Calmly and with an air of self-possession, Rosa said, “It needs some water.”
He nodded. “Ah, radiator. My Papá’s has a slow leak as well.” Within seconds, he had popped the hood, unscrewed a cap, and poured water from a plastic bottle into the opening until it was full, then screwed it back on tightly, all with Rosa and I leaning over the hood and watching his every move.
“Need gas, too? I’m happy to help. No hay problema.” Looking down at her hands, he added, “You don’t want to get those lovely hands all dirty.” When he smiled, two dimples appeared, giving him a boyish look.
Rosa glanced at me while she spoke to him, “I think we do. The line is below the half-way mark. But how much do you think we need,” she paused, “to get to Oaxaca?”
“The state border or the city?” he asked, for Oaxaca was an entire state and Oaxaca City its capital in the center. We knew we were close to the state border, but the city itself was quite a bit beyond that.
“The city?” she asked, still looking at me.
“Oh, you’d need to fill up a couple of times. It’s a good seven to eight hours from here, maybe more in this old thing.” He began to walk around the truck, kicking each tire and examining them closely.
“Maybe we could get a bus in Tuxtla?” I said to Rosa, but before she could answer, the dimples were looking directly at me.
“Would cost you a lot more than putting gas in this old thing. A lot more—but then you could sit back and relax.” His eyes swept back to Rosa, until I spoke.
“How much would you give us for the truck?” I asked curtly.
“¿Qué? What did you say?” he said, stepping back in surprise. “You in some kind of trouble?” He looked first at Rosa and then back at me.
“No, no,” Rosa said. “My crazy sister is trying to be funny. Our father would kill us if we sold this old thing. He barely trusts us to drive it to visit our abuela. But she is sick, and we want to get there as soon as possible.” Shooting a warning glance at me, she reached in her waistband and pulled out a small multicolored coin purse attached to a string that was fastened to her pants. Rosa was hiding money, too!
She handed him a few bills. “If you could put in as much as this will buy for now, we will manage.”
He looked at the money and nodded.
We sat in the car while he pumped the gas, and when he finished, Rosa reached out the window to hand him another bill. “Gracias. Thank you so much for your help. God be with you.”
Shaking his head, he backed away from the window. “No. Absolutely not. It was my pleasure,” and the dimples flashed again. “Be careful, señoritas.” Then he climbed into his orange truck and pulled away as Rosa started up the engine. We watched the needle move until it pointed all the way to full.
“How much did you give him?” I asked.
“I don’t think that much. I’m not sure. Dios lo bendiga.” She shifted into drive and stepped on the gas. “You see, la Virgen is with us!”
“Maybe so,” I answered, but I wondered how generous “Dimples” would have been if Rosa had a wide nose and a few missing teeth.
How vividly I can recall that feeling of freedom and endless possibility as Rosa and I drove along that afternoon. Our gas tank was full. We each carried some money. And we were on our way to Oaxaca! I felt like an adult, grown up and in control. For me, all fear and uncertainty had disappeared, as well as any sense of regret. Only when I thought of the boys did I feel a twinge of sadness, yet I was certain we would be together again one day. At that moment, I felt a joy I hadn’t known since before Papá disappeared.
After passing by Tuxtla Gutiérrez in the distance, I had settled back, closed my eyes, and dozed off for a bit. Suddenly Rosa’s panicked voice woke me, “Which way do I go? I just passed a sign. I should have looked more closely!”
Ahead the road split, and it was coming upon us fast. “Stay on the one that seems straighter!” I cried. She did, and we continued on, both of us leaning forward again, peering at the road, at the fields flitting past beside us, and at the hills in the distance.
Less than an hour later, we saw the sign for Arriaga and realized our mistake. We had curved left, and now instead of crossing the Chiapas-Oaxaca border, we would be arriving in Arriaga, a city in Chiapas known mostly for La Bestia, the Beast, a deadly cargo train that desperate Central American migrants used to hitch a ride through Mexico on their way to el norte. Heavily patrolled by both police and ruthless gangs, the Beast was a dangerous free ride toward either a new beginning or a tragic end.
“Shouldn’t we turn around?” I suggested, as Rosa pulled to the side of the road and rolled to a stop.
She sat for a moment and then said, “No. This might be better after all. If Tito is looking for us, if he found someone to drive him or notified police, they would be looking in Tuxtla and beyond, heading toward Oaxaca.” As her own words seemed to sink in, she sighed and settled back into her seat, relaxed and relieved. Then she bowed her head, blessed herself, and said a silent prayer.
When she finally turned to me, I said, “Your Virgin?”
“Of course—nuestra Virgen,” she said with a smug smile, our Virgin, then shifted into gear, scattering rocks as she pulled back onto the road.
I wanted to volley back, “Not just two stupid girls who
