Playa Dust in the Bedouin

I fished out a tan mesh tank top and a pair of "coffee stain" camo cargo shorts, then another of my many desert scarves. I was only just pulling on my boxers when the flap behind me opened and my sister stepped inside.

"John, I ... whoa, Hubba, Hubba. Sexy man, sexy man. I didn't know I was sleeping next to something that hot last night." Olivia gave a small wolf whistle and then a wink to show she was kidding, but suddenly changed. My sister's face went from amused, to shocked, to horrified. Olivia moved forward and caught the boxers on my left side tugging them down enough to uncover the rest of the scar on that hip. "What in the hell happened here?"

I moved to tug the cloth away but she moved with me keeping that hip bare to her eyes. "Do you mind?" I demanded.

"No. Never. You should know that." My sister tugged the thin boxers down even further. "Fess up. I heard you got wounded, but nothing this big."

I caught her wrist as her hand moved and I was about to be full Monty in front of her. "A bomb went off. I caught some shrapnel from it. They had to go in and dig pieces of metal out of my hip bone. Happy? Now, let go of my underwear."

She leaned in right by my face. "It's not like it would be the first time I ever saw it. Besides, I've kissed you now your mine. Rules are rules."

I smiled, then leaned in close and whispered. "See, I told you that you kissed me."

She blushed, then pursed her lips. "You were kissing me first, then I kissed back, not awake enough to remember who you were."

"Sure sure, excuses excuses." I grinned at her expression. "Can I get dressed now?"

Olivia put her hands on her hips. "I don't care. I came in here to tell you something." At my raised eyebrow she continued "Well two things. We are doing yoga this morning with the camp next door and that breakfast will be ready in a few minutes. So. Hurry up."

As she vanished out of the door I realized that my eyes had dropped to her ass automatically. My sister was wearing incredibly tight stretchy shorts, with ruffles along the bottom edge. They hugged her hips and gave her far more of a shape than what she normally had. Not that what she normally had was bad, to begin with.

Yoga?

As I dressed, my mind went back over the years. Have I ever done yoga?

I've climbed obstacles made of telephone poles and cargo rope. I've crawled through mud under barbwire. Hiked up mountains carrying 50 pounds of mortar rounds. And god knows I've done ascending grade ruck marches, with a full pack and rifle till I thought I was going to die!

But yoga?

Stepping out into the main part of my tent, I was greeted by Tim in a catsuit.

A Julie Newmar, sparkly, skin-tight black body suit, with a gold belt, elbow-length black gloves, and a set of black kitten ears perched atop his head. For all of a second I just stood there, then shrugged it off and moved over to the folding table where there was a breakfast artist at work.

Jim had my two-burner camp stove on high and two silvery metal pans sitting on the blue flames. He was whipping up eggs till they fluffed and folding them into the hot butter. As I watched him tossing in a handful of shredded cheese, I saw a half dozen bowls of various fillings sitting there for these omelets.

"What's your pleasure, John?"

I looked over the topping choices. "Um, mushrooms, onion, and peppers. Both types."

Jim looked back at me. "Really? No meat?"

"Not so much for breakfast." I gave a faint yawn. "At least not this early of a breakfast. Normally I'm a coffee and toast guy till about ten o'clock, then I'm more than ready for a larger full breakfast with sausage and bacon or ham."

Katherine stepped up beside me with an empty plate. "A man after my heart. I too like 'Second Breakfast' more than a heavy meal this early."

I gave her a brief nod, then took a deep breath. "Sorry about last night. Seeing you took me by surprise, is all."

"I understand." She gave me a sad smile. "I wasn't your best friend, all those years ago. In fact, it was my job not to be your friend but to play the hard ass to all of you." She shrugged. "I've had worse reactions. At least you didn't try to take a swing at me. I've had a few do that."

I didn't want to admit to her ... or myself ... just how badly I had wanted to do that very thing last night. Seeing Nurse Gillian so soon after having to pull myself back together from those silly fireworks... .

"I hate to ask, but how are you doing John?" Kathrine gave me a quirky half-smile. "Same as before or better?"

I shrugged. "Same on some days; better on others."

"Do the focus hobbies help?" she asked as Jim flipped both of our omelets over onto the toppings with a skillful double flick of his wrists.

