Crazy Weekend by Gary Soto

Author:Gary Soto
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Persea
Published: 1994-10-15T00:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER 9

Hector climbed out the side of the car that was not buckled. He was dazed, not so much from being hurt but from the roller-coaster-like ride that brought them to a halt in the orange grove. He brushed aside a limb of the orange tree that they had knocked over. He could smell the oranges that the tires had crushed and the chemical scent of the grove. And every time he took a step he could feel the sucking action of the mud under his shoes. He walked to the middle of the road to stomp the mud from his feet. He looked up the road white with fog. The car that had rammed them was gone.

“Híjole, what a ride,” Mando said as he climbed out of the car and wobbled as if he had just gotten off the Tilt-o-Whirl. “I feel dizzy.”

Uncle came out of the car. “Everyone okay?” he asked in a frightened tone.

“I’m fine,” Hector said as he went over and examined one of the tires. He put a pinkie into a gaping hole that had drained the life out of the tire.

“I’m okay,” Mando said. “I jus’ hurt my shoulder or something. I’ll be all right.”

Hector rose, slapping dirt from his hands and walked to the front of the car. Steam was rising from the hood. He opened it and all three of them looked at the engine. Flecks of green coolant were splattered everywhere.

Holding his nose with his hand, the stinky odor of steam getting to him, Uncle reached his other hand down and poked at the radiator hose. “It’s just split. It’s nothin’ big.”

He stepped back and examined the battered car. The driver’s side was crushed. The glass was busted into spider lines and lightning-like cracks. Streaks of red paint from the Buick were embedded into the paint of the Ford.

“I never did like the color,” he quipped. “The red does something for it.” He tried to pull the door open, but the handle came off in his hand. He tossed it into the orange grove. He sucked in a lot of country air and asked Hector, “Did you get a picture of them?”

“Yeah, dozens,” Hector answered. When he saw that the Buick had meant business, Hector had reached into the back seat, took his uncle’s camera, ripped off the lens cap, and shot a rapid succession of pictures, unsure if they were focused.

“I hope you got a picture of me smacking that guy,” Uncle said. He looked at the heel of his palm. It still tingled from the upper cut.

“I hope so, too. You were bad, Unc. Mando, did you see Unc whack him one?”

“How could I, ese? I was down on the floor prayin’.”

Mr. Inouye, with one of his two German shepherds, stepped toward them out of the fog. “I heard some terrible noise,” he said as he shook his head and ran a finger along the side of the Ford. “Ruined a good car. Are you fellas okay?”

“We’re okay,” Hector said.

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