The Canyon’S Shadow

By Gypsy Quill

Based on a true story!
Monet was addicted to cocaine since age 14, while married to the ring leader of the Corsican Mafia, and never worked a day in her life! Snuck to the states at 20 and met Poe Walker; lured him into a web of deceit; punished him with torturous tease and her affair with mystery-man! Did Walker have reasons to split?
Extreme child abuse done to Poe, provoked childhood-drug-addiction; later converted to alcoholism, thus violence! The latter bred between Monet and their children; a chain-reaction Violence breeds Violence separated the Walkers.
Megan attempted suicide because she didnt believe her Daddy was alive! Incarcerated in Juvenile Detention; committed into a Mental Hospital for stabbing her mother, injuring her brother and a police officer, she was deemed incompetent by the court! A recovering alcoholic, Poe took custody, but questioned the circumstances; and moreover, devastation youwouldnt believe!
The two-fold vision of The Canyons Shadow in one way, is a shade veneer stretching the chasm; seen another way, the Shadow is the Canyons history. Two people arrived 155 years apart, but their stories intertwine. The Canyon was the same, what changed, was civilizations around her. Poe uncovered a relic of time The M.N.A. Research Center never knew they had; revealing truth history left out; truth, we all need to know.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Xlibris US
• Release date: Apr 25, 2014
• ISBN: 9781483678016

Gypsy Quill

—Part II of “Th e Canyon’s Shadow” trilogy. Travel the world with Gypsy Quill. Readers enjoy, and are intrigued by, Gypsy Quill’s hybrid voice. He grabs the reading audience right away. Th e author paints pictures for you as he writes. He has a gift for conveying the depth of the characters and drawing YOU into the story. His words are so beautifully inlaid with passion and such strong messages it is easy to get hooked! EYES of the RAPTOR’ is part two of the author’s new trilogy! FOR THE BEST OF PERSONAL MEMOIRS Book author Gypsy Quill, known for his unique true stories, guarantees to fill your appetite with THIS AND EVERY ONE OF HIS BOOKS. He has been writing since early childhood and lets his journey through life speak for itself in his stories. An award winning writer, his talent comes in many forms. Th is attribute of versatility shines in his polished storytelling. He has been a journalist, was inducted into the International Society of Poets and has written and published numerous books internationally. Most notably and most recently—part one of this trilogy—‘THE CANYON’S SHADOW’—which is listed on Amazon.com, Xlibris.com, Barnes & Nobles.com, and Googlebooks.com. To read inside of part one for free visit WWW.GYPSYQUILL.COM / VIA GOOGLE SEARCH. Or if you just want more information on this storybook author, the aforementioned website is the place to be. You may also follow him on Facebook.com.

Book preview

Copyright © 2012 The Canyon’s Shadow by Gypsy Quill.

ISBN:   Softcover   978-1-4836-7800-9

   eBook        978-1-4836-7801-6

The book author retains sole copyright to his contributions to this book. All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means; including information storage and retrieval systems or scanning device, without permission in writing from the publisher, except by a reviewer, who may quote brief passages in a review of this book.

The author acknowledges that The Canyon’s Shadow is a true story although, the names of some of the people, places, dates and events, have been changed to protect the innocent in one side of the story! In the case of the Ives Expedition, the other side of the story, nothing has been changed. None of the people, names, dates or places, are changed. Some of it is quotes of Ives’ narration, which is marked in accents such as (‘’). The rest of the Ives Expedition part of the story was turned into dialogue, which was created by Gypsy Quill, he created from part of Ives’ narration to its true meaning. Some of the compilation of poetry called, The River, was derived from part of Ives’ narration. The Ives Expedition part of the story was taken from an army log of his expedition, written by Joseph C. Ives 1857-58, called, The Colorado, River of the west, he wrote in 1857-58, and was printed into a book in1860.

Exclusively for this book poems were written as a collection of poetry called; The River ©2013—Gypsy Quill/Poe Walker.

Poems from the aforementioned collection of poetry The River is a first time-publication, and by Xlibris. As follows: The Voyage, Ship Rock, The Mirage, The Voice, The Bore, The Explorer, The Face.

