I
Coming To
I woke hard. The sunlight was pouring into the room. The
wooden floor of the cabin was broken down and lying on the
floor， tilted against the foot of my bunk.
I still had my boots on and my pants were bound up on my
legs. My ribs ached. I d been kicked.
Except for the ringing in my ears and the buzzingof a huge
fly above my face， the cabin was quiet. Too quiet， like an
abandoned mine shaft or an empty prairie church on a
weekday afternoon.
The August sun was hot and I didn t want to open my eyes
again. I didn t want to wake up and look around， didn t want
to start thinking. My money was near gone. My cattle were
dying of thirst. My feed shack had been burned to the
ground. I could remember all of that， while I was trying to
stop the bed from spinning and rolling.
My name is Rezo. My name is Rezo Strange and I live in
South Dakota. My name is Rezo， and if l open my eyes again，
I ll go blind from the light. I brought the hairy knuckles of my
left hand to the part of my right temple just above the eyes.
The fresh scabs on my knuckles scraped against the dried
blood in my eyebrows.
I risked it and opened my eyes a crack. That was enough.
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