End of the Road for One

As I looked in the rearview screen and saw Charlie's truck grow smaller in view, I was filled with regret. Almost as much regret as I had leaving Turtle Lake without knowing what had happened to my sister, Julie and Uncle Frank. 

I hated to backtrack, but I knew I'd be going back to that truck because some essential supplies and tools were still on it. I couldn't take a chance and not get Charlie to better air and the healing waters that I hoped Palm Springs would provide. By nightfall, after several detours from the road being blocked, we pulled into the remains of the retreat for the stars. But the only stars were the ones starting to appear in the darkening clear blue sky after the sun dipped below Mount San Jacinto. More than just the hot springs, I hoped on hope that that mountain would provide us with fresh water to drink through the winter to come. I wanted to be warm, yet I wanted the rain and snow to come as well on the mountain.

I pulled into what had been a motel with ragged palm trees, a burned-out shell, and made some more soup for Charlie. About the only thing he could get down between coughing fits whenever he woke up.

Charlie was groggy and he tried to get some of the hot liquid down, looked up at me and said in a voice barely discernible, "Did we get there yet?… How's my truck?… Okay?"

I didn't have the heart to tell him that I had left it. "Okay. It's okay. We made it. You can relax now. I want to get you in some warm water tomorrow. Get some rest until then."

Still in no position to object, Charlie dozed off again. If sleep could cure his pneumonia, it was working. I started to turn him on his side and prop his back up with a couple of pillows every hour or so, because he seemed to breathe much better. I had no other way of getting fluid out of his lungs except to have  him get up to pee from all the fluids I was giving him and have him cough up whatever he had in his lungs--mostly phlegm and blood. That night was rough. It was hot, still over 100° all night and I got almost no sleep tending to Charlie.

At dawn, I started the Peterbilt up, and not knowing exactly where I was going, drove around looking for signs that might lead me to a park or somewhere where there were hot springs. All I found were signs for spas. Most of them were burned out hulks with filthy swimming pools floating with debris and glowing green algae. But no tourists lounging in or around them. these pools was warm because of the daytime temperature, often reaching 115°. Thankfully, Charlie was in the air-conditioned sleeper.

I parked the truck and walked a strip of spas, kicking up animals and birds everywhere that seemed to have congregated either for the night or for the water. I saw coyotes, buzzards, rabbits, owls, pigeons, quail and other desert dwellers skittering off as I went from pool to pool. Found lots of bones from animals that had apparently come to drink and died. Finding nothing that looked like healing water, I returned to the truck and drove around some more, getting more disappointed as I drove.

Finally, I turned towards a street directing me to North Palm Springs and came upon three spas. One had a tattered sign that read, Callie Springs Resort. Part of the building was still standing and as I approached the back of that building, a great number of animals and birds, once again, scurried out of my way. The pool in the back was running over and partially clear with steam rising from it even though the morning temperature was already at least 95°. The water running over had cut a trench in a lawn now overgrown with weeds and down a slope in the back of the property leading to a creek that probably ran out into the desert and disappeared. I tasted the hot water leaving the pool. It was about 120° and bitter tasting. That was what I was looking for, mineral water. The real thing.

I ran for the truck that was parked some distance away and drove it up as close as I could to the way through to the pool and the rooms that fronted on the pool with a view of Mount San Jacinto behind.

I couldn't wait to tell him. "Wake up, Charlie. Wake up. Were here!" I shook his shoulder gently and raised my voice to get his attention.

Charlie rolled over and, with bloodshot eyes and obvious fever, looked up at me and said, "Where…. Where are we? He seemed to be delirious. I really needed to get him in that healing water as soon as possible. I pulled Charlie up from his sweat stained bed and with his arm around my shoulder, walked him the short distance to the pool. The shallow end was clear and inviting. I checked the water temperature and it seemed all right to put Charlie in. All he was wearing was shorts that were what he had on when he got sick, so I left them on him to be washed by the hot water and gently lowered him into the pool. I went back and got a pillow that he could rest his arms, shoulders and head on at the edge of the pool with the rest of his body immersed.

The water brought him out of his delirium. "Mummm…" Charlie muttered upon feeling the water, "That's nice… Feels sooo… good."

I found a tattered umbrella and set it up to shade him from the sun and brought him more soup to help him overcome the dehydrating effect of his fever. After a couple of hours, I had swept and cleared the rats, rattlesnakes, scorpions, spiders and tarantulas out of a couple of the rooms closest to where Charlie was soaking. By scavenging the rest of the buildings, I found a place where there were mattresses locked in a storage room and covered with plastic that I removed, finding three suitable and clean enough for Charlie and I to lie on. I put one by the pool and the other two in the rooms I had cleaned out. One for me, and one for him when he had to be inside out of the sun or the rain.