Singularly copyrighted poems, which the author is grateful for permission to reprint are as follows:

The Cleansing of the PARACLETE©2002—Gypsy Quill/Poe Walker.

Dawn©2002—Gypsy Quill/Poe Walker.

The Canyon’s Shadow ©2001—Gypsy Quill/Poe Walker.

The author is also grateful for permission to reprint the following from a collection of poetry called: Mountain of Dreams ©2002Gypsy Quill/Poe Walker

The following poems: Two-Fold, Call of the Shepherd, Today, A Solitary Prey, Golden Gate, My toast To Life, Our Destiny’s Friend, A City In Search Of Someone

All of the aforementioned work of poetry was originally written, in collaboration with Poe Walker, exclusively, for this book The Canyon’s Shadow.

This book was printed in the United States of America.

Rev. date: 04/14/2014

To order additional copies of this book, contact:

Xlibris LLC

1-888-795-4274

www.Xlibris.com

[e-mail]

550513

CONTENTS

PREFACE

PROLOGUE

ONE—THE DESERT

TWO—THE WILDERNESS

THREE—THE MORAL WILDS

FOUR—THE RIVER

FIVE—THE RAVEN’S FLIGHT

SIX—THE MOUTH OF THE COLORADO

SEVEN—THE COUNSELOR

EIGHT—ROBINSON’S LANDING

NINE—THE RIVER’S RUN

TEN—THE EXPLORER

ELEVEN—IN THE RUT

TWELVE—THE RIVER TRIBES

THIRTEEN—THRUST

FOURTEEN—MOJAVE VALLEY

FIFTEEN—CURVATURE

RESEARCH REFERENCES/ACKNOWLEDGEMENT

‘To the spirit that grows in us, the harmony that spreads among us… and the trammels of tradition we overcome!’

—Gypsy Quill

Preface

A shiny-new-silver—Buick-Skylark, the size of a baby whale, flew onto the long driveway and the driver laid on the horn! It came dangerously close to ramming into the willow tree in the front yard. The classy roof top covered in fancy cream colored vinyl was off-set by tacky white-walled-tires, which rumbled in the deep graveled rocks at a fast speed all the way up to the old porch!

In his pitifully drunken state, La Rose muffled out an air of annoyingly slurred utterance. I told you I’d be here, he turned up his flange of whiskey, which finally released the last drop onto his tongue.

It’s about time! I’ve been waiting for over an hour now, COME-ON-I’M-IN-A-HURRY! Maggie lashed out. She carefully took three steps down off the porch where she had been waiting.

I can’t believe you showed up drunk, you’ve put me on the spot!

He staggered out of his car trying to make an inopportune play Come on baby, you know I love you, he sloppily said. Then he made a nervy grab onto her dress—Sunday’s best! She immediately pulled away.

Next time you come here, I want you sober.

La Rose stumbled up the porch steps and into the kitchen slamming the screen door, while Maggie took the driver’s seat and turned the ignition key. I’ll be back as soon as I can. Keep an eye on him! she instructed, shutting the car door.

"Momma, I want to go with you—can I?" The young boy begged!

Not this time, just be good—I’ll be right back, she answered driving off.

The boy shed tears and mumbled a light cry as if to be concerned. But La Rose was stunned by his tiny footsteps as he ran quickly into the bathroom and locked the door for safety. Suddenly the train blew its horn loudly as it approached, when the house slightly began to shake. The tracks directly behind, moved easily every run of the Southern Central Freight, forming a speedy rhythm almost that of a drum—clack-i-t-y-clack, c-plunk, c-plunk, c-plunk—clack-i-t-y-clack, c-plunk, c-plunk, c-plunk. Reflections of the sun ricochet from the train and flickered flashes of light throughout the old dilapidated house as it then shook to the brink of falling apart.

So you’re eight years old today! La Rose belted out.

And the boy began to cry more… . He knew the bathroom door would fly open any second, swallowing his heart into his throat and expressing worry in his fear-ridden-face.

