A Lifetime Ago by Buckskin

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Thanks to Cat for the beta

Word count: 2,190

It looked the same. Desolate, rundown, and lonely. The towering red rock mesa behind the broken down hut and outbuilding remained strong, indestructible. Contrast, weak, and strong. But the small house, what was left of it, looked… dead.

Johnny Madrid Lancer stared down at what was once his home for a brief time. A place where his Mama found safety with his Abuela. She wasn’t truly his Abuela, but he wished that she was. She was kind and warm, and he remembered sitting on her lap after he’d hurt himself, and she made the hurt go away. She gave him comfort when Mama wasn’t able. Ha! Wasn’t able! Probably sleepin’ off a drunk!… Damnit, stop thinkin’ of the bad! Johnny chastised himself. He wanted to remember the good, the time when he’d been the happiest in his young life. What was he, five, six, maybe?    

He shifted in the saddle as Barranca tossed his head and snorted. Johnny watched as the clouds moved slowly across the vast blue of the sky as the gentle breeze caressed them over the horizon.

“Well, c’mon, boy, let’s go down an’ see if we can find that stream. Used ta be off ta the side over there.”

He nudged his amigo forward, and the magnificent horse trotted down the sandy slope and into the yard. Everything was as Johnny remembered, but different. When he was a boy, he knew they were poor, he didn’t know any other life. But now as an adult, now that he was here, he was disheartened as he thought back to that time. But the old woman made it seem better, easier. She was everything that his mother wasn’t, or wasn’t able to be. The old woman made it alright.

Johnny wondered what happened to her. He looked around for a grave and was glad when he didn’t find one. This way, he could imagine her living somewhere else, someplace happy because she deserved it. In all truth, she was probably long dead; she was old back then, he thought, but everyone looked old to a kid.

The stream was still running. It burbled over the rocks, musical, and soothing. As Barranca drank his fill, Johnny looked around, thinking back to that time. He played by this stream, hell, I was in it mosta the time! It had been refreshing to be able to walk in the water; the wet cuffs of his pants dried quickly in the arid desert, leaving no proof that young Juanito was someplace he shouldn’t have been. More times than not, Maria wasn’t aware her son was in the water… more times than not, Maria just wasn’t aware.

Stop it, Madrid!

Leading Barranca back to the shack, memories came in a flood. It had been dark when he and Mama had stumbled on this place. Johnny remembered spotting the soft candlelight in the window from far away, and as they neared the tiny house, a dog barked as he picked up their scent. The door opened, and in the dim backlight, the old woman was cast in a silhouette. He could see her watching them in the waning light as they came into the yard, and she hushed little Pepe when he barked.

When the old woman invited them to come in, young Juanito was apprehensive. He was leary of strangers, his mother was not. He remembered the kitchen was full of wonderful smells, a kettle on the stove steamed and bubbled and filled the small home with aromas young Johnny had not experienced in a long time, and his belly growled. But he quickly overcame his anxieties as he and Mama were welcomed by this stranger; she put Juanito at ease, and for a reason unknown to him, even at his young age, he knew this stranger wasn’t a threat, not this time. They were welcomed, and for the first time in many days, Juanito’s belly was full when he went to bed, and he was warm and dry and safe.

He had been settled in a corner on the floor, blankets tenderly tucked in around him as the woman smoothed his unruly, thick black hair as she knelt by his side. And she hummed as Johnny fell asleep.

Wrapping the reins loosely on the saddlehorn, Johnny stepped around the roof supports that were now broken and leaned in danger of falling as they pulled away from the shack. The porch roof had long since caved in and lay disintegrating into the dirt.

He hesitated before he pushed on the door, now hanging on one hinge, to reveal what was left of the interior. Johnny took his chances and slowly stepped into a lifetime ago. The years melted away, taking him into a long-forgotten time, a time when darkness turned light; a time when the kindness of this Abuela made the difference on a lonely and cold night.

This had been home for only a few months, but suddenly, as if swept up in a whirlwind of cherished recollections, the memories seemed too many to count. Johnny smiled, and the warmth came back to blanket him as though the old woman was still there. Maybe she was still there… and the thought made him smile.

The old woodstove sat crouched in the kitchen as if waiting to be of service, waiting for the kettles and pots and pans to once again cook the meals that had been the focal point, the glue that held families together. Precious family time and Johnny had soaked it all in, although it was just the three of them, until that time, it was more family than he’d ever known before.

There had been a rocking chair in the corner where the old woman always sat and would sew or knit, he remembered. Above her on the wall was an ancient cross that she often looked to. Johnny always thought that she was waiting for it to talk to her, and he didn’t know why she was waiting. It couldn’t speak to her, and now as he thought back on it, he realized she had been counting her blessings, what few she might have had. Remembering her now, the kind of woman that she was, he knew  she felt blessed and acknowledged those blessings as she gazed upon that cross.

Johnny smiled again as he wandered through the two-room house. He stepped over debris and looked up through a hole in the roof, and gazed at the clear blue sky. The fond memories of the old woman cloaked around him, and he sent up a prayer for her, for her kindness that he would never forget.

