of business. The weather was nice, breezy, and the fresh scent of mowed lawn carried a sensible feeling of Mill being in the city of Tempe, Arizona. Typically, clouds were always lower, closer to the eyes in Tucson. But at the moment, only cirrus clouds were in the atmosphere, as Mill sipped his hot matcha tea.

“Sup?” Frankie asked, breaking the silence. Frankie leaned his right hand forward, and Mill stood up and swung his right hand to meet and greet Frankie.

Seventeen years ago in high school, Frankie and Mill ran with the school’s cross-country team and on the first day of practice they became BFF. In those days, every time they met their right palms always collided together, making a triumphant clap. That was their way of saluting each other. In fact, the clap was so loud it made everyone’s head turn quickly at the meets, in the gym, and the cafeteria. It had a special name, “Big Money.” That was the golden plan, to make large sums of money after high school.

“You still an A-S-Who guy?” joshed Frankie, although he knew Mill had buried his Aunt Jean just hours ago.

Mill nodded with his maroon ASU acronym cap on, staring down with a sensible woe in his body language.

“She gave me everything,” Mill said as he sat back down. “Seriously, I wouldn’t be who I am today if she wasn’t in my life.”

“Sorry to hear about her passing,” Frankie said. “I got your text that you were here and getting your tea before you ride back to Tempe.”

“You like a drink,” Mill pointed to his cup, showing a kind gesture. “Coffee or tea?”

“Sure,” Frankie replied. “Ice vanilla latte.”

Both went inside and came back out with ice vanilla lattes. They sat at the same table and Mill cleared his throat.

“I had a dream this past summer,” Mill began his story. “I dreamt that my Aunt Jean’s house was empty—just white walls, floor, and ceiling. A small wind blew dry leaves in a circle in the hall, making me think it was already the fall season. In other words, nobody lived in the house anymore.”

“Maybe it was a sign.”

“Theory,” Mill said, wiping his tears with Kleenex. “I haven’t told anyone about this dream, till now.”

“I also told my Aunt Jean I would draw her a picture of a Lamborghini with her dog Chavalito driving and me as the passenger,” Mill continued. “The background, of course, is my culture–the Tohono O’odham desert landscape, Baboquivari Mountain, and Highway 86. She waited several years . . . forever, now.”

Frankie listened with his hands cuffed, sitting across from Mill. He wore a blue University of Arizona sweatshirt with long thick braided hair.

Mill talked more about the week of preparation for his Aunt Jean’s wake and funeral. He had a unique way, a community college grad now exploring the “innovation university.”

Mill explained how saguaro thorns glinted in the sunlight on sunny days, and why between sunset and night the whole reservation looks purple, making the saguaros’ dark shadows stand out on the mountains—just like watercolor artwork from Michael Chiago Sr. He explained how Aunt Jean’s warm house felt, smelled of good food, and about learning of the past generation’s culture and language.

After the conversation, Mill hugged Frankie goodbye and drove north in his jeep to Tempe. He arrived at his apartment, slipped off his shoes and walked in his socks to his bedroom. Nearly there, ready to fall like timber on his bed, he stood and looked out the window. The sun started to make the altocumulus clouds turn pink and purple—a great memory of fall sunsets. Lying on his backside, comfortable and relaxed, all Mill could do was blink. He imagined what the Lamborghini drawing would have looked like and tears began to well behind the eyes. He closed his eyes, and the tears fell to his ears and pillow. The emotion led to a lump in his throat. Within five minutes he drifted into a dream.

The summer sky was full of cumulonimbus clouds with rainbow colors at sunset. The clouds towering over the sacred Baboquivari Mountain brought focus to the figures—powwow dancers, coyotes, and eagles. On Highway 86, the Lamborghini 2022 Huracan EVO Spyder had Michael Jackson’s Moonwalk glittering on the driver’s exterior door. At the wheel, Aunt Jean drove eastbound with a passionate grin. Her short hair loose and she wore a pink Wonder Woman shirt. The rest of the vehicle’s body was painted royal purple. Chavalito, black and white, had his front paws and neck hanging out the passenger window. Once again together for one last ride, a dream ride.

“Going through the motions, I got the potions, Yeah, you know I’m going, Cause I’m golden, And I’m chosen, I’m a star, And it’s my moment, I’m hitting home runs.” – Stella Standingbear