But speechless, with his shirt tail pulled up into his mouth, to help calm his knotted-up nerves, the boy sat on the floor and continued crying. Drowned out by the train, he faced La Rose, who then easily broke open the old latch-type of lock on the inside of the bathroom door. La Rose approached, grabbed his shirt, and stood him up on his little feet. La Rose him self squatting down leaned on the old sunken-style bath tub of three feet in depth, which rested on sculptured—lion-like-paws—of metal. He began the typical routine the boy did not… welcome.

He continued his drunken slur. "Now look here son. From now on—you don’t call Jack Walker your Daddy. From now on you tell people I’m your Daddy! You call me Daddy—NOW; I-want-to-hear-you-say-it."

The boy muffled a cry and tried to pull away but La Rose had him gripped until most of his little shirt was crunched in the freaks hand. And the boy continued to cry but with no one to hear! Suddenly came the loud slap on his small face and followed by loud crying.

Shut up, La Rose yelled and cuffed the boy’s mouth to muffle the sound of pain, and continued now when I let go I want to hear you call me Daddy! And La Rose let go of his mouth.

You’re-not-my-Daddy, the boy belted out and continued in a loud cry. I want my Momma!

Grabbing his little shirt with both hands, La Rose began shaking him very roughly into a hysterically speechless state. You’re gonna call me Daddy one way or the other. Do you hear me? La Rose picked the boy up by his shirt while standing up him self, leaned his right arm back and punched him in the nose as hard as he could knocking him flat against the wall above the toilet. The boy fell on the toilet top and then onto the toilet seat. Blood splattered all over the sink, the floor, the tub, and everywhere!

The boy screamed at the top of his lungs as the train passed. La Rose cuffed his mouth again, but this time his little nose was clogged up and he couldn’t breathe, for the derelict had broken it. Hysterically he muffled cries with tears profusely pouring down his face, but totally helpless! He was being suffocated. He began to try to break loose, but the strength of the drunken freak was impossible to get away from. Kicking his feet he fought as much as he could but there wasn’t a chance for relief. Finally, he could hear his mother’s voice. Miraculously, Maggie had forgotten something and returned to get it.

Hey, where is everybody? Maggie yelled, as she entered the house.

La Rose had grabbed the door handle and held on to the knob to keep it shut, with one hand, and held onto the boy’s mouth with the other. The latch was still looped in the metal hole but hanging in the door frame with the screw-end dangling, after being yanked out of the door previously by La Rose. Suddenly the boy could see the handle trying to turn, as his mother yelled. Open-this-door, she continued. Who is in there? On his last effort, he continued fighting for his breath, pulling away, kicking, jerking, and red in the face and breathless, he some how broke loose and screamed—M-O-M-M-A!

Prologue

There was once a man born east of the Corrizo Plains, near the Temblor Range, in a town called Bakersfield. To help you understand his audacious decision to become an epic poet, a goal he never had in his entire life, I will elaborate on the manifesto of this hidden metaphor… as his story unfolds.

He wasn’t born deaf. In fact, he had normal hearing most of his life. He grew up in the deep-south after his family moved to southwest Louisiana when he was four. He discovered he could figure out how to play musical instruments around age six. He went on to become self-taught, Guitar became his main instrument, and music became his crutch to lean on.

As he grew from a child to a man, playing music was no longer a crutch, it had become a career. But during his young adulthood, while promoting his debut album, he unknowingly developed bi-lateral Meniere’s disorder; and, in a very slow process became deaf over time. Deceitfully, the disease took his hearing, one side at a time. He sunk into a state of shock, as the reality of this devastating truth surfaced. A musician’s nightmare come true became reality’s hard, cold, slap in the face. Eventually, he would convert to—the man of the quill, The Bard of Bakersfield.

As part of his first published literary work, he wrote with a passion. I would personify writing as my best friend. Writing is therapy and helps me to accept my detriment. It’s God’s divine way that we should have abnormalities. So from me, a deaf musician, my poem is your silent song.

And so here goes the story of… The Bard of Bakersfield.

‘There’s a story behind a poem I wrote, which led me to find the greatest treasure in my life . . . myself. In essence, the poem is the seed from which the story grew! So then I thought . . . "I should write a book" and was even told this. The irony is, in retrospect it seems the book wrote itself.’