Taking a deep breath, I let it out between my teeth. "Yeah. The wood carving does. I've even turned it into a nice side business. I make walking sticks. I brought a few to give away."

"That's good. That's really good, John."

And there it was. That insufferable placating tone that had always set my teeth on edge. The way you would talk to an angry snarling dog, telling him he was a "good boy" and "what a good boy he had been" even while you were plotting to slip the catch pole over his throat. I had heard it from her so many times. So many many times.

"Order up!"

I held out my plate without looking above belt level. I wanted to simply crawl away and whimper. Or snarl and make them all go away.

"Thanks, Jim," I said simply, then grabbed a cold Coke out of the cooler by his feet.

Leaving everyone behind, I moved over to my folding chair and sat hunched over my food, eating in silence. I could tell it was delicious, but it could have been scrambled egg mash from an MRE meal for all that I enjoyed it. I looked up only once. The others were gathered closer together. A solid group, chatting away.

Oddly, through my mind at that moment ran the verse. "The time has come to talk of many things. Of shoes and ships and sealing wax of cabbages and kings."

That led me to think of my buddy Danial. Who I shouldn't be thinking of.

And Corporal Alex ... who I shouldn't be thinking of, but who I do think about every day.

I ate the last few bites mechanically. Chewing by habit more than hunger.

"John? John!"

Looking up, I saw that Olivia had moved to stand right in front of me. A few of the others were looking over in our direction. "What?"

"I said, if you're done, I'll take your plate."

Handing her the plate, I stepped back through the curtain behind me. Looking around, I picked up my walking stick, tightening my fingers around the fire-blackened wood till my knuckles shone white. The idea of doing anything with anyone, being around people in any way, was suddenly repellent. It felt as if there wasn't enough air out here on this old lake bed.

I ducked out the curtain and then, as quickly as I could, I was out of the tent and walking briskly in any direction. It didn't matter where or which way.

Behind me, I heard my name called, but then faintly I hear Kathrine's deeper voice telling my sister to just "let him go."

My mind full of lost faces, I walked the encampment. This mad temporary city in the middle of the white waste of a dead lake. The level of mistake I may have made in coming here this week was starting to settle in on my shoulders.

** ** ** ** ** ** **

Trying to be alone at Burning Man was like trying to keep your virginity in a Las Vegas brothel when the ladies know you're rich. At every turn, you're being offered something too good to turn down.

Walking out on the playa to look at the art, I was offered rides, cold drinks, coffee (which I happily took) and a half dozen other things. There I was in the middle of no where and someone would peddles up a three wheel bike along side me with a huge tow-behind cooler of fresh lemonade.

Somehow I ended up standing before one of the rather massive wooden art pieces. A wooden hand reach up out of a wave, all made out of two by fours lumber. My eyes took in the grain patterns. The way the individual boards had been carved together and placed so as to make the wood grain flow like water. The incredible lifelike way that the hand seemed to be trying to grab something from the sky.

It was beautiful.

Nearby was a giant oyster pail Chinese takeout box, complete with chopsticks stuck out the top. It even had the wire handle. It had the red "Thank You" and "Enjoy" stenciled on perfectly.

"This place is crazy," I muttered to myself.

Exactly how long I stood out there beside that giant hand I'm not sure. It was finally a desire to find a port-a-let that made me leave it. I walked towards the blue wall of tall boxes, hoping that these at least were not some strange art project. Or that, if it was, that it could still be used.

Opening the first one I walked up to, I stopped and stood there for a moment.

The back interior wall was covered in the classic pink bikini photo of Cheryl Tiegs.

Stepping inside, I again had to pause. It wasn't a poster. It was a painting! Someone had sat inside this port-o-let for hours and hand painted this iconic pin-up poster to a photo realistic level.

Feeling almost as if I had considered taking a piss in an art gallery, I stepped back outside and went to the one next door. No incredible art work graced these blue walls. Just a simple drawing of a bald guy with a big nose and the phrase "Kilroy was here."

Smiling, I suddenly felt a little more at home. That image and slogan had graced the walls of a great many of the latrines at so many of the bases I had been to.

