The year was 1830 and quite a bit had changed for the Mexican government. For one, Mexico had elected its first president, Guadalupe Victoria, in 1824 and, since then, Mexico had gone through various boss changes. There were some instances where Mexico's boss was replaced several months after the current one took office.
America decided to take advantage of one particular day to do some more target practice with various canisters. This day was one that was still sunny within and without, but a nice breeze would pop in to make things more refreshing. This time, he had Mexico set up the canisters after they had been shot down, which she did gracefully and symmetrically, although she usually was not obsessive-compulsive.
Click, BOOM, click, BOOM, click, BOOM
He didn't need to worry about disturbing anybody or attracting their attention, since the first shots he fired had already scared off the animals and any possible person who would loiter around there. When Mexico had finished putting up the targets, she sat somewhere far away and tried to dart her pupils as fast as they would go to catch up with each bullet that was being fired. It wasn't always possible.
One animal in particular was not fazed by the loud noises. A mosquito drifted in the breeze and found her way onto Mexico's arm as she was watching the action. She chose a nice spot near a freckle to sap her life juices.
"Ow!" she said as she felt the most miniscule prick into her pores. As she swiftly looked down, she saw that the mosquito had already succeeded in sapping some vital liquid from her body, as indicated by the little pink bump. She slapped her arm but the bug was too fast. The breeze helped her escape fully nourished. America saw the dilemma in between shots and smiled to himself. A mosquito bite is not the end of the world.
America thought that he had scared the others away, but one man did not cower at the sound of a trivial gun blast.
"Howdy," said the man who walked into the scenery all of a sudden. This gentleman wore the finest leather boots that stood the test of time and outlasted even the most violent of sandstorms. He wore a cloak, except it was not as long as America's and it made the average person notice his pants a little more. He had a handlebar mustache that took on his rusty red hair color and looked perfectly trimmed despite not coming into contact with a razor for quite some time. America stopped his shooting to see where the casual greeting originated. "Allow me to pick off the last two for you." With one swift move, he took out his gun and shot the last two canisters, causing them to pop up like Mexican jumping beans.
Even though this mysterious man stole America's glory, he was more than happy to see him.
"Clyde?" he said.
"You know this man?" asked Mexico as she sat Indian-style on the sand.
"Please to meet you, young lady. The name's Clyde Haley."
"This is the guy I traveled with from the east," explained America, "That is, until he abandoned me. What gives?"
"Of course I would wander off, scamp. I'm a loner. I go where the wind calls. I am needed where the coyote howls and the woodpecker snoops voraciously, where the buffalo congregate, the cacti watch over the dry horizon and the vultures fly around until a poor, individual soul breathes his last breath and has the perspiration sucked from his body like a raisin." There was silence for a brief two seconds.
"YOU STILL ABANDONED ME IN THE DESERT, YOU ANTISOCIAL WEIRDO!"
"Okay, long story short, I got high on peyote and forgot that you even existed."
"So what are you doing around here?" America twirled his gun as if it were as light and lofty as a good feather. He trusted himself enough to do this without any negative consequences.
"I was just in the neighborhood and I wanted to see what sort of shenanigans you were pulling."
"No shenanigans, Clyde." America then walked over to Mexico, crouched down and whispered into her ear. "On our journey, I tricked him into sitting on one of those ball cacti by putting it by his pillow." America then stood up and talked in his normal voice, although it was not like the gentlemen didn't know what he was saying. "No shenanigans, Clyde. I've been a good nation and protecting the town from Indians."
"Well that's mighty brave of you."
"What have you been doing?"
"I've been wandering from place to place, but of course there's no good money in that. I'm trying to get a job as a taxidermist but I haven't convinced my potential boss since I've only been able to shoot rattlesnakes. Nobody wants a rattlesnake staring at them in their living room."
"No, they sure don't."
"Listen, in the mean time I have this important assignment and I chose it because I'm perfect at wandering."
"Yes, I believe you've said that," commented Mexico.
"What assignment is it?" asked America.
"Oh, jeez. I think I've said too much," said Clyde. "You kids behave yourselves now." Clyde left and put rested his hand on his hat, even though the wind had died down significantly since the conversation began. Neither America nor Mexico pondered too much as to the nature of this "assignment."
On the next beauteous night, the sky could be seen in its pure, almost ivory shade with the stars poking outwards, hoping to be noticed by some wayward dreamer. The darkness covered the land and made silhouettes out of the protruding objects.
"America!" said Mexico in an excited tone, "Come quick! It's beautiful!" America was busy looking in a full-body mirror by candlelight and posing with his gun. He thought, "Yeah… I'm the one who spooked that Indian today. That was me, heroic, little me."
"What could possibly be more meaningful than me loving myself?" asked America with much chutzpah.
"Just come outside! I don't want to spoil the surprise!" Growing ever impatient, she grabbed America's hand and ran off. America bent over slightly while being dragged since Mexico was a good six inches shorter than he was.
Once they reached the front porch, America's eyes widened at the sight of the night sky. Shooting stars like tiny, white bullets zipped above them and dissipated as quickly as they formed. All of a sudden, America did not seem so focused on himself anymore. The entire universe had a beauty that could not be matched by any feature on the human body.
The two sat on a pink blanket that Mexico had set outside for the occasion. They sat in silence darting their eyes back and forth to keep up with the "bullets" of God. They were both so distracted by the splendor that they almost forgot that the other was there. They began to say things that they normally wouldn't say during times that they would be verbally self-conscious.
"Could God make anything more beautiful?" asked Mexico in a dreamy voice.
"He made you, didn't he?" replied America.
"You could charm the fish right out of a pond, America." America looked at the vast expanse of the sky and back at Mexico, who in his perspective took on the appearance of an infatuating marble bust. Without even realizing it, he slipped his hand up Mexico's skirt and placed it on her knee. Mexico became startled when she felt his warm palm near her thigh. If America were any other lovesick man, she would have slapped him across the face.
"America?" she said, pretending to act surprised. She knew exactly where this was going and wanted to get off the ride before the carnie could pull the start lever. America pulled his hand away, suddenly feeling ashamed.
"I… I thought you felt that way about me."
"America, of course I do. You may be stupid sometimes but you've won me over."
"So then… why don't you want to do it?" Mexico tried hard to think of a reply to America's inquiry, since he was feeling biologically rambunctious at that moment.
"I don't think I'm ready for something as big as that. I want to save myself for marriage." Within the blink of an eye, America had one of his rare insightful moments.
"Mexico, that mosquito that bit you this morning…"
"What about it?"
"When she sucked your blood, she got to have some of you inside her. She didn't need to be bound to wedlock in order for her to do that." Mexico's listened well to America's argument, as disgusting as it was. "What's more, she got away with it. You tried to swat her, but she flew away in time. So tell me: why is it so wrong to have some of me inside of you right now?" Mexico's conservative views were becoming more loosened from hearing these words. He posed an excellent point, but still felt the guilt of sneaking a bite of birthday cake from the fridge.
"But God doesn't—"
"God isn't watching us right now. He's too busy making this beautiful spectacle in the sky to pay attention to us." By now, the shackles of conservative values had come completely off and Mexico was feeling more turned on by her ranger companion.
"I guess we can do a little something-something." She brushed some stray hair away from her face and batted her eyes. She placed her hand just inches away from America's crotch, which gave him the signal that he could finally break down the barriers to the city and infiltrate her "vital regions."
"Just you wait. I'm going to show you a whole new world and it has nothing to do with a magical carpet ride… or maybe it does." With that, the couple delved into touchy-feely foreplay, which eventually lead to the super-awesome, sugary happy fun time that was sexual intercourse.
Meanwhile, at a decent-but-slightly-delapidated ranch several miles away, Cowboy Clyde was staring at the same meteor shower with awe from the kitchen window. He sipped his coffee, which he was drinking at that hour for a reason that he did not care to specify. The pitter-patter of mice was heard from the corners of the creaky wooden floor. There were slightly more pitter-patters than several weeks ago, possibly because the mice had added to the population since then.
Down the hallway, a bedroom door opened and the eyes of another person living in that house peered out. Slowly but surely, a woman of the Native American ethnicity walked into the hallway. She wore an elaborate beaded outfit made from the skin of an animal with white fur. She tried to step quietly but the old floorboards gave away her presence. She did not necessarily need to tap Clyde on the shoulder in order to get his attention.
"Clyde," said the woman, "The Great Wakan Tanka came to me in my dreams."
"Yeah?" replied Clyde as he turned away from the blotchy window.
"It is finally time for us to go."
"What? Now?"
"The Great Spirit never lies when it comes to me. Besides, I am feeling the symptoms."
"Are you sure it's not a bad batch of beans you ate?"
"I'm positive, Clyde."
"All right. It could be intestinal distress is all I'm sayin'."
