Passing the Torch

II

Staring at the empty spaces in the fifty-piece jigsaw puzzle set, I wondered why Daddy hadn't finished putting it together. I couldn't tear my eyes away from where it was displayed on the coffee table, the exact same way it'd been a couple months ago when we had visited the cottage. The dull colors and specific shapes of Mona Lisa showed clearly in the half-finished image. I studied it, fitting the pieces together in my mind. I knew not to touch it—one warning from Daddy was all it took—even though the urge nearly overcame me a few times.

At moments like those, I would preoccupy myself by enjoying the outdoors. After all, the main reason for my and Daddy's visits to the cottage had always been to escape city life, to develop our bond, and enjoy each other's company.

I stood from the caramel-colored love seat with torn and tattered edges, and strolled outside to the front porch. The wooden planks creaked beneath my weight, which was normal during summer days since the wood shrank, causing the boards to wobble on their fastens. What wasn't normal was Daddy kneeling in the straw-colored grass near the chicken wire fence, staring at the ground.

"Daddy?"

"Come here, Mesa." He swiped his hand through his hair, removing some of it from his chiseled jawline. "You gotta see this. It's a Gila monster."

Such a thing would have frightened any other eight-year-old girl. Not me. I hurried down the three little steps and toward him.

He looked at me with deep gray eyes, a look that often bore into my soul. That stare told me I might not like what I was about to see but it was necessary I see it.

The bloated lizard squirmed from side to side, but didn't scamper away like I imagined it would as I neared it. Its short and plump tale slithered back and forth over the fine dirt, creating ripples in the tiny granules.

"See, Daddy?" I pointed to its pudgy tail, the only part of the lizard that moved. "That's where they store most of their fat."

"That's right." His smile was special as it told a thousand stories, and one—my favorite—was how proud of me he was. "You remember that from your science project?"

"Yep." I rocked on my toes, excited by the memory.

"What else do you remember about them?" His dark, wavy chestnut-colored hair blew in the breeze, catching my attention. His rich and warm voice carried effortless through the draft, comforting me with a blanket of familiarity as my ears filtered his words.

"That their pink and black color helps them to hide in the desert."

"Helps them to camouflage, right?" His thumb brushed my cheek so gently it tickled the super-fine hairs on my skin like a spider's web would.

"Mm-hm." I nodded, feeling the weight of my ponytail as it swung.

"What else?"

"That, uh—that its skin is thick and bumpy." I stretched out my hand to feel the tiny bumps of its reptilian hide on my fingertips, but before my fingers got near Dad stopped me by pushing my hand away.

"No, honey. It might try to defend itself and bite anything that gets close to it. Remember what you learned about Gila monster bites?"

"That they're poisonous?"

His expression clouded my mind with images of Mom. Did she ever hold concern in her eyes for me the way Dad did?

"Poisonous." He nodded. "That's right."

I mimicked his expression. "Why are you so close to it, then?"

"Because since they rarely come out in the open it's hard to see them in their original habitat. This one only showed itself because it's sick," he said, answering my question before I even had a chance to finish the thought. "It's dying."

I wasn't one hundred percent sure how being sick had anything to do with dying, and what dying actually meant. I knew Grandpa died a while ago. Daddy would often say the big C took him. I used to wonder if the big C took my mom away too. He had assured me that it hadn't, but that she just wasn't ready to be a mom.

It would have been less painful and damaging if the big C had taken her.

One thing I knew for sure, being sick wasn't pleasant. Often, being sick meant being in pain, and pain was one thing I understood.

"When it dies will it feel pain?"

"No. Once it dies, it will never feel pain again." Dad tugged the hairs at the tip of my ponytail, his affectionate way of admiring my innocence while comforting me. "Once it dies we'll bury it."

"In the ground? Like lost treasure?"

"Exactly." He nodded toward the back of the cottage where the backyard met the tree line of old canyon hackberry trees and shrubbery. "We'll bury it back there, where it will help grow green grass instead of the yellow weeds."

"Why?"

"Because that's what you do when something dies. It's a form of respect."

"Respect?"

"That's right. The body returns to the ground and nourishes the earth. It's like we're feeding Mother Nature and in return Mother Nature feeds us. A cycle. By doing that we're showing Mother Nature respect."

Mesa learns a lot here in this scene. To see how this moment impacts her future, continue reading.

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