—The Bard of Bakersfield

Some places in the world can… G-R-A-B… your attention! The Coliseum in Rome; Lake Baikal in Siberia; Niagara Falls in Canada; Machu Picchu in the Andes of Peru; Heaven Lake in China; But there’s only one I consider to be heaven on earth.

ONE

THE DESERT

Moonlight shadows of saguaro stretch the Sonora Desert, in southwest Arizona. The countless rows of cactus form fence-post-like-borders, which naturally mark territories throughout parched wasteland. Prickly spines stand tall and reach up with open arms to welcome fall and winter rains, which bring the arid dust-bowl back to life! The green sets in when the rich desert is in full-bloom again. In a place ancient people once trekked—‘a mirage where the saguaro grow!’

The year 2013

Fall is shifting into Winter, while I’ve been planning Christmas, but never a ‘White Christmas’ in the Valley of The Sun. Something I’ve learned to love about Phoenix, after going through years of winter storms up in ‘Blizzard-Ville!’ Oh, by the way, that’s what I call northern Arizona. However, this will be the last Christmas season I can count on spending with my daughter Megan, and it will be spent in the Valley for a change! Then again, abrupt change is what Megan has always put me through. So, on the contrary, with second thoughts… I could see her for many more Christmas seasons in the future. Let me clarify; it’s just that I meant this is one I can depend on!

But from here on, it depends on which way the wind blows. Two things she has taught me are patience and to accept her emotional disability.

The most unexpected news came recently, and it was nothing to do with the desert. I was notified by email from one of Megan’s aunts from down south. The disturbing news didn’t make sense and came as a real shocker for us all—except Megan! It happened near Lake Charles or The Lake Area, in southwest Louisiana. There’s a remote community called La Riviere’ Acadienne, nick-named The Cajun Riviera. It nestles on a turquoise-blue-sea engulfing Holly Beach, a beautiful white-sandy not far out from ‘The Lake’.

She lay about twelve miles east of Johnson’s Bayou, at the head of the Gulf of Mexico. ‘The Cajun Riviera’, or, Holly Beach, is considered part of Lake Charles metropolitan area. Highway 82 was congested with a police convoy, an ambulance, and a fire truck from the city; on an accelerated run through the blue bayou, warning with blaring sirens in a scream, and blinking red and blue lights. The flickering colors could be seen from a mile away and were the only excitement this ocean front saw in many years.

And here came the noise… sirens screaming louder and louder and l-o-u-d-e-r and L-O-U-D-E-R until they finally arrived! Quickly the paramedics and the Lake Charles police department proceeded. Forensics scattered noisy sounds of digging in and through items all around the bedroom.

Woman: Sighs… there’s nothing, but, items of sentimental value and personal stuff.

Man: Any signs of struggle?

Staff member: No, we’ve got nothing at all!

Man: recording his voice over a tape recorder Sighs… (The tape-recorder-clicks). Our arrival time at Holly Beach was approximately 1:35 a.m. At this time I’m stating the cause of death. (It clicks again). It’s right at 2:00 a.m. It appears the woman died in her sleep, but I make note, it’s most unusual given that she is young and around fortyish.

I suspected something else. But, who was I? We’d split up years ago. I had to refrain from jumping to any conclusions. In fact, the last time I saw her was in September of 2004, and that was only a visit to attend court to get custody of Megan. Further, it was always hard to talk to Megan about her mother, but this was going to be a very difficult conversation about this tragedy. And yet, it had to be done. Now I had to break it to her and this is never easy. So, this is what I had to focus on. I’ve learned with Megan you have to just speak it out while she is giving you the chance. Her thought process runs at a very high speed. If you wait too long, she’ll change the subject. Unfortunately when a conversation required a lot of thought, her tension span was so short, it was sometimes impossible to get it out. I knew a hard rain was gonna fall, and oh how she hated the relay-phone system.

We have to talk, it’s important!

What is it?

I got an email from your aunt this morning.

What did she say?

I sigh… Your mother passed on earlier."

I’M GLAD! she responded with an excitement in her voice.

WHAT? Oh come on now Megan, you can’t mean that.

I hate her. I do mean that. I don’t care!

