I once got dissed real hard in a poetry
forum on the web for using 'shooting walnuts' as a
colloquial expression - seems folks tend to read
mischeivious things into things. But I was referring to
the week I'd spent in New Mexico - outside Roswell,
where I'd driven out to visit my best friends' cousin -
his papa had recently died, he was left alone with the
farm - and my friends wrote to me from Indonesia, doing
a surf-shoot - that he sounded real strange - would I go
out and check up on him - and I hopped in my truck and
drove on out there from San Diego.
I'd known him since he was six - odd
little critter - overweight - sick sense of humor -
glasses - but he was family...
When I got out to the farmhouse it was
early morning... had stayed at a motel on the highway in
Roswell the night before. I love cheap motelrooms -
something about them - feel like some has-been rock star
on the road for his last tour - that kinda feeling - my
fifteen minutes of fame come from the square room with
dingy white walls, the huge television, and the
uncomfortable double bed, with slots for quarters, to
vibrate yourself - but I was keen to that dupe.
Anyway - I pulled up - he was sitting out
on the porch - knew I was coming one of these days -
just said 'Howdy' - dusty cowboy hat on - me, with my
long blonde surfer curls couldn't be more out of place -
but he knew that - and was real pleased I'd arrived -
though he'd wished it were the twins, I knew that.
I sat myself down on the porch - and we
just talked - me saying how sad I was to hear about his
daddy - and being Californian, going straight for the
juggular and asking him what he'd be planning on doing
now - what about selling this mess and moving on back
down to California - you got friends there, right? (though
I knew he didn't) - or, hey - this is a huge spread -
why don't you grow something or something - become a
farmer - that was your dad's dream...
See, his dad had made a killing in
dry-wall during the first building boom in California -
became so rich that at fifty he could retire - and he
chose to retire in New Mexico, to start-up a farm - and
dragged his youngest son with him - then 17 (the oldest
boy, Gary, had been in and out of prison his whole life
- I met him twice - he was a nice guy, a bit older than
us - I labeled him 'racy' - I don't know why - he talked
a mile a minute, I guess), but he died two years later...
So Shaun - that's his name - he went into
the house and brought out a rifle. "Shit!" I said. "It's
just a twenty-two. You ever shot a gun?" "No." "It's
fun." So we hiked off about half a mile. There was
this ravine there - and a very old tree standing a good
thirty yards away - and there was no shade - so I wished
I'd had a cowboy hat.
He loaded and took aim and shot at the
tree. A bird was there which flew away squawking. "Walnut
tree. Ain't worth a shit. See those walnuts?" I
squinted, and yeah, there were little globules there.
"Hit one, you get a beer."
I'm no real athlete or nothing - but my
third shot I exploded one of the bitches - got served up.
Fun, really - mild kick - and we weren't harming anyone.
We did this for three days straight - the
same routine - shooting walnuts - shooting the breeze -
until the bullets ran out - or more often - the beer (though
we each lugged a case across the fields by the third day
- of course our hits being less and less as the day
dragged on - making up excuses for beers - "I hit that
branch!" "I hit that leaf!" - He even once, very drunk,
shot at a darting rabbit - I took three 'repentance
beers' for that...
So it was Friday - and I asked him what
one did in town. He didn't know. There was a
country-western bar out on the main drag.
We weren't so drunk this day - he
anticipated that we were going out - and I missed
sometimes on purpose.
He dressed in his finest cowboy attire -
I tried to dumb-down the surfer stuff - and became
something like lord normal - though my hair was still a
problem - I'd scope out all the exits real good - and if
trouble came, I'd be running...
This was something I'd never seen before
- a whole huge bar full of cowboys and cowgirls - and
that gawd-awful country music just pumping its way into
our hearts - I slithered up to the bar and ordered us
two beers - we were hanging with the pinball machines -
joshing each other why we weren't asking cuties to dance
- I couldn't - he said he knew how, but wouldn't bother...
So a couple rednecks came up and started
talking to Shaun - with respect - they knew who he was -
it was one of the largest spreads in the county - and he
owned it - I just perused the babes - which one time got
me in trouble - but not bad, just nasty looks...
Well, leave it to beaver - at one point a
girl was on Shaun's arm - dragging him outside to the
parking lot - and I found my self in the company of a
not unattractive cowgirl - and we talked trucks - and I
got in, then was pushed over to the driver's seat, and I
rolled down and told Shaun to go slow - 'cuz otherwise
I'd get lost - and we followed them - this girl with her
hands all over me - kissing me full on the mouth, while
I was trying to keep track of the truck ahead - I almost
slapped her...
But we arrived back at the farmhouse.
They were already upstairs. I took my girl to my room -
and she withdrew a bottle of gin - and she asked me if
she could be in the movies - and I told her she already
was - doing that lens and cranking thing with my hands
before my eyes - but I don't remember much else...
Next morning I heard a truck drive off.
Shaun was grinning ear to ear - that laid look. I was
just bewildered.
I - we - were hurting so much next day we
just lazed.
Sunday I sat next to him on the couch as
we ate beans from a can - and I asked "You doing o.k.?"
"Yeah."
And I took off.