Free Alibi Creek by Bev Magennis

man, boom ka-cha-boom
    Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â  Take a look in a telephone book, boom ba-dee-boom
    Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â  Call each Elder Care, see if he’s there, ooh pa-pa-shoo
    Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â  Direct this car to the closest bar, choo na-na do
    Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â  Make some connections, get directions, ooh la-la-shoo
    Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â  Find a notary, sign by four-thirty, oom ba-dee-boom
    Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â  Back home by ten. Good deal. Amen.
    He’d stop at a Burger King and order a Whopper with fries and a large Coke—food frowned upon in nursing homes. After spreading the meal on Ross’s food tray, he’d dig into the paper sack and produce a dozen sugar packets. Old people stole them to prove they were thrifty, able to recognize an opportunity to save a few cents. “You’d better believe it,” they’d say. “Every penny counts!”
    The highway climbed through Sedillo Pass. Charred ground and black tree trunks told of a recent forest fire. He’d missed the event and no one had mentioned it. When he’d asked what had happened in his absence, folks had said, “Not a hell of a lot. Elmer Rodriguez got fired from his job at the high school for taking his Spanish class on a field trip to Chihuahua, buying them booze, and sleeping with two girls. At one time. Terra Thompson let her eight-year-old son offer a hot dog to a brown bear that had been curious about the contents of their garbage can and the kid got his hand chewed off. Alex Hampton couldn’t get into the Volunteer Fire Department where he’d forgotten his glasses so he shot the lock off with his pistol. The bullet ricocheted and put a hole in his radiator.” Really, seemed he never left.
    Descending from the pass, prickly pear, bear grass, and yucca sprouted along the rocky mountainside. Ahead, the land spread flat as spilled paint through the ruggedmountains of the Gila Wilderness. The trees were still green in the small town of Los Olmos. He continued south for another forty miles, turned west at Badger Creek and switch-backed down the tight curves into Arizona in second gear. No sense hurrying. Go slow or get killed.
    Right away he felt trapped in strange surroundings, as though a twelve-foot-high concrete wall divided the two states, different as orange and purple. In Arizona, he’d have to abide by someone else’s rules, look respectable, throw trash in a can, smoke outside. The fences said, “Do Not Trespass,” instead of, “Jump Over Me,” and the gates said, “Keep Out,” instead of, “Please Close.” He’d been to Colorado once and it was the same. Civilized. Already homesick, as if an invisible rope tugged him back to Dax County, he resisted the pull back to New Mexico and stayed on course. But man, he’d take a piñon-and-juniper-covered mesa over ocotillos and saguaros any day. This bleak desert was a long way from the Grand Canyon, the one appealing Arizona attraction. He’d love to hike to the bottom of that deep crack in the earth, but they wouldn’t let you go without a guide. He’d never see it. Nobody was going to guide him, no way, no how.
    He pushed through the glass doors of La Ventana Nursing Home. Holding his hat against his chest, he smiled meekly at the girl behind the reception desk, and signed in as “nephew” in the relationship column.
    He found room 328 at the end of a long, wide corridor, the door ajar. Ross sat in a recliner holding a magnifying glass over the Sierra Vista Herald, the Tucson Daily Star scattered on the floor beside his chair. A wall-mounted TV, dresser, hospital bed, desk, and bedside table made up the furnishings. Pictures of Owen, Rita, and the grandkids faced the bed