Hold on, please! This is the only chance we have to make any plans. I can arrange for you to go to her funeral; but, it’s something we have to talk about while we still can, because time is of essence. I just want you to consider this.

I’m not going, Megan insisted.

I broke into a silent pause. "Listen! I couldn’t—go—to my—mother’s funeral. And I regret it to this day. I miss my mother, I wish I could tell her I love her but I can’t now!"

Not me, I’m glad she’s dead.

Don’t talk like that about her when she just died. Have some respect.

I hate her! Megan exclaimed and continued "SHE-BEAT-ON-ME-UNTIL-I-WAS-BLOOD-RED!!"

I can relate. I know how painful that is, not only on the surface, but inside too. I understand the damage it caused in you. But I don’t want to hear you say that! You know, we only have one mother in this world.

I-don’t-care, I HATE HER, and I don’t want to talk about this anymore! she exclaimed.

I’d heard her say that many times, but I never thought she really meant it until now. What a horrible thought and I had to let it go. Between the shock of Monet’s passing and the uneasy vibes I got from Megan expressing total hatred toward her mother upon her death, I was lost. I kept thinking. How did things ever get so crazy? I didn’t have an answer. But I knew I had better stay in touch, as much as she hated my calling her through the relay system.

Hi Megan, it’s me, Dad! November twenty-ninth is sneaking up on us quicker than we think. I wanted to let you know I’m thinking about you and I love you very much! How are you doing?

I’m doing OK Dad, just busy with school and friends and just getting ready for Florida if I go.

OK, I’m going to take you to World Buffet as part of your birthday gift—will you have time to get away from school and friends to go?

Yeah I’ll have time, but did you like the last place we went to?

I did, but I thought World Buffet had more choices. However, it’s your treat. So we can go any place you like. I know you will not be waiting until the twenty-ninth to come by but it can be on the fifth or any day after that you like!

OK it will have to be on a Monday, Wednesday, or Friday though.

Alright, just tell me the date and time for sure.

I’ll come on the fifth and be there around twelve or one o’clock.

It’s a plan doll and I hope you’re really OK, you seem uneasy.

I’m OK, just stressed. Dad, when I come I’m just gonna get my money and leave, just so you’ll know.

Well, I thought we were going to eat out but, if that’s what you want.

OK, see ya soon!

Wait, I’m wondering how many days you get off for the Christmas Holidays.

I’ll get off the whole month, but if I get accepted into The Disney World Program I’ll be in Florida. I won’t be here for Christmas. The last time I’ll see you will be December third. And we’re gonna have to figure out how you can send me money. In November give me as much money as you can and when I leave you’ll have to send money in the mail to Florida. That is, if and when I go.

I wish December third didn’t have to be the last time you see me.

November will be the last month you see me, OK? Once I get to Florida you can send me money in the mail, because I have a bad feeling about December.

What’s wrong? What’s the bad feeling about December? I’ll send you money—all you have to do is tell me the address. You can email me the address, but when are you coming back to Arizona? And what’s the deal to do with the bad feeling about December?

I just have a bad feeling, OK? And when I go to Florida, I’ll be gone for two years. But once I’m there, then I’ll give you the address.

Well, I’m gonna miss you Megan. You know I love you. Are you working during the whole two years you are there or just part of it?

I’m working there for eight months then I’m going to Italy. I can’t wait to leave here, and if I do, I probably won’t be back!

I sighed… but you just said you’ll be in Florida for two years. Are you going to Italy on the same college program as the Florida program?

No, it’s a different program.

Well, there’s no reason to have a bad feeling about December. I’m on your side as always. I wanted to see you for Christmas, or anytime in December, but if you don’t want to, I’ll just see you in November. I certainly hope you will stay in touch with me, because I love you and care about you more than I do myself.

I feel it won’t be safe there in December, see you in November.

Well I don’t know why you don’t feel it will be safe. Have you heard from anyone in the family?

No, only you have been in touch.

Would you feel safer if we met somewhere else in December? I was going to give you more money then. What about the library?

"November will be the last time you see me—on . . ." she insisted.

Well this certainly isn’t doing my blood pressure any good! I exclaimed, and suddenly the relay operator typed. Person hung up the phone.

