by Roger Bruner
“Kim,” Charlie said after several moments of dead silence, “I may not appreciate the way you’ve expressed yourself,”—did I swear without realizing it?—“but at least you’ve been honest. I respect that. If you didn’t receive the messages about the project change—and I believe you—I’m sorry. I’m sure Rob will gladly refund your money and get you on the next flight back to Atlanta. We’ll pay for your excess, overweight baggage, too.”
I wondered if somebody might laugh at Charlie’s last remark, but nobody did. I guess they were all still too terrified of being sent home. I had to hand it to Charlie. His offer was not only kind, but one he didn’t have to make.
I noticed a strange look on Rob’s face while Charlie was talking, though. I couldn’t quite interpret it. But then he caught me off guard with an understanding smile.
“Absolutely, Kim,” Rob said. “Just say the word if you want to go home.”
I hadn’t missed his use of the word if, even though Charlie hadn’t expressed any doubts about my leaving.
I looked around the ballroom at all the kids waiting for me to “say the word” and head for the door. If Rob hadn’t rebuked the crowd so severely, they might have broken out chanting, “Say the word, Kim! Say the word! Go home, Kim! Kim, go home!”
Suddenly aware of that gentle touch on my back again, I twisted around and looked at the girl behind me. She was whispering something I couldn’t quite hear. But I knew it wasn’t “Go home, Kim.”
I might not have had the heart to stay if she’d turned against me. Despite my inability to read her lips, her eyes said, “Stay.”
Although I sensed God trying to encourage me through her, my blatantly negative behavior before this group of fellow believers didn’t make me feel any better. My disfluency, conspicuously absent during my selfish and thoughtless tirades, showed up now in full force. Lord, please help me get through this.
“Rob, uh, Rob and Charlie, thank … thank you. As much as I … as much as I want to go home now, and …” I started coughing before I could point at the other kids and add “as much as I think they want me to.” Okay, Lord, I’ll tone it down.
“I don’t think God … I don’t think God wants me to go home. I’m shocked to hear myself say that. As much as I might prefer evangelism to construction and Ciudad de Plata to Santa María, God has brought me here for a reason. Maybe He did it this way because He knew I wouldn’t come if I had any inkling of what I was getting into.”
I stood up, turned around, and faced the team members sitting behind me. Although they appeared to be listening, I wondered what they were thinking.
“I want to be part of this team. I didn’t expect to do construction in Mexico, but I want to help rebuild Santa María and evangelize the villagers in the process. I don’t believe in coincidences. So—if you haven’t caught on yet—I’m going to Santa María with you.”
I’d become so engrossed in sharing what was on my heart that my disfluency disappeared by the time I reached the middle of the second paragraph. Maybe sooner.
“I’ve made mistakes, and I don’t expect to become everyone’s favorite girl by tomorrow, but I’ll try to do better than I’ve done today. I hope you’ll forgive me for causing so many problems. If you don’t do it today or tomorrow or next week, that’s okay. But sometime between now and eternity.”
In a book or a play, on TV or in a movie, a suddenly humbled and forgiving group of Christian young adults would break out in enthusiastic applause—maybe give a standing ovation—at a moving speech like mine. But the only response was a silence so strong I feared it would last throughout the evening and beyond.
Only God knew how far beyond.
chapter eight
Hello. I’m Aleesha Jefferson.” She spoke with a boldness that an often-shy person like me hadn’t expected. “Would you like to eat with me, Miss Kim?” Although nobody had said anything overtly negative to me after Rob’s call down, no one else had expressed the least interest in my company.
Aleesha’s eyes twinkled with a special kindness that made her invitation sound as sincere as her earlier encouragement. She wanted my company as I much as I wanted hers. I wasn’t blind to the fact she was the only African American in the room other than a few of the servers setting up the buffet table, and I knew some Christians weren’t as … accepting of their non-Caucasian brothers and sisters as I was.
I raised my right hand to give her a high five, but she extended hers in a handshake. In a compromise move, we knocked knuckles and giggled.
“I hope they don’t feed us pizza, Aleesha. I’ve already had my fill of that today.” I explained about getting sick at the airport.
“My word, Miss Kim! You’re wearing enough pizza on that sweatshirt to have a bedtime snack every day for the next two weeks.”
“Aleesha, how long are you going to keep calling me Miss Kim?”
“Only till you change your name to something else. Then I’ll address you as ‘Miss Something Else’ …” She winked at me and then laughed. “I’ve been taught to address my elders that way.”
I gave her a “you think I’m older than you?” look.
Shaking her head playfully, she added, “And people I meet for the first time.”
“Well, Miss Aleesha, just don’t give me any special treatment.”
“You’re special to God, aren’t you? So you’re special to me. I love to tease, though. You might as well get used to it. I’m just warming up.”
“Deal,” I said, extending my hand at waist level, expecting a handshake. She held her hand up in the air—palm out—ready for a high five. We knocked knuckles again.
After sitting down side by side at one of the empty dinner tables, we started giