his fist in the air. “No lo permitiré! Pepi donde está mi cellular?”
The little man patted Manuel’s pockets while the big man flailed his arms.
Shalem whirled on Manuel. “No la pondrá en peligro con sus matones.” He pushed the bigger man up against the counter and continued yelling at him in Spanish. I had a feeling I didn’t want to understand what he was saying.
The door slammed closed and I couldn’t hear any more than the tone of the heated argument. I watched as the two men shook their fists at one another, both red in the face. Dad shoved me in the van and climbed in quickly. Sue locked the doors and got out the map for a hasty retreat.
I buckled my seat belt and watched through the large plate glass windows the tumultuous scene I’d caused. I still wasn’t sure I would survive the next five and a half months. What was worse … would the people around me survive either?
Dad pulled into the traffic of Thirteenth Street and soon I couldn’t see the fight or even the building where I knew they were still yelling … affected. I doubted I would ever see this town again, which was a good thing … for the town. I would never get to look into Shalem’s hot pools of chocolate or hear his velvet exotic voice again. Another chance had slipped away.
I remembered the paper that Marisol gave me. I pulled it out of my pocket and unfolded the wrinkled paper ripped from an order pad. It had Shalem’s name, address, phone number and email. Dad and Sue were busy finding the route to the Beck’s house so I tucked the paper back into my pocket, all the way to the bottom, so I wouldn’t lose it. I knew I would never get to see him again. It wouldn’t hurt to know how the fight turned out, though. If Alaska has internet then I would email him. Just once. Just to find out.
Finding the Becks
Around one thirty we were bouncing over pot holes on dirt roads looking for the Beck house among all the soybean and corn fields that stretched for miles in every direction.
The third time Dad fishtailed on the gravel. Sue grabbed his arm and almost shoved her foot through the floorboard. Dad slowed and Sue got the blood back in her knuckles. She removed her fingers from Dad's reddened arm and put them in her lap. The stern look on her face stayed put. Tam and I kept hold of our arm rests. We were with Sue and were glad when Dad slowed down.
Tim, being the danger loving boy that he was piped up. "Hey Dad, do that again!"
Sue turned around in her seat. "Timothy Alan be quiet!"
Tam and I shot him scathing looks and he mumbled something about girls and no fun. He didn’t bring it up again.
We were ahead of schedule because of our hasty departure from the restaurant, which was a good thing because the male creed is: ‘Never ask for directions.’ My dad adheres strictly to it.
After turning around twice Sue huffed loudly, grabbed her cell phone from her purse and glaring at Dad as she pounded in the Becks’ number.
“You don’t need to call Jim, I can find their place. This state just needs a few more road signs. If this were Texas we’d already be there.”
Sue rolled her eyes. “If this were Texas, we’d be going the wrong direction.”
“Not so, sweet thing, any road that leads to Texas is the right direction.”
She shook her head. “You and Texas, I swear-” She jerked her attention to the cell. “Hello, Barb?” The honey dripped from her lips. “We’re close, but we can’t seem to find your road. Len says all he needs is a few more road signs and he’ll have us there.” She frowned at Dad who chuckled. “Yes, uh huh …” She fumbled in the glove compartment for a pen. “I’m looking for what? Oh, a graveyard … and a white church with a tall steeple?”
“Oh, I remember that.” Dad stopped the car in a clattering dust cloud, with just enough fishtailing that Tim whooped in glee. Cranking the wheel he maneuvered a T-turn and hit the gas, flying back the way we had just come. Sue
The little man patted Manuel’s pockets while the big man flailed his arms.
Shalem whirled on Manuel. “No la pondrá en peligro con sus matones.” He pushed the bigger man up against the counter and continued yelling at him in Spanish. I had a feeling I didn’t want to understand what he was saying.
The door slammed closed and I couldn’t hear any more than the tone of the heated argument. I watched as the two men shook their fists at one another, both red in the face. Dad shoved me in the van and climbed in quickly. Sue locked the doors and got out the map for a hasty retreat.
I buckled my seat belt and watched through the large plate glass windows the tumultuous scene I’d caused. I still wasn’t sure I would survive the next five and a half months. What was worse … would the people around me survive either?
Dad pulled into the traffic of Thirteenth Street and soon I couldn’t see the fight or even the building where I knew they were still yelling … affected. I doubted I would ever see this town again, which was a good thing … for the town. I would never get to look into Shalem’s hot pools of chocolate or hear his velvet exotic voice again. Another chance had slipped away.
I remembered the paper that Marisol gave me. I pulled it out of my pocket and unfolded the wrinkled paper ripped from an order pad. It had Shalem’s name, address, phone number and email. Dad and Sue were busy finding the route to the Beck’s house so I tucked the paper back into my pocket, all the way to the bottom, so I wouldn’t lose it. I knew I would never get to see him again. It wouldn’t hurt to know how the fight turned out, though. If Alaska has internet then I would email him. Just once. Just to find out.
Finding the Becks
Around one thirty we were bouncing over pot holes on dirt roads looking for the Beck house among all the soybean and corn fields that stretched for miles in every direction.
The third time Dad fishtailed on the gravel. Sue grabbed his arm and almost shoved her foot through the floorboard. Dad slowed and Sue got the blood back in her knuckles. She removed her fingers from Dad's reddened arm and put them in her lap. The stern look on her face stayed put. Tam and I kept hold of our arm rests. We were with Sue and were glad when Dad slowed down.
Tim, being the danger loving boy that he was piped up. "Hey Dad, do that again!"
Sue turned around in her seat. "Timothy Alan be quiet!"
Tam and I shot him scathing looks and he mumbled something about girls and no fun. He didn’t bring it up again.
We were ahead of schedule because of our hasty departure from the restaurant, which was a good thing because the male creed is: ‘Never ask for directions.’ My dad adheres strictly to it.
After turning around twice Sue huffed loudly, grabbed her cell phone from her purse and glaring at Dad as she pounded in the Becks’ number.
“You don’t need to call Jim, I can find their place. This state just needs a few more road signs. If this were Texas we’d already be there.”
Sue rolled her eyes. “If this were Texas, we’d be going the wrong direction.”
“Not so, sweet thing, any road that leads to Texas is the right direction.”
She shook her head. “You and Texas, I swear-” She jerked her attention to the cell. “Hello, Barb?” The honey dripped from her lips. “We’re close, but we can’t seem to find your road. Len says all he needs is a few more road signs and he’ll have us there.” She frowned at Dad who chuckled. “Yes, uh huh …” She fumbled in the glove compartment for a pen. “I’m looking for what? Oh, a graveyard … and a white church with a tall steeple?”
“Oh, I remember that.” Dad stopped the car in a clattering dust cloud, with just enough fishtailing that Tim whooped in glee. Cranking the wheel he maneuvered a T-turn and hit the gas, flying back the way we had just come. Sue
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