Time is not on my side, in time for this particular Christmas season, that is. Fate has it, even though I don’t abandon ship, she may sink. That is, right now, I’m concerned as to whether or not she’ll keep in touch, because of her disability, as she’s only recently moved on her own and not—too far away! But now, this is a giant step two-thousand miles away to Florida. While my time has been plagued with loneliness, from a lack of a woman in my life, at least I’ve had the company of Megan.

And now, that is something I’m losing. Our time together has been invaluable and I’ll cherish it for the rest of my life. But I’ve been on a scary roller coaster ride that for a long time seemed it would never end. Because the one thing she’s been consistent at is—changing her mind.

But at least my daughter gave my life a sense of meaning! That much needed sense of meaning is growing in my soul again! Little time passed when I decided to call back.

Hi Megan, are you still coming on the fifth?

Yeah, I’m definitely coming on the fifth!

Great—you have a card! It’s from Aunt May. I think it’s a birthday card.

I already know Aunt May sent something. I told her to send it there. Can I come and get my cards and stuff then?

Of course—come on when you’re ready!

OK thanks, and I’ve been getting dizzy, what should I do?

This is why I warned you not—to wean off the meclizine. The meclizine curbs dizziness and nausea. It helps to relax you too! I would take that for now, but get an appointment with your doctor. It’s probably an anxiety attack from stress at school, please believe that!

She found her comfort zone in staying with me until recently, when she moved out and on her own as an adult. I am a proud dad. Our story is truly an unusual success story, but as you read on, you’ll find it was not… an over night success! There were many unspeakable trials and tribulations. But for now, let me just say my motto is this: ‘Quitters never win and winners never quit; no matter how hard life gets—never give up!’

I admit I needed her help as much as she needed mine. But the adversities we both faced due to our disabilities made it very difficult for us to communicate, much less to have a successful relationship living together. This was true more so in the beginning, as, due to my deafness, I cannot understand a lot of what people are saying, and then I speak too loud in public. Likewise, for a long time she couldn’t convey everything she was trying to say. I had to put two-and-two together and try to figure out the rest. Talk about a double-whammy. Who would think our communication skills would be successful when living together. The only constellation is that I can understand the mid-range to high end frequencies much better than the rest, and that is where Megan’s vocal pitch is. So at least I was able to understand her in person a lot of the time. But I’m not good at picking up diction, and she had a speech impediment. She must feel a ton of relief lifted from the burden on her shoulders, not having to communicate with me in person anymore. Needless to say, our lack of communication skills had turned our normal daily routine into an exhausting job. In public, and for a long time, we must have appeared comparable to the idiosyncrasies of Laurel and Hardy. But at some point we pulled together as a team effort and made it through some serious adversities, by eliminating the communication barrier.

Although she could not write in penmanship and could only print, and very sloppy; it took a long time, but eventually I was able to get her to write down for me so I could have equal and effective communication skills. She also learned to convey the whole thing she was saying and speak slower for me to be able to read her lips. This in turn slowed her speaking down and allowed her to think first about what she wanted to say. I think it helped us both to learn our handicaps and overcome them, at least to some extent.

But whatever hand fate deals us both in the future I think in time we will heal, and, for now I will continue to hold on to hope!

November 29, 2013

She came to visit again. We communicated by her written notes to me; and/or, her speaking slowly for me to try to understand her diction, while, I verbally responded to her. First we had our hugs.

Happy Birthday Megan, I smiled.

Thank you Dad. I got accepted into Disney World!

Congratulations Megan, I’m very proud of you. I know you’re excited!

I can’t wait! she exclaimed.

Life has it, that time seems to pass before us too quickly and there’s not enough time in the day! Much less, once our children fly from the nest, there’s not much time left through the course of our lives, to spend together. Needless to say, I was glad to see Megan for her birthday, and it was a relief to spend the time she gave me, knowing she was moving two-thousand miles away with no intention of ever returning to Arizona.

But I took the opportunity to address the possibility of a visit in December, because I knew that—after Florida—she was planning on going to Italy. The butterflies in my stomach had me nauseated. But I knew I had to be strong. So I started the conversation.

Do you want to see me for Christmas?

