Kay from Iraan

Lately, I've been driving east on Interstate 10 (toward El Paso), pulling off into the desert somewhere between the Sonoita/Patagonia exit and Benson. I've found a wonderful place to park the car, read (Faulkner's The Unvanquished; William S. Burrough's Queer), and watch the freight trains wind through the desert and go right past me. It's a bit like having a miniature train set in the living room and watching it like a kid on Christmas day. Only the trains are real and the boxcars big.

Today, for the first time in my life, I actually fantasized about jumping a train and taking off for a joy ride (like in the movies! yeah really).

Also, I go to the desert to write. I'm determined this year to finally finish a tome I've been writing for too many years, titled "Thank God for Mississippi." More about it in another post.

Another reason I've been heading out east from Tucson is to eat at Reb's cafe in Benson. I drove out there on New Year's Day (trying my best to forget how alone and sad I was), and pulled in to Reb's for some grub. I staked out a booth in the front of the cafe, right behind two weekend bikers (I gathered she was Scandinavian, and he was probably an accountant by day).

I loved this cafe (the anti-Denny's), and had one of the best homemade bacon cheeseburgers in many years. In fact, the last hamburger this good I ate at Miss Annie Mae's cafe back home in Seedtick.

So, I make up reasons to go back to Reb's, and about five cheeseburgers later I'm still an enthusiastic supporter.

Today, I ordered "to go" for the first time (big mistake: they forgot the mayo and the bun was soggy along the perimeter; I still savored it as if it were the Last Supper). While the burger was being prepared, i took a seat at this little two seater booth, right behind this wizened old lady who asked me "where to get gas, I need gas."

Replying that I wasn't a local denizen, she asked several others before returning to me, noting the book i was trying to read, Faulkner's The Unvanquished.

"I'm a teacher" she blurted while stuffing the last bite of blueberry pie in between her thin, wrinkled lips. "I'm Kay, and I read too."

Anyway, i was in the mood to converse, and she was a wonderful character, the kind you find in cafes like Reb's. She noted my accent, and I noted hers. After telling her I was from Arkansas, she volunteered that she was from west Texas, near Midland-Odessa. I added that I was probably one of few people alive who actually likes that drive between El Paso and Midland-Odessa.

I asked Kay what town she was from. She said "Ira Ann." I though she said Ida Ann, which reminded me of the Methodist choir director back in Seedtick. But, apparently there were two people -- Ira and Ann -- who owned a lot of land and formed a town. I asked how they spelled it.

"It's Iraan, but not to be confused with I-ran." It's "Ira Ann."

Then she told me she was Christian Scientist, and how she was walking the dog the other day and said "hello, how are you doing" to another walker who replied "none of you buisness lady." Kay then went home and cried, nursing her hurt feelings all day long.

I began to feel a "baggage trip" comin' on, so I accepted a piece of paper with her e-mail address, and left, happy to have met Kay from Iraan, the kind of lonely little ol' lady I'd expect at an ol' timey cafe.

I live for moments like these, and besides, I'd have never heard of Iraan, Texas, had I not started talking to Kay.