Moments

There is a moment that hangs in the air when strangers first meet. It is like the breath before the first drum beat falls, or the lift of eyes before the first crack of thunder. It is a moment so packed full of possibilities, that surely it must be charged and ready to explode. From a brief nod, to a meeting of souls forever entwined, or the rebuff that barely jogs our notice, that moment waits. And then, since time waits for no one, that moment is gone, and the real fun begins.

I had walked the length of the caravan and back again, finding myself standing at the tent where the good smells seemed permanently imbedded. In the background, the sky was dissolving into layers of rose and violet, with a cap of blood orange. I had started this small trip on my own, but arrived with a smattering of friends, a couple of acquaintences, a handful of still strangers and one that I planned to avoid in the future. I understood fully why my grandfather, and those before him, had opened the ranch to any willing to put in a hard day's work. People were so interesting. Each had something unique to give, and no two stories were alike. No amount of imagination could fathom all the varieties that humanity produced.

I had expected to find Ona, bent over a table of guests, filling their plates and bowls. Instead, Tucker turned and regarded me. Tucker was a barrel of a man, large in height and width, with thick meaty hands and the largest boots I had ever seen. His face was an odd assortment of angles and protrusions, as if several men's features had been haphazardly stuck together. I even wondered, for a moment, if he was actually a relative of the Priest Kings themselves. A large brow receded to a shock of dark brown hair, that barely covered the lumps forming his ears. Midway in the sharp chunks of bone and flesh was a slender perfectly shaped nose, rimmed by the softest brown eyes. It was as if those perfect items were added, just to point out the contrast. His voice too, was an anomaly. I expect to hear the timbre of broken rock grating over metal, but instead it was warm and almost filled with melody. Caught in a polite quandry, to look away might give him the idea I was repulsed, yet I didn't want to appear to stare at him, I stuttered out a greeting and that yes I was in fact the youngun Goldie found.

Ona saved me, mostly from myself, arriving to stand next to her companion Tucker, and both sat with me as I feasted on cheese and bread, fruit and tiny glazed sweet rolls. It was Tucker who gathered the merchants to make the long journey across the land to peddle their creations. The many sons of Tucker and Ona acted as protection for the caravan, and their companions and offspring added a colorful family to the only white tents and wagons. They both asked about my travels, claiming I had courage to survive. Yama would have frowned at me when I tried to claim I just got lucky. I am not sure why I am so quick to diminish myself when faced with positive commentary. Unless it comes to running. I thought it was good time to start changing my self uncertainties. I had a lot more surviving to do.

It would cost a few copper to pay for the food I would eat, should I stay. I was tempted to fish the coin out and hand it over right then and there, but it was too tempting to actually earn it on my own. I had never done such, ever, and I felt ... daring.. agreeing to pay with what I had earned by the end of the hand. Several merchants were due to join up with the caravan in the next few days. Ona and Tucker needed all the help they could get in keeping the pots filled with hot vittels, water handy for washing and drinking, and keeping everything clean. My helping hands were a blessing, they said. This time I agreed.