THE ENCOUNTER cont - page 12

The Encounter cont.

I continued on for several more bloc s and was approaching the eastern end of town. The last relic before the range land and hills was a Shell gas station - my last hope. I passed a junk yard, and hanging on a rope that stretched from one rusted and wrecked vehicle to another, was an old long-john washing, kicking in the breeze. Issuing forth from one of the old cars was a joy filled voice, heartily singing a happy old-fashioned song. All this made me smile, and when a trucker honked out a greeting I was able to laugh and wave back. I was not alone in Ash Fork any longer.

The Shell gas station was open. I walked in and asked the men who were staring at me, "May I paint in your field today?"

Nobody answered, they just stared.

"Do you have food and pop dispensers?" I asked.

"We have sodas," one of the men replied.

"May I fill my canteens and use your rest room?"

Again they just stared, so I took that for yes, thanked them profusely and took advantage of the amenities. I walked out to the field where I donned a paint covered Hawaiian muumuu, a flower covered sun-hat and began to wallow in paint, finishing paintings through which I had previously rushed.
Off and on throughout the day vehicles which I presumed to be local traffic slowly cruised by me. One in particular, a sleek, new white Buick Electra, must have driven past ten times. Something about me struck these people as odd.

The gas station closed as the sun began to drop close to the hills. I packed up and trudged back to the "bus depot" where I set up my canvas stool, sat down and looked longlingly at the cafe', wishing it would open. To add insult to injury, behind the greasy window I could see the family who ran the cafe; eating their dinner at the counter. As I sat alone and cold I was tantalized by the aroma of their fried onions.

The sun set early, and with darkness came unexpected high desert cold. Grimy, hungry and shivering from the drop in temperature - I was not happy.

Again the white Buick appeared. Slowly it drove up onto the sidewalk and parked beside me.

"Hello Lady. Y'all waitin' fer a ride?" asked the man in the Buick.



G.B. and the Strange Canadian Painter Lady by Charlotte Madison and Nana Cook - copyright 1994