Mexcalito & the Cliffs (P.1)

The summer after graduating my 12^th year of high school, a good friend offered me a construction laborers job in the deserts of New Mexico. The town closest to the working site was Tucumcari, a town I only knew from a Linda Rostand song. After little negotiation with my parents and the excellent argument that the money would be sent home every week for my college tuition, the deal was set. However, only on the stipulation that one of my parents would drive me halfway between Colorado and New Mexico and meet my friend. My dear mother had just acquired her driver's license, so she would be my ride South down I 25. Looking back, this was a significant event for both of us. She had never driven that far before, and this was really my first long-stint away from home.

We finally arrived at a small park just inside of the Colorado border. My friend hadn't shown, so we sat under a large tree in the shade drinking a couple of cans of Coors beer.

“So you call me if you run into any trouble, right”? she asked.

“ Sure mom, everything is going to be fine.” I said.

In the distance, I could hear my friend's old Volkswagen. He arrived all smiles with that boyish charm he was known for all over town. Greg and I were the same age with similar interests in going to college and becoming famous actors. He certainly had the looks and a wonderful singing voice. Though I thought at the time, my looks and voice left a lot to be desired.

“Don't worry, Mrs. M, here is the motel we're staying and the phone number.” he said.

My mom gave us both big hugs and drove off, while Greg and I watched her drive back up North on I 25.

The motel was a real dive run by a local Indian boy. Juan loved us because we were from the big city of Denver. When he showed us to our room, he assured us it was the motel's best room. Once settling in, we ate a few local burgers and drank some beers, when I asked: “So, we start tomorrow, right?”

Greg hesitated and had an expression of guilt on his face.

“What's wrong?” I asked.

“Well, man, you don't really have the job yet.” he said.

“What'?!

Hey don't worry about it, man, the head foreman knows my dad, and I'm sure he'll hire you tomorrow...”

“Shit, Greg, you should have told me...” I said

“Would you have come all the way down here. If I told you you didn't exactly have the job,”? he asked.

I shook my head, “Probably not.” I said.

“Hey man, don't worry, I'm sure you'll get it.”

At that point, I was a little too drunk and tired to worry about it. The next thing I know is Greg is kicking me out of bed, and we're in his car headed towards the job site.

As soon as I met the construction foreman, Bob Freedman, a 50-year-old, leather-faced man from Arkansas, who I soon discovered had a slight speech impediment, I knew I was in trouble.

Bob didn't really talk like other human beings but kind of spoke under his breath, mumbled, and spat. He chewed a lot of tobacco, so his teeth were the color of slightly burnt logs. I guess he told Greg to go meet someone on the other side of the worksite. He then grabbed a yellow barrel of what I thought was drinking water and threw it in the back of his truck.

“You, boy, gurgle-spit- come with – gurgle – mumble – with me.” he said.

I got in the truck, and we headed out into the open desert. After around a 30-minute drive, we stopped, and he spat at me to get out of the truck. He grabbed a long-handled shovel from the truck and told me to get the water canister...

“Now boy - mumble-spit-I want you to dig a hole -mumble – gurgle- and dig me a hole six feet – mumble – by three feet-spit- gurgle- and I'll be back by quitting time. Got it-spit-mumble.”

All I could do was nod my head as he got back into his truck and drove away, watching the dust from his vehicle disappear, almost glittering on the desert surface like a mirage you see in the movies.

From what I could gather, he wanted me to dig a big hole in the middle of no-where, at a depth of 6 feet. So that's exactly what I did and only stopped every half hour to drink some water and rest. It was a hot day without any shade in sight.

It was around 3:00pm that I saw a vehicle coming towards me from a distance. Old Bob pulled next to the hole and got out. Looking down, he appeared to be inspecting my day's work.

“Okay – spit - mumble- get in the truck.” he said

We soon pulled into the work site, and I could see Greg leaning against the hood of his car, waiting for me. I got out of the truck and saw old Bob and Greg have a short exchange just out of earshot.

Greg waved to me to come over and get into his car. On the way home, I said, “Well, what the hell was that all about? He leaves me in the middle of the desert with no lunch and...”

“Look man, you got the job. That was a test. Don't you see it? He wanted to see if you'd give up or something. I don't know. But you got the job, man”!

Looking back over so many years, I remember being a bit shocked and mostly hungry. Greg stopped at a local shop and bought some tacos and 2 six-packs of beer because we were celebrating. I remember eating half the meat and drinking a few cans of the beer before I collapsed into an exhausted sleep, only for it start all over again at 5:00am the next day.