Request for Fire

Let me see if I can get you up to speed. I'm the Boneman's niece, I fell in love with a Paiute Indian named Jack, while visiting relatives in Pahrump, Nevada over Thanksgiving. I've only been in St. George for a few years and I'm not LDS. As it turns out Jack is, and believe me, he's good at it. It's Jack's fondest desire to convert me to his faith and as a result, the entire course of my life has undergone dramatic change.

So anyway, Jack invites me to join him and a bunch of his friends for a trip to Lake Mead for the Memorial Day weekend. Boats, jetskis, waterskiing, the whole nine shmeers--sounds good. I met him at the marina, and while we waited to rendezvous with the main party, we goofed around a little--fed the catfish, inhaled enough boat exhaust to kill a hamster, and caught some rays.

The plan was to meet up with the gang--who already had everything loaded in the boats--and set sail for a secret out-of-the-way cove that they'd been going to for years. "Coolest place on the lake," Jack would repeat several times, "we always have the whole beach to ourselves--lotta times we don't see another soul." As we waited, he cautioned me that some of his old friends weren't real big on the Word of Wisdom and that there'd probably be a good bit of partying going on, bla bla bla . . . no problem.

As we waited, it occurred to me that they'd left us fuddy duddy Mormons behind on purpose. In any case, they didn't show. Finally, after about three hours, Jack concluded that his friends probably already headed out to lay claim to the spot and they'd be back for us. Not being the type to wait around, he bumped into someone he knew and talked them into shuttling us out there.

Out on the water, one's morale is instantly buoyed--there was a fine mist spraying my sunburned face and a little roller-coaster rush riding my tummy. This was going to be a blast. On the way, we encountered an unusual sight. There was a boat stopped in the middle of the lake and beside the boat was a long haired man walking right on top of the water. As we turned the boat toward them, my first thought was "hey cool, I haven't even been baptized yet and I'm already witnessing miracles left and right." My faith was misguided, however, it turned out the boat had bumped into what they called a "Shoal," and the guy was only walking on a rock just beneath the water, plus he had a beer--probably not who I thought it was.

After about two hours of zigging and zagging through a maze of canyons, Jack hollered and pointed to our destination. Wow! Jack wasn't kidding, it looked like a postcard--a perfect beach and a little lagoon shouldered by sandstone cliffs on either side. He was also right about there not being anybody else around for miles. No one. As we hopped off the boat and waded into shore, Jack carried my bag over his head, and for my part I carried our supply of food--a salted nutroll and half a diet coke. Jack had already loaded his gear on his buddies boat and insisted that we didn't need to bring a thing--they'd spent $300 dollars on food and we'd soon be eating like Kings. Whatever, I'm alone with Jack, that's the reason I came.

We made good use of our privacy, planning out our eternal salvation, catching up, making out. No harm in that . . . a spoonful of sugar and so forth. I've made it abundantly clear that if he's going to close this deal, he needs to keep the incentives coming. But as the afternoon shadows began to grow, so did our apprehension, and kissing soon lost it's place on our list of priorities.

Jack did a pretty good job of hiding it, but I could tell he was getting scared. "I really know how to show a girl a good time," he'd try to joke. 'Sorry I don't know any cool Indian tricks--like how to make a fire with a stick and a coke can," that kind of thing. Finally, he told me not to worry, that once in a while the lagoon was too shallow to get the boats close enough to the shore. He pointed and said that if they couldn't camp here, they would usually go over to a place just on the other side of that hill. It looked a lot more like a cliff than a hill. Anyway, he gave me his shirt and told me to pace myself on the diet coke and stay put--he'd go find help.

"Hey, I'm a trouper, forgetaboutit, pioneer stock--don't worry about me." I grew up in Whittier, like I'm gonna be scared of a snake or a wolf, or whatever. These little pep-talks helped to keep my spirits up. . . for about five minutes. It wasn't long before I realized how cold it was getting, (picturing fun in the sun, blazing campfires, and fluffy sleeping bags, I'd neglected to bring anything warmer than another tee shirt and shorts). Before long, the sun was as gone as Jack. Not only was I shivering, but I was thirsty enough to suck a cactus. I got to my feet and did some little stupid karate moves to try and stay warm and then made my way down to the lake to inspect the water for possible drinking purposes. Even though the water looked about as crystal clear as French onion soup, I was tempted to wet my whistle; but then I started thinking how close this place is to Vegas. God only knows how many corpses are rolling around down there. Just as my mind was conjuring up this morbid visual, something made a scary noise behind me.