I don’t want to see any of my blood family. The people I call family text me online, email, and by video-web-cam on the computer.

What about me, your aunt May, your aunt Connie? We’re not your family suddenly? You’re talking about going to another country after Florida. A lot of things can happen. You need to stay in touch!

I hate this family tree—sadly. I’m glad I never get sick, but hate the family genes, your genes with dizziness and bad headaches.

"They thought you might have Meniere’s like me, but weren’t sure. But it’s not my genes, or Meniere’s, that’s causing your dizziness. Your dizziness and headaches come from high anxiety you were diagnosed with in early childhood. I warned you not to wean off the Meclizine. It was keeping you calm and curbing your dizziness. You’ll have to control your stress better, or get back on the medicine."

I just want out of this state and to never come back. Nothing and no one is keeping me here. What will I be leaving? Nothing, I’d be leaving nothing.

"Gee thanks! I put all my art, poetry, music, and everything else in my life—on hold for you, since 2004! And now suddenly, I mean nothing."

I wish Mom and my brother, had killed me when I was little.

Your mother was strung out on cocaine. As for your half brother from her first marriage, I had no control over the damage he did to you. Your mother took up for him every time I tried to stop him. So if you’re trying to lay a guilt trip on me for leaving you with them, I had no choice, because she had custody of you. I couldn’t take it any more. I had to get out, maybe one day you will understand. But if you remember correctly, before I left I promised to come back to get you. I kept my promise. Besides, you were ecstatic about moving out here with me. You couldn’t wait to move to Arizona and live with me.

I was little. I didn’t know better.

"I think these people you have been communicating with online, your so called other family, have been putting this crap in your head! They’ve turned you against me. Let me remind you, you were incarcerated in a mental institution for attacking your mother and brother with a knife and were going to be kept in there for the rest of your life! The court deemed you incompetent. I knew you were above that!

But I didn’t have to drive fifteen hundred miles, attend court, and move you out here with me. You need an attitude adjustment. What do you mean, ‘I didn’t know better?"’ I could say the same thing to you! But just like you needed me back then… I need you now. Don’t do this to me and make me worry about you. I need you to stay in touch. It’s a parent thing.

"Besides, you didn’t feel that way when I came and got you and took you under my wing. You were worried about me!"

That’s because, I was happy, Megan continued. I wasn’t dead or gonna die and wasn’t around the devil any more. Back when I lived on the Cajun Riviera, I had to beg for food from stores, sleep in the woods, or under the house, when I wasn’t in the hospitals. I lived up to our last name of Walker. I walked three miles just to ask stores for food every day and even slept behind the corner store sometimes.

Are you saying you went to the corner store and Jake gave you food?

Yes!

Why haven’t I heard about all this before? It doesn’t make any sense!

This is all why I was happy to leave with you, she continued.

"Well, I was the one that was there for you. So, you go to Italy now and refuse to communicate with me? I’m glad you plan to finish your degree in the performing arts in Italy. It’s befitting. But, just remember, it’s another country and you won’t know anyone at first. It’s important you stay in touch. What if you do not like it?"

The only thing I’m not going to like about Milan is the snow. It gets snow for six months out of the year. I had enough snow when we lived in Flagstaff to last me the rest of my life!

Trying to juggle in this tug-o-war, between letting go and holding on, had been lingering for many years but at this point had become like a recurring nightmare. As cold as they may seem, I understand Megan’s feelings. Some are normal at her age to cop the ‘don’t listen to the parent’ attitude. But, some of them are a part of her disability. So my patience has grown and I continue to keep a chin-up approach. My health conditions are extreme, but I’m thankful for how far we both moved on in our lives. I know I will miss her in a big way.

But, after-all, my life at present is a pleasure in comparison to my past. I can remember a time and place when all that mattered was to regain my freedom; when, even the most adverse situations in the real world appeared to be hunky-dory after being closed in by walls I never want to see again. Back then I had hit rock-bottom with nowhere to look but up. But the thought of my little Megan Walker leaving the state was haunting me. She wasn’t little anymore, now at twenty-two. But my state of mind had become so that it was impossible to keep my mind set in a positive view.

I therefore drifted into a dream-state. I felt as though a part of me died and I went to a place I call, My Lil’ Heaven!

Saguaro Ranch State Park, November of 2013

I had to get out and go somewhere for a change and do something to get my mind off things. My painting skills had suffered as I hadn’t done any art-work for a long time, and therefore had become very rusty. So I broke down my easel, packed it up along with the rest of my art supplies, and out the door I went. At the entrance of the park, there were many directions to take. I had eyeballed a citrus grove on the right, but was distracted by the park-like sounds to my left, from the loud crowds of people with energy—that was so alive! I am deaf, but I have a minimal trace of hearing and only in my left ear. I have trouble understanding diction in people’s speech, but I can hear sound with my hearing aid in. I understand sound, and can even understand diction at times, in the speech of some people, who speak at a high frequency such as Megan. But I tend to steer away from conversations in public.

There were youth playing soccer in a field designed for that game, with a goal at each end. Numerous pavilions stretched throughout the park grounds, which seemed endless. Each of the pavilions harbored its own family, barbecuing and celebrating a birthday party or some other event that was special to them all.

It was their relief in a park within the city on a type of weekend vacation. A fun outing that had the sound of cheer in the air all around. The happiness, laughter, excitement in the children playing and just the human spirit that I’d not experienced in a long time was inspirational. Therefore, it was a comfort for me to be around.

But some lucid and powerful vibe drew me into the secluded grove of orange and grapefruit trees. And I was intrigued by the peace and quiet of nature, which was also an inspiration. The large citrus grove had me free of thought with a peace of mind, and in a huge metropolis of all places. But my eyes were set on a beauty above and beyond a painting. Yet, that is what I saw in there, with my minds eye—a painting.

I continued gently walking through the grove. There was a wide but soft dirt path straight through the middle of the orchard, which separated the orange trees from the grapefruit trees. Directly to its left side stood a sign I read. Do not get off the path. I stopped and thought about that, and in more than one way.

I looked under the next tree that came into focus at a grapefruit lying on the ground. I slowly gazed upward at the tree and as I started to walk forward I could see something through the cluster of leaves. I walked a little further and looked on the other side of the tree. And there she was—standing on a ladder picking fruit! The sight of the young Italian woman was more beautiful than the grove itself. She was joking and laughing with her co-workers, all of whom were Hispanic people. She looked at me and gave me an easy smile. And there I stood, in… My Lil’ Heaven!

In my darkest moments of time the light of hope did shine. My journey out west and now to this desert has proved to serve a great purpose. But it was at this time I just needed some space.

So I did get off the dirt path. I continued to a secluded area and sat beneath a shade tree. There, my peace of mind enabled me to let go of all my worries about Megan and move on. But it seemed like yesterday, when she came to live with me. Moreover, that thought led me to drift back in time further, to a time when I my self first arrived in Arizona and all alone.

The year 2,000

It’s hard to believe it was thirteen years ago. I found myself living in the Copper-Coin motel in a remote area of northern Arizona, or, Blizzard-Ville. My favorite Jimi Hendrix tune—The Wind Cries Mary—was going through my head. The gist of the story is that my move to Arizona came through a wind of change, so to speak. I want to first clarify—I’m not at all a religious fanatic. I do believe in God, but I have to admit that throughout my life, I’ve periodically questioned modern day religion and even at times experienced a sort of tug-o-war between faith and questioning His existence.

But I must explain! Initially I was led here by a premonition, seeking hidden truth, which I knew would be revealed in time. But I had to let go of all my worldly possessions and look beyond the surface of things, in order to see with my soul.

I hadn’t slept correctly for years due to insomnia gone untreated. Some nights were worse than others. Loneliness had set in for the duration. But, as a deaf man, I was more comfortable being a recluse, than mingling with the locals of the town and not understanding what in the world they were saying to me. Also, it was a huge burden trying to accept the change to have become deaf, but with a minimal trace of hearing left in one ear, adjusting in public places was going to take time.

And while in public, I appeared to be a total idiot, since I was able to speak because I wasn’t born deaf. My ability to speak led people to believe I could hear, but I was unable to comprehend due to my profound deafness, and they did not understand. It was a double-whammy! I’d grown mentally exhausted trying