Tales of the City 04 - Babycakes

pale-green weed that didn’t appear to shed—then decided on an alternate return route. He felt strangely exhilarated by the brisk, blue morning, and he wanted to enjoy the sensation in solitude.
They had pitched their tents along the edge of a dry creekbed at the northern end of the Mesquite Springs campground, where a kindly quirk of geography kept the neighboring RVs out of sight behind a rocky rise. As a consequence, he had trouble finding the campsite until he spotted the sand-colored gables of the Big Tent—a free-form communal space Ned had built with bamboo poles and tarps from the nursery.
Breakfast was a success. Scotty’s eggs benedict were a triumph, and Michael’s garni received a polite round of applause. When the table had been cleared, Douglas and Paul began heating water for dishwashing, while Roger and Gary repaired to their corner to divide the mushrooms into seven equal portions. After each had downed his share, Ned proposed a hike into the Last Chance Mountains. “I have something to show you,” he told Michael in private. “Something special.”
Scotty stayed behind to fix lunch while everybody else followed Ned into the hills, stopping sporadically to exclaim over a flowering cactus or an exotic rock formation. (Douglas was positive he had seen hieroglyphics at one point, but his unimaginative lover assured him it was “just the mushrooms.”)
They came to a windy plateau scattered with smooth black rocks that had split into geometric shapes. At the edge of the plateau, a six-foot stone obelisk rose—a man-made structure which struck Michael as considerably less precise than the landscape it inhabited.
Douglas stood and stared at the slack of rocks. “It’s very Carlos Castaneda,” he murmured.
“It’s very phallic,” said Gary.
“Well, don’t just stand there.” Ned grinned. “Worship it.”
“Nah,” said Gary, shaking his head. “It isn’t big enough.”
Their laughter must have traveled for miles. Ned began walking again, leading the way.
Michael caught up with him. “Was that it?”
“What?”
“The thing you wanted to show me?”
Ned shook his head with a cryptic smile.
They had yet another slope to climb, this one with a staggering view of the valley. Reddish stones arranged along the cresi seemed to be fragments of a giant circle. “It used to be a peace symbol,” Ned explained. “Remember those?”
As they scurried down the slope, Michael said: “That wasn’t it, I guess?”
“Nope,” answered Ned.
The terrain leveled out again, and they proceeded uncomfortably close to a crumbly precipice. The mushrooms were singing noisily in Michael’s head, intensifying the experience. And distances were confusing in a land where the tiniest pebble resembled the mightiest mountain.
Suddenly, Ned sprinted ahead of the group, stopping near the edge of the drop-off. Michael was the first to catch up with him. “What the hell are you doing?”
“Look!” His partner laughed. He was crouching now, pointing to the valley floor beneath them where five brightly colored tents squatted like hotels on a Monopoly board. Behind them, shiny as a Dinky toy, was Ned’s red pickup. They had circled back to the ridge above the campsite.
“Well?” asked Ned.
Michael peered down at the tiny tribal settlement and smiled. He didn’t need to ask if this was Ned’s surprise; he knew what Ned was saying: Look at us down there! Aren’t we magnificent? Haven’t we accomplished something? See what we mean to each other? It was a grand gesture on Michael’s behalf, and he was deeply touched.
Ned cupped his hands and shouted hello to a Lilliputian figure standing by the campfire. It was Scotty, no doubt, already making preparations for lunch. He searched for the source of Ned’s voice, then waved extravagantly. Ned and Michael both waved back.
After lunch, the group became fragmented again. Some withdrew for siestas and sex; others enjoyed the gentle down-drift of the mushrooms by wandering alone in the desert. Michael remained behind in the Big Tent, a solitary sultan engrossed in the silence. By nightfall, it seemed he had lived there forever.
He rose and walked toward the hills, following the pale ribbon of the creekbed through the mesquite trees. It was much cooler now, and fresh young stars had begun to appear in the deep purple sky. After a while, he sat down next to a cactus that was actually casting a shadow in the moonlight. A breeze caressed him.
Time passed.
He got up and