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were eating their lunch and our chances would be good they wouldn't be looking for us. The next half-hour our thirst grew, and the assumed danged had decreased. Houses on one side of the street, the hill on the left, the store at the end. The road was clear. We had five Coke bottles between us. this was the tricky part, running with glass bottles. we were more concerned about breaking the bottles and loosing our two cents then cutting ourselves with broken glass. We were copper mining fo rtwo cents apiece and a cold Coke to share. The hills behind my grandmother's house were next to explore. Rocks were the only thing that could live on his heap of brown earth. Our walks around those hills were without water, hates or sunscreen. We were on our own in the hot sun. In the afternoon the temperature could easily reach over one hundred degrees. Our skin would turn red and then in a few days turn dark. The more sunburns we got, the less sun burned our skin became. Climbing the hills was not easy with our leather-soled shoes because they would slip on the rocks. We hiked the hills looking for bones. We talked about what we would do if we ever found a body. The west was full of stories of how miners would die of thirst and beside him laid all the gold he searched so hard to find. Hours were spent going over the hills, looking down dry washes always being careful that a flash flood was 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 and 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 pay outside. We would go in search of my 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 hands in hers. Each finger was washed carefully one by one. Her touch awakened my 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 was the color of the dirt we had played in, then lighter, and finally clear. My grandmother wasn't finished. I waited. She brought a towel to dry my hand. The towel was worn, frayed and all the original color faded. She dried my hands as she washed them, touching each finger individually. First the tops,