"Holy crap table," I grabbed a rock and spun around poised to kill. My eyes darted back and forth into the gathering darkness. Nothing. Up and down the beach--nothing. I picked up a bigger rock and tried to calm myself. "Don't panic Maddy-O . . . come on . . . Jack will be right back." I tried to keep a level head and take stock of the situation, but the more I did, the more clear it became that the situation totally sucked. "Where the hell's Jack? It's almost frigg'n dark."

"Hold your fire, I'm right here." He startled me so badly that I fired the rock wildly before my poor brain even knew what the hell was going on. I missed him with the rock, but hit him with my body pretty hard as I wrapped myself around that Indian brave. We didn't speak for a moment--we just tried to squeeze ourselves into one being.

He hadn't found anything and apologized for taking so long and before I had time to get hysterical, he quieted me, knelt, took both of my hands, and began to pray. Now I was scared--has it really come to this? The last time I prayed I was wearing Smurf pajamas. So as he prayed, I just kept thinking to myself that if this works--I'm in. I was trying with all my might to feel something . . . nothing--just the same old me feeling. And just as I was about to start crying, a strange thing happened, a sensation of calm swept over me like a warm breeze--it was like all of the sudden, I knew we were going to be alright. I mean I knew it.

When he finished, I looked up at him and he was smiling. "Okay," I joked, feeling none of the panic I'd felt a moment before, "whaddaya say you put one in to the "God of fire," while you're at it." "I already did," he said as he got to his feet. "Now, the moon's up, so you'll be able to see, and the wind's stopped so if you hop around a little you'll stay warm enough. I can smell smoke, give me 45 minutes, and I'll be back with help."

Looking back on it, I can't believe I let him wander off again, but the full moon cast enough light to see pretty good and I was getting a lot more cold than I was frightened. So I started kicking around, gathering kindling and brushwood, and as I was trying to pull up a good sized log, something shiny caught my eye. I crouched down and unearthed an empty package of cigarettes--crap, but as I went to toss it back I noticed something rattling around inside it. "Oh my good Lord, it's a lighter," I almost squealed for joy. It was one of those little tiny ones but a quick shake and I knew it had some juice. I held my breath . . . flick. Nothing. Flick. Nothing. "Come on baby," I pleaded as I blew on it and shook it up good, pleeeeeaaase . . . Flick. Yes. "Thank you, thank you God, thank you."

I've built a few fires in my day and before long, I'd fashioned a roaring blaze that could've been seen with the naked eye from orbit. I was so pleased with myself that it was all I could do not to bark at the moon. It wasn't long before Jack came running up, his eyes watery and wild. "How," was all he could say. "How--that's a very Indian thing to say, "I couldn't help but joke. "Paleface make'm heap big fire." I don't even think he heard my little smartass comments and before I knew it, I was falling into his arms, tears spilling out like rivers. What exquisite salty kisses, such passion, such pure joy. People wait their whole lifetime for moments like this--then again, they have food. And water. Aaa but that's the old me talking, I can take a night of fasting (I'm supposed to be doing it anyway) plus I prayed--we're ahead of schedule here. It's a good thing, too, because if I don't get this boy through the temple and into the sack before much longer, I'm going to lose my mind.

As survival dictated, we set about making several fires--if they didn't signal us any help we could at least bury their coals shallow and sleep upon their heat. We left one fire burning as we knitted ourselves together upon the warm sand. It was truly grand. And for a moment, the effect must've awakened some long dormant tribal instinct--because for the first time in our bizzare courtship, I had to fend off Jack's advances. The God of the Paiutes and the God of the Mormons seemed to be at war in Jack, and it was all I could do to save Jack from his baser instincts. Why? I don't know. I guess I didn't want to lose that "new car smell" that seems so important to him. Besides, for the first time, I felt like I was gaining a small measure of female power--the upper hand, you might almost say. It might have been the finest moment of my life, if it weren't for the fact that I would have sold my soul for a Barq's and a bag of Cheetos. His ardor soon subsided and we were content to simply enjoy the moment. We could've been the only two people in the world. With nothing but the Milky Way for a blanket, we rolled together upon the warmth of the earth, beneath the grandeur of the heavens, to the gentle lapping of the tide. (To Be Continued)