leave the bus,” he said. “Before it slips down more.”
Most people on the bus didn’t seem to know what was happening. They yawned and stretched and sighed as though we were just stuck in traffic. Abuelo stumbled to the front of the bus.
“We must move people off the bus,” he told the driver.
The driver just sat there in a daze, pressing the gas pedal, switching gears. He tugged at his mustache and muttered, “Don’t worry, don’t worry.”
Abuelo moved past him and tried to open the door. He pressed his body against it, but it wouldn’t budge. It must have been stuck in the mud of the embankment. Anyway, it would have only opened to the cliff’s muddy edge.
Soon other people began to realize we were trapped. Their voices grew louder, as though someone were turning up the volume with a remote control. Still, the driver insisted, “No problem.” He pressed the gas and the engine revved while the wheels just spun in place.
Without warning, the bus skidded a little farther down and threw us all sideways. That set children screaming, babies crying, an old man praying, a piglet squealing.
Abuelo and Abuelita said a few things to each other in a language I didn’t understand, then quickly gathered our bags and moved over to an empty seat on the other side of the bus, where the windows pointed high up.
Abuelita unlatched the window and slid it to the side. “Now,” she said to Abuelo.
He climbed out the window until he was grasping the edge with his hands. Abuelita took his hands in hers and leaned out the window, lowering him down slowly. Abuelita’s strength was unbelievable! When she let go, Abuelo landed on his feet in the mud below with a splat.
Next was me. I climbed to the window frame and squatted, holding my breath. The sharp metal edge of the window frame dug into my bare feet. I remembered over a month ago, balancing in my bare feet on the metal edge of our sliding glass door in Walnut Hill.
I turned around until I was facing inside the bus, looking at Abuelita.
“Let your legs out,
mi amor,
” she told me. Her face looked strong and shiny with rain or maybe sweat.
I froze. I wanted to close my eyes and click my heels three times and be home.
“Clara!” Abuelo called up. “I will catch you!”
I didn’t move. How far was the fall? I couldn’t tell. What if I broke my leg jumping out? Or worse?
Abuelita looked at me calmly. “You can do this, Clara.”
I let my breath out slowly and lowered my body outside so that I was pressed against the cold metal side of the bus and hanging by my hands. The edge dug into my fingers and I felt myself slipping. But Abuelita had a firm grasp on my wrists. She bent over, out the window, and lowered me slowly. My feet dangled in the space between the bottom of the tilted bus and the ground. The rain was drenching me and pounding the metal bus so loudly it filled my head. Exhaust fumes from the bus mixed with the smell of wet trees and something sweet—maybe
huele de noche.
“Now!” yelled Abuelo, and I felt Abuelita let go of my wrists.
I closed my eyes and slid down the slick metal. As I fell, time slowed down and I saw things, heard things. The jaguar, sleek and spotted. The white bird high in the branches. Both of them watching us from the forest. I saw the little plastic doll and the plastic houses and plastic trees sucked under the rushing water. I heard the rain drumming out a deep, low song. It was the rhythm that had pulled me past the edge of Walnut Hill. It was the deep song that seemed to come from underground, or maybe from somewhere inside myself.
And boom, I landed in Abuelo’s arms. He staggered, then stood still, holding me. I felt his heartbeat, strong at my shoulder.
When he put me down and the cold mud oozed between my toes, I remembered I was barefoot. My sandals were lying, forgotten, under the seat on the bus.
Abuelita tossed down our bags and Abuelo caught them. I expected her to follow, but no, she lowered the
Most people on the bus didn’t seem to know what was happening. They yawned and stretched and sighed as though we were just stuck in traffic. Abuelo stumbled to the front of the bus.
“We must move people off the bus,” he told the driver.
The driver just sat there in a daze, pressing the gas pedal, switching gears. He tugged at his mustache and muttered, “Don’t worry, don’t worry.”
Abuelo moved past him and tried to open the door. He pressed his body against it, but it wouldn’t budge. It must have been stuck in the mud of the embankment. Anyway, it would have only opened to the cliff’s muddy edge.
Soon other people began to realize we were trapped. Their voices grew louder, as though someone were turning up the volume with a remote control. Still, the driver insisted, “No problem.” He pressed the gas and the engine revved while the wheels just spun in place.
Without warning, the bus skidded a little farther down and threw us all sideways. That set children screaming, babies crying, an old man praying, a piglet squealing.
Abuelo and Abuelita said a few things to each other in a language I didn’t understand, then quickly gathered our bags and moved over to an empty seat on the other side of the bus, where the windows pointed high up.
Abuelita unlatched the window and slid it to the side. “Now,” she said to Abuelo.
He climbed out the window until he was grasping the edge with his hands. Abuelita took his hands in hers and leaned out the window, lowering him down slowly. Abuelita’s strength was unbelievable! When she let go, Abuelo landed on his feet in the mud below with a splat.
Next was me. I climbed to the window frame and squatted, holding my breath. The sharp metal edge of the window frame dug into my bare feet. I remembered over a month ago, balancing in my bare feet on the metal edge of our sliding glass door in Walnut Hill.
I turned around until I was facing inside the bus, looking at Abuelita.
“Let your legs out,
mi amor,
” she told me. Her face looked strong and shiny with rain or maybe sweat.
I froze. I wanted to close my eyes and click my heels three times and be home.
“Clara!” Abuelo called up. “I will catch you!”
I didn’t move. How far was the fall? I couldn’t tell. What if I broke my leg jumping out? Or worse?
Abuelita looked at me calmly. “You can do this, Clara.”
I let my breath out slowly and lowered my body outside so that I was pressed against the cold metal side of the bus and hanging by my hands. The edge dug into my fingers and I felt myself slipping. But Abuelita had a firm grasp on my wrists. She bent over, out the window, and lowered me slowly. My feet dangled in the space between the bottom of the tilted bus and the ground. The rain was drenching me and pounding the metal bus so loudly it filled my head. Exhaust fumes from the bus mixed with the smell of wet trees and something sweet—maybe
huele de noche.
“Now!” yelled Abuelo, and I felt Abuelita let go of my wrists.
I closed my eyes and slid down the slick metal. As I fell, time slowed down and I saw things, heard things. The jaguar, sleek and spotted. The white bird high in the branches. Both of them watching us from the forest. I saw the little plastic doll and the plastic houses and plastic trees sucked under the rushing water. I heard the rain drumming out a deep, low song. It was the rhythm that had pulled me past the edge of Walnut Hill. It was the deep song that seemed to come from underground, or maybe from somewhere inside myself.
And boom, I landed in Abuelo’s arms. He staggered, then stood still, holding me. I felt his heartbeat, strong at my shoulder.
When he put me down and the cold mud oozed between my toes, I remembered I was barefoot. My sandals were lying, forgotten, under the seat on the bus.
Abuelita tossed down our bags and Abuelo caught them. I expected her to follow, but no, she lowered the
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