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not coming. Behind boulders could have been cattle rustlers hiding, Indians could be waiting with bows and arrows but the lure of gold was strong. As we hiked, all the stories of the west were alive with us.

The heat made everything pinch. My shorts, too small gathered up between my legs. At the end of the day the hot weather made the skin between my legs red and sore. Chaffed skin burned, knees bruised and bloody from falling on the rocks. I would use a pieces of toilet paper and dab at the blood. First red then pink absorbed into the paper. my arms were streaked where water had run down them. The dirt and scrapes were recording our hot day outside. Our play was our work and it was giving us an education.

When the heat was over a hundred degrees it became impossible to play outside. We would go in search of our grandmother. She would take us one by one to the bathroom sink and wash our hands. She waited till the water was warm testing the temperature with her own hand. She didn't hurry by using cold water. My hands were put under the water and I watched as it ran over each finger. It became a river and then a waterfall. She next took a bar of soap and held my hand in hers. Each finger was washed carefully one by one. Her touch awakened by senses. It brought me to life. I wanted the dirt to never come off. i wanted it to stain my skin so I could stay at the sink with my grandmother. The color of the water let me know how much time I had before the faucets would be turned off. At first the water was the color of the dirt we had played in, then lighter and lighter, and finally clear. My grandmother wasn't finished. I waited. She brought a

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