Finishing up, I began to ease my way back towards camp. By now some of the group would have drifted off and I could take a few moments to double check everything. Exhaustion being what it was last night, I was sure that there would be a few things that needed redoing.

As I walked up I saw that Linda and her husband Bill - the last of our group, had finally arrived. Now we were eight. They were unloading gear from an old green Ford Explorer.

Walking up, I offered my hand to Bill. "Good morning. I'm Olivia's brother."

He gave me an enthusiastic handshake. "John, right? Sorry we got in so late; the traffic was murder from the road to the gate. This is Linda ..." He spun around pointing to his wife as she went by with a Rubbermaid. "We're about to go find Kimberly - she's my second cousin, you know -- and start helping her with her art project, just as soon as we get the last of these unloaded. Do you have any idea where your sister, Olivia might be?"

"Not a clue under the sun. She mentioned yoga." Stepping around him, I took the top plastic tote off the stack his wife was carrying. "Let me help you with that."

I about launched it into space it was so light.

Linda smiled at me. "It's mostly string lights and reflective tape. I'm going to decorate bikes as my gifting this week."

Following her, I set down the all but weightless box and went back out to help Bill with a few others. I saw that he had a folding wagon attached to the back of one of their bikes.

Bill brushed dust off his hands. "Well, Kimberly said her project was setting up out on the playa near a pair of wooden hands at ..." He pulled out a small scrap of paper. " ... around 1:30 on the map, closer to the temple."

"I've seen those hands. Um ...?" Taking a second to orient, I pointed off in the right direction. There was now, however, far too many tents, campers, RV's and roving art cars off in that direction to allow him to see. "Off in that direction. It's near a giant Chinese takeout box."

Bill grinned at that. "Excellent."

His wife came walking up, and placed a basket in the tow-behind cart. She smiled at me, but then looked to her husband. "Well, hun, ready to head out?"

He looked back at me, almost as if to ask permission, then nodded to her. "Yep, good to go. Let me grab my hat." Running over to the SUV, he grabbed out an honest to god cowboy Stetson hat. The feathered hatband had to date back to the 80's, I've not seen one since then.

I pointed at it. "Um, no feathers."

He grinned. "They said that at the gate when they saw it. These aren't real feathers, they don't shed, and I attached them in with Systemthree's T-88 epoxy. I got it from work. And ... that stuff is like 7000 PSI. So I'll bet money no one can pull one out."

"Fair enough." Nodding, I had to agree. "If you see my sister out there, tell her I will join y'all in a bit. I want to do a few things here at camp."

"Sure."

Watching them pedal away, I sighed. "Decaf, dude. Decaf."

Shaking my head, I slow walked the perimeter of the tent. I checked the stakes, making sure they were still holding. I have never used screw as anchors before with this tent. But then I had never camped in the middle of a dried lake bed before either. My anxiety was wasted though, they were all still holding rock hard. Going inside, I shifted the angle of a couple of the tent poles. Not that they were in any danger of falling over, it was simply OCD making me straighten things.

Looking things over I had to make myself not move stuff that others had left out. Years of military living given me a "everything in it's place" type mentality, and I was in the middle of as far from that thinking as I could probably find myself. With a shrug I left it and made a mental note to have a talk about keeping the camp cleaner.

Walking into my sleeping area, I did smile seeing that I had made my bed this morning. I had been too half asleep to remember doing it, but then I could still do a quarter-bounce tight bed in my sleep, and had many times. I took a moment and straightened up a bit then opened my footlocker trunk.

Here I was as messy as just about anyone not giving a shit. I had simply tossed in the odd stuff that I figured I might want to have, and then a few more things that I could do without but didn't want to.

I was currently looking for one of those.

Spotting the shine of glass, I moved a few things out the way and unburied the sealed jar. Inside the dozen cigars looked as pristine as when I put them in there a few months back. Picking it up, I turned it around till I saw that the Boveda pack was still working well, since the gauge inside read 68% humidity.

Cracking the top the smell of the tobacco came out to greet me. I rolled the jar a bit looking over the selection. The long Davidoff called out to me the way it always does, but I finally pulled two of my Oliva Serie 'V' Melanio Maduro from the jar and sealed it back up.

Fishing around, I found my leather cigar case, with the cutter and my second best lighter.

