A Million Heavens by John Brandon Page A

car trips across the desert in their station wagons. The gas station owner had thought he was making a bold change, making his own way in life, moving from predictable, peopled Albuquerque to this spirited basin outpost. The spirit was gone now. The money was gone. If the gas station owner tried to sell his house now he’d get about enough for a steak dinner and a beer. Andhe hadn’t even escaped anything. He was in the same old desert, living by the desert’s rules—still, in his heart, afraid of the desert. He’d never challenged it. He’d only taken an elk or two from the desert when an elk was offered.
    When the Audi was full up, the couple came into the store. The gal asked for the restrooms and the gas station owner pointed the way. He got a jolt of pride about once a week when a lady asked to use his restroom because he kept it spotless. The gal disappeared into the back hall and the kid stepped to the counter with cash wadded in his hand. He stood there without saying anything, squinting against the light of the big window behind the gas station owner.
    â€œWhat brings you all from California?”
    The kid glanced out toward the car. “She’s the one from California,” he said.
    â€œOh,” said the gas station owner. “What about you then? What lucky burg has the pleasure of claiming you?”
    â€œI’m from all over,” the kid said. “I guess I was born in Ohio or something.”
    â€œOhio. Never been. Is it nice?”
    â€œEvery place is the same,” the kid said. He wasn’t squinting anymore. “Some places it rains a lot and some places it doesn’t rain at all. Other than that, every place is exactly the same.”
    â€œHow are they the same?”
    â€œBunch of people acting like they know what they’re doing when really they don’t know shit.”
    â€œI never heard it put like that before.” The gas station owner stood up off the stool. His knees weren’t what they used to be. He wanted to ask the kid more questions because the kid obviously didn’t want to answer them. “Did you all move out here for work?”
    â€œI work at that observatory,” the kid said.
    The kid counted out the money owed for the gas and put coins with it. He set it on the counter and the gas station owner left it sitting there.
    â€œThat place where they listen to the stars?” he asked the kid.
    The kid nodded.
    â€œAliens were trying to get hold of me, I don’t believe I’d take that call.”
    â€œI want this too.” The kid picked up a bulky chocolate bar off a rack and put another dollar with the money.
    â€œI’m Mr. Fair,” the gas station owner said. He offered his hand and the kid set his jaw and reluctantly shook.
    The kid didn’t give a name, so the gas station owner asked him for it.
    â€œWhy do you want my name? What’s the point?”
    â€œI’m a curious old codger. I’m a curious old codger and you’re a respectful young man. When we run into each other on the street, we’ll know what to say.”
    â€œI could give you a fake name,” the kid said. “Give me a minute to think.”
    â€œEverybody’s got a name and everybody’s from somewhere. And I don’t believe you’re from Ohio.”
    The kid started unwrapping the chocolate. Without looking up, he said, “If I had a cozy spot in the world like this I’d never leave it, either. I’d stay nested in all day and wait for people with things to do to stop by so I could talk their ears off.”
    The gas station owner chuckled. “Nobody gave me this station, you know. It wasn’t a gift.”
    â€œI’m just saying, you’re really good at sitting inside it.”
    â€œThank you.”
    â€œYou got a talent.”
    â€œAnd how about you? What’s your talent?”
    â€œI’m a people person,” the kid said.
    â€œYeah,