After I got Charlie out of the water and situated on his new bed and shaded, I gathered up all the laundry and some sheets and towels from the resort. I washed them in the pool at the point where the water was overflowing so that I wouldn't contaminate the pool anywhere but right there. I then hung everything out to dry on lines that I strung on poles that were there for awnings.

As a test, I drank a glass of the foul tasting water to see if I would get sick. It was the only way to determine if the mineral water was drinkable or not. Checking on Charlie every few minutes to see how he was, I seemed to have new energy and began to clean up around the pool all of the bones and animal droppings that were everywhere. Whenever Charlie wanted to, I returned him to the pool to soak.

There was a fire pit by the pool that became very convenient for cooking our food. There was plenty of fire making material from the existing buildings, palm fronds and other burnable debris that was everywhere about. I started making soup from the mineral water and that seemed to make me feel better as well. With each day, Charlie got better, until he was up and around, getting into the pool himself every time he wanted to luxuriate and heal his aching body.

When he got healthy enough to leave alone, I searched the city to find whatever I could to help us, including cooking and dinnerware and other miscellaneous items that I found in stores and unburned houses. I was grateful for the hot mineral water and soap so that we had clean clothes and bedding. I found a tarp to put over the mattress by the pool if it ever rained, but it didn't.

A couple of weeks went by, and Charlie was feeling well enough to help scavenge with me. We filled two more rooms in the building with things that we found. Mostly useless, but, with my portable chargers, we got some games and other devices running to pass the time, especially later on when it would get much colder during the winter months ahead and we might be rained in. After those strainous excursions, Charlie often coughed up blood. I didn't think he had tuberculosis, but I suspected cancer.

One morning, I woke up to find ducks in the pool, eagerly eating the algae and enjoying the hot spring water. They had been there before and flew off. This morning they stayed, becoming comfortable with my presence. Other creatures and birds were returning as well, but the coyotes were sneaky, coming around at night, unwelcome. Whenever I heard them or saw them, I scared them away by banging pots and pans. No use in wasting ammunition.

I began making breakfast by boiling quail eggs and some oatmeal, the last of the cereal all the way from Wisconsin. Some dates I found made it taste wonderful. It was time to wake up Charlie. I wonder why he hadn't come out like usual when I was cooking. I went into his room where he was lying with his back to me. I shook his shoulder a little bit… "Charlie… I've got breakfast ready… Wake up." He didn't stir and felt a little bit stiff.

I rolled Charlie toward me and discovered his eyes open with a fixed, strange look on his face. And, he was stiff. Rigor mortis had set in. I pulled his eyelids down like I had seen on television and in the movies, having never experienced a human death before. I ate breakfast in silence, thinking. It was beginning to sink into me that I was once again, alone. It was very unsettling, but it was reality hitting home.

I pondered what to do with the body. Finally, I decided to give him a proper burial. I wrapped Charlie's body in sheets and carried him out to the sleeper. I had grown stronger during my months of exertion and he had withered to weigh much less than he once had been. Almost weightless in my arms.

I gathered a pick and shovel and drove into the town to a place I recall seeing and remembered as a cemetery. I had to drive around a bit, but finally came to what I was looking for: a long brick wall with a wrought iron gate and a sign that read, Springs Memorial Rest Garden.

The gate was locked, but a nudge from the bumper on the Peterbilt popped it open. I drove in, expecting to see large gravestones and mausoleums, but saw nothing of the sort. For high-priced property, the place looked like a sparsely treed orchard in neat rows with overgrown weedy expanses in between. I found this rather strange, so I got out to investigate. Immediately, I came upon flat plaques indicating graves. With my shovel and my foot I brushed away the dust and weeds from some of them and recognized some famous names from old Hollywood.

I ran across one that read: Francis Albert Sinatra, 1920-1998. There was a grave space next to his that was vacant… Perhaps for Junior or for Nancy but never used. I thought it appropriate to bury Charlie there, next to the leader of the Rat Pack, whose extravagant lifestyle was envied by everyone, leading to the excess of Las Vegas and nearly everywhere else to its 21st-century demise. Future archaeology would find them strange bedfellows. But then, Sinatra was known to be a generous fellow. Would've probably welcomed Charlie with a handshake and grin.

I set about digging and it took me all morning in that hard desert soil to dig a 4 foot deep hole to put Charlie in. I was worn out and sweating profusely in the heat and decided that I wouldn't dig the full required 6 feet. Many had been buried in the desert with much less. I just didn't want the vultures and coyotes to pick his bones. Just perhaps, some very hardy worms, beetles and ants that were still abundant after everything else had been destroyed.

I said a few words over Charlie's grave and returned to the spa that had become our winter home. Now a very, empty and lonely place. I started to make friends with the animals and birds. They comforted me and made me feel more at home with Charlie gone.