Stepping outside, I cut the cigar and toasted the end. The first puff was as delicious as the last time I had smoked one. Pulling my hat on, grabbing up my walking stick from by the door, I decided to wander in the general direction of The Man and the many pieces of art beyond him.

Seeing the crowd of people riding around on their bikes made me want to rethink this idea, but I knew that for me, today, the journey out to the playa wasn't about getting to any destination quickly. I wanted to walk and think. To organize the many "chaotic" thoughts running through my head and to try and make them line up into something like a collection of "meaningful" thoughts.

Hence the cigar.

However, I had forgotten about the general insanity that infects the people here. I hadn't managed to even reach the inner circle before I was hugged twice, given a incredibly interesting paracord bracelet, acquired a cup of espresso coffee, and been complimented on my choice of hats.

Then I somehow ended up sitting in a cigar lounge, under a shade tent, discussing cold fusion verses liquid salt reactors. I finished my Maduro, was gifted a Romeo y Julieta. Gifted back my other Oliva and spent two wonderful hours completely relaxed and mentally occupied in enjoyable conversation.

I finally had to leave, but two more people took my place and the conversation changed to Electric cars verses mass public transportation. A conversation that almost drew me back to my borrowed seat.

Walking out onto the playa, I saw the wooden hands in the distance. There was a flurry of activity not too far away. Given that I was only here due to a ticket, given to a woman, to help with that art project and I hadn't even met the people involved or lifted hammer one yet, I headed that direction.

They were building a wooden copy of the Eiffel Tower.

From what I could tell they had three of the base arches in place, and I could see that the fourth was well underway. Nearby there was what must be the second level starting to be put together.

"John! Just who we need."

Olivia was waving to me, and the rest of our camp seemed busy as bees near her. Walking over, I saw that my sister and Kathrine were running hand planers over boards. I saw Jim using a rasp across edges, rounding them over. Bill and his wife Linda were over by the guy with the saw measuring boards. Tim I looked up to see was having the time of his life running LED lighting all over the completed bottom sections.

"So, you're Olivia's brother? I'm Kimberly."

Looking behind me to see who spoke, I had to look down to find her. At maybe four foot six, I simply towered over her. But then I saw in an instant that Kimberly was the type of person who had the commanding personality to be any size and get people to do what she wanted. She was wearing bib overalls with no shirt or bra on under them, and clearly didn't care who saw what. Her blonde hair tumbled out from under a Carhartt cap that had seen plenty of use. She had sawdust for makeup and sweat for perfume. With a smile at my rather frank looking her over, Kimberly jerked her head to the pile of lumber nearby.

"Can you handle the heavy lifting?" she asked. "Or do you have any woodworking skills?"

"I mostly restore old furniture and do woodcarving for a living." I gave a shrug. "Whatever you need I can do."

She grinned. "It's too early in the week to be making me promises like that. If you can get about half that stack over to the saw by the third level I will dance at your wedding."

Looking to where she pointed I saw that a group of guys were laying out boards for what was going to be the third level of this wooden Eiffel Tower.

"How tall are we going?" I asked.

She gave a grin that was half smirk. "If I had the wood I would build it to actual scale, but as is we're shooting for one hundred and eight feet, or one tenth the size of the real one. Afraid of heights?"

I shook my head. "Only the sudden stop if you fall from them."

Leaving the others to what they were doing, I walked over to the wood pile, stripped off my shit and draped it over my walking stick. I put my hat atop it then wrapped my head in my scarf. All the activity was kicking up a good bit of dust here at the base.

Remembering so many work details from years back, I suddenly felt home again. I grabbed the boards and carried them like they were popsicle sticks, happy simply with the physical effort. The dust took the sweat pouring from me and coated me in a layer of white chalky powder.

Once that was done, I was handed a circular saw and put to cutting boards to lengths.

Task after task followed as the day drifted past. There were members of our art group that had no other task than to watch people and make sure no one got too hot. Water was handed out by them almost constantly.

Kimberly moved around the site constantly as well. She had her hands on everything going on. When she was near me I got a chance to look over and saw her looking through a series of photos, blue print copies, and what looked like a drawing on parchment. Her and the guy directing the third section, Chris, seem to have a disagreement for a moment, then he nodded and went back to work.