Slowly, Johnny turned and left the house. Stepping out into the late afternoon sun, he breathed deep, the sweet reminiscence washed over him, and for the first time, thinking of his childhood, he was not sad. And he knew it was because of the old woman.

Abuela, donde quiera que eastés, espero que seas feliz. (Grandmother, wherever you are, I hope you are happy.)

He looked around. The outbuilding had long fallen in a heap of broken lumber. It lay covered in a thick coating of dust and dirt and baking in the hot sun. He approached the pile, and more remembrances enveloped him in a gentle flow. He spent many hours playing in this small barn. The burro Abuela kept would stay here, when he wasn’t lounging around the stream. Johnny couldn’t help the grin that turned up the corners of his mouth, thinking about that burro. He was never tied and always stayed close. And Johnny remembered as the animal followed him and Pepe as they played.

Funny, the two best friends I had as a kid were a dog and a burro.

Pepe was a little brown dog with a broken tail. It never wagged, but that didn’t stop the mutt from showing affection. Every morning Pepe greeted Johnny with a soft yip and a sloppy lick on his cheek, then they would be off to chase the desert lizards that swarmed in the sand. One day, little Pepe saved Juanito from a snake bite. He’d barked frantically, warning the snake off as Johnny came dangerously close, nearly stepping on the serpent. Johnny remembered sneaking the pup part of his supper that night as a reward.

He wondered what happened to the brave little dog, his amigo with the broken tail. Had the mutt followed the old woman when she left? Johnny wanted to think so. He wanted them to be together, be happy; they had made Johnny happy. It was the best time in his younger life, and he grinned to himself.

Shards of a broken clay bowl lay beside the pile of dry-rot boards of the little barn. Bending down, Johnny picked a piece of clay from the sand. It was part of the dish that the old woman would use to feed the scruffy dog and he couldn’t help the smile that tugged at his mouth. He could almost feel the sweet kiss the dog awarded him every time he was in reach and remembered the sparkle of devotion from those little dark eyes that peeked from behind the shaggy fur.

Johnny let the clay fall to the sand with a scratchy, dry scuff. He drew in a deep breath and looked around him. His brain filled to overflowing with cherished memories from a lifetime ago. Much had happened in the last eighteen years since he left this place, this place of safety, home, and love.

He kicked at a board, part of what had been the roof of the small barn. Flipping it over, Johnny watched absentmindedly as the tiny ghost of dust floated up to blow away on the gentle breeze and disappear. This was where Johnny played. He would crawl up into the rafters, pretending to hide, then surprise his attackers in a make-believe game, dropping onto their shoulders to subdue them and save the day. How many hours had he spent in there waiting, biding his time to overpower the imaginary bad men?

Johnny chuckled, relieved he found a degree of normalcy in his young life. Memories that were not of running from men, the beatings he suffered, or of fear. He crouched down on his haunches and picked up a piece of board; it felt familiar in his fingers, warm and friendly, and he smiled again. He had touched this same board before, and his hands tingled as the sweet memories took on a physical sensation. Laying it back on the pile, he was about to stand when his eyes caught and held on another remembrance… a flash of recall sparked and ignited a vivid recollection.

There, near buried, lay a small pouch, the drawstring long rotted, and the leather cracked and dry. Could it be? Johnny exhaled sharply and shook his head, not believing what his eyes were seeing. Another gasp escaped from his throat as he carefully extracted the prize from the rubble. There, in his hands, lay the pouch that contained his two treasured childhood possessions thought lost, never to be seen again.

Ignoring the tremor in his hands, Johnny opened the tiny bag and peered into the dusty interior. They were there! The leather cracked as he gently forced the pouch apart, and Johnny was enveloped in emotions. The cats-eye marble rolled into his palm covered in dust, and with meticulous, tender fingers, he wiped the dirt away. It was as bright and clear as the last time he’d held it.

He remembered picking it out of the sand, no doubt dropped by a boy from the village, and forgotten. But young Johnny scooped it up when he found it, and not knowing where it came from, he kept it, not ever possessing anything that beautiful before. The treasure, though tiny, would create a world of fancy. It was brilliant with the vivid blue glass, bright and shiny, and it was small enough to carry when they had to move on.

He’d never had much as a child, especially moving around as they did. If it wasn’t a necessity, it was left behind. But he managed to salvage this pouch every time they relocated. Except for this move from Abuela’s sanctuary. Johnny hid the bag in this barn to keep it safe from the imagined bad men that plagued them, and it was the best hiding place he ever found.

Shaking the pouch, urging it to give up the last piece of his childhood, a tiny wooden horse tumbled into his hand. Johnny could not help the pounding in his heart, the sentiment that coursed through him in a warm flush.  Carved in much detail by an experienced hand, the little horse had miraculously survived with the four delicate legs intact and perfectly preserved. And he knew, without a doubt, Murdoch had made this for him before Mama stole him away. Murdoch had carved this horse from a plain piece of wood, for him, for Johnny, and his eyes misted over.

In his hands, Johnny held his childhood. It was all he had… a lifetime ago.

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~end~

Written October 2019
Edited July 2020 

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