Dell's Journey

Chapter 16: Following The Early-Morning Bird

The next day he was staring blankly at miles of dusty

brown fields, resting his forehead on a bus window on the

left-hand side, in the very back seat. Touching a grimy

window with any part of his body was something he had

plenty of reservation about, and he imagined exactly who

had been up against the window before him. But he was

tired and hadn't showered in days anyway, so he threw

caution to the wind. The bus was traveling south and a

little east, having crossed the border into Mexico 40

minutes ago.

It was just five days ago that he had been wandering

the streets of San Diego, carrying his pack and the end of

Pet's leash, when he quite literally ran into Kathleen as

she was leaving the bookstore she co-owned. Their impact

had been forceful, as it tends to be when neither party is

expecting one. Kathleen dropped a bag and a tumbler of

iced tea, which spilled on the sidewalk and made a gurgling

sound as it soaked into the concrete. Other than some

scuffs, the cup would be fine. He apologized profusely,

which allowed him to glimpse the stranger's friendly

disposition right off. She told him not to worry

profusely, and seemed more concerned for how embarrassed

Dell was than for anything else. He thought about her and

the whole "natural" thing she had going on. In many ways

it seemed so sensible and honest.

The sun through the bus-window was hot and glaring.

He found himself beginning to doubt the advice he'd

received from that sweet lady. She'd encouraged him to

affirm everything, which had resulted in him buying a one

way ticket to San Felipe, Mexico. The question in his mind

now was whether to affirm his original decision, or to

affirm his current dislike of it. Yesterday he had figured

that spending time in a foreign land would be just the

thing he needed to forget his troubles; his unfortunate

trip to reclaim an adolescent relationship, and his lack of

direction in life. But now, as the bus rolled past Las

Salinas, and his head started aching from the heat pouring

in the window, this trip itself felt as though it may be

suffering from a lack of direction.

He reassured himself that all great scholars, poets,

and artists traveled extensively. Sure, he may not be any

of those types of people, but he was a thinker of sorts.

He could hold his own in a debate, right? Yes, the

journey, the pilgrimage was still on. He would face his

fear of discomfort head on and drink a mouthful of Mexican

water as soon as his feet touched the ground in San Felipe.

He would wander the streets with barely any knowledge of

the Spanish language.

"Hooray!" He forced himself to think.

He watched as rows of budding produce – he couldn't tell

what kind – sped by, creating that visual phenomenon he

remembered enjoying as a kid, where they all converge in a

single point in the distance. He thought about the people

who'd planted all the rows. He thought that maybe he

should have been born a hundred years ago. There had been

a time when he was 17 or 18 when he felt almost certain he

should become a farmer. It all seemed so perfect:

1. Clearly defined roles

2. Exercising your body

3. Eating farm-house meals

4. Connecting with nature

5. Never having to decide whether you were getting enough

out of your career.

Sure, he was oversimplifying the whole thing, but it seemed

like a nice life.

Dell looked over at Pet on the seat next to him. He

was asleep with his face between his paws on the seat,

heedless of what may have been on it before his mouth was.

He looked at his watch. It was 1:20pm. He followed

Pet's lead and allowed himself to drift into sleep, his

head returning to its resting place on the window. Here is

what he dreamed: