Arizonian Pride

Arizonian Pride Chapter 9

When the dust settled, a forlorn scene was revealed. The ranch had been badly damaged at the front. Various building parts and pieces of destroyed vehicles lay scattered around the site of impact. In the midst of all the chaos was a limp body sprawled on the hot, dry sand, some feet from the ranch's entrance. It was the body of the very same person who had fought to keep the building standing.

The elderly Navajo man gasped. He raced to the lying body, feet moving before his brain could hold him back. His best friend had done his best, and what's done is done.

"Randy. RANDY!" O'Malley screamed. He knelt down, grabbed his ex-colleague by the shoulder and started shaking him vigorously. "Randy, talk to me, please!" Blood was oozing out of his wrinkly, grey-haired head, covering more than half of Randy's body. It drenched most of his simple clothes in deep red. Tears started spilling out of O'Malley's eyes.

The man on the ground coughed and sputtered like the engine of a worn-out harvester, but he did not say a word. Wearily, he opened his grey eyes and gazed into his best friend's large hazel ones. It was the shade of yellowish-green that matched, so complementary, the traditional turquoise jewellery worn around his neck and wrists.

"Ch-chief…" Randy muttered with as much energy he has left. He coughed again.

"You stupid old codger!" O'Malley cried so hard in between sobs he almost choked on his saliva. "Why the hell did you do that? Look at you now!"

Randy was breathing hard, but he kept talking.

"D-Did what? Defend m-my property and my rights? *Cough* Yeah, I did. I did what said I would. I always do."

"Y-you r-risked your bloody life to do it! Don't you realise how stupid and DELIRIOUS it is?!" Words, unfiltered, sputtered out of Ralph O'Malley's mouth. Poise and tact are the last things on his mind right now.

"R-Randy…" O’Malley sniffed. He looked around. The paramedics have already arrived and have begun preparing their equipment. "S-stay with me, please. Y-y-you're best friend. You're my best man and best worker for AGES. Don't force me to forget you - I can't forget you!"

"No one's asking you to, laddie. No one is," Randy chuckled, as if it was the most foolish thing he has ever heard his best friend say.

"I CAN’T!" O'Malley wailed, clutching Randy tight.

Randy coughed again. He was aching immensely all over, but he kept his gaze locked onto the two familiar greenish pools of compassion that he had long known.

"R-Ralph O'Malley… I know I'm not gonna make it. You're my best friend, too. I won't forget 'cha, I promise."

O'Malley let go of Randy's shoulder and grasped his bloody hand. Tears are still streaking down his long, golden-bronze face, but he suddenly chuckled.

"I… I have never once came across a Western Tale where a white man and a Native American man are best friends," O'Malley chuckled in a low voice.

"W-Why?" Randy chuckled in low voice. "You wanna be MORE than best friends?"

O'Malley smiled. "...... I don’t mind, if you can give me children. *Sniff!* You know how badly I've always wanted children of my own."

"Then I’ve got baaaaaaad news for ya, laddie: I'm out of your league."

And Randy shut his eyes forever. A loud cry of despair was heard as the paramedics try to pry the embracing man away from the body.

***

"This wasn’t supposed to happen. Things like this were NOT supposed to happen!"

"Well, honey, they’ve happened."

"All we wanted to do was shoo him out of the place, not kill him!"

"I know, darling. I know."

Sunday morning. Church. Muffled voices emerged from a small room behind the wooden coffin. It was supposed to be a moment of silence for the fallen veteran, but the weeping and sniffing of everyone present made it anything but silent. Texans are typically traditional, conventional people. Everyone Randy had ever came in contact with, believed he deserved a full, honourable memorial after everything he had fought for before his untimely end.

"Mum? Dad? Grandpa? I’m gonna go check on Malachi…" Chelsea mentioned, and headed out of the beautifully stained-glassed room.

Outside, in the small food stalls just by the church entrance, sat the young Muslim teen, weeping into his folded arms. Dressed in all white, he was easily spotted by his tomboyish sister. With neither the appetite to eat nor drink, nobody, not even the chef, in the food stall bothered to comfort him.

"Malachi? Mal? Are you alright?"

No answer. Only sniffles. Chelsea ran over and sat beside him.

She took a deep breath. “"Hey…" she began. "Look, I understand that you're a Muslim and you're not allowed to enter church but we can make an exception for you this time…..."

Malachi shook his buried head. "It's okay, Chels. I don’t have to. Please go. I'll be fine." He made a gesture with his hand, shooing her away.

"I'm serious - we're not that strict about this. We're family, after all. Just this once, it's ok……"

"I'm fine. I'll be fine. Please, just leave me alone," Malachi shook his head again.

"You sure? You’re gonna be all alone out here for the next coupla hours…..."

"I said I’ll be FINE, Chelsea!" He snapped and looked up at her. "I KNOW how to be ok alone. Nobody ever asked me if I'll be ok alone before."

"......"

"Except Randy."

Malachi broke down in heavy sobs. Chelsea walked away dejectedly, unable to push the matter any further.

Serafina was at the funeral, too, sobbing her eyes out. In her hand was a crumpled piece of paper. The boy band fan wept as she ran to her grandfather’s arms. Her tears wet the front of his blue, neatly buttoned-down shirt.

"Grandpa… Why did he have to go?" she wailed. "Now I can’t even give this drawing I going made for him. He asked me to make it for him so that he could hang it up on his wall! He said he just wanted to see a lil' more colour in his new room. WHY???"

Melvin embraced his youngest grandchild ever-so-lovingly. "Dearie, I really don't know why. Can I see that drawing you made for him? It must look very pretty since you made it."

Serafina obediently unravelled the paper for him. It was a coloured drawing of Randy's favourite Classic Rock n' Roll band: The Beatles. Melvin took it, looked at it for what seemed like forever, and sighed deeply. It wasn't a very good drawing, to be honest, as it was only a child's doodly impression of the "best band of all time", but anything a granddaughter makes is beautiful.

Melvin kept quiet. He did not compliment nor lecture Serafina on her art skills. The Beatles. Oh, how he missed the good old days just like Randy did.

Serafina sniffed. "Where's the guy that Randy used to work for? The… the Native guy. I thought I saw him this morning."

Melvin shrugged. "I don’t know, dear. Maybe he left early."

Raymond stood near Randy's coffin. After a few moments of staring speechlessly at the lifeless body, he bolted away to find his parents.

William and Susan were still locked in their embrace. Raymond cleared his throat and carefully picked a point to begin.

"M-mom? Dad? Why did they have to tear Randy's ranch down? It was a beautiful place there, man! I would go back there next summer if I could!"

The parents looked at each other, hesitating. William took the initiative.

"Son, this is not going to be easy to hear, especially if it's coming from us. But your mom and I… well, after a lengthy discussion, we've decided that the time has come for you and your siblings to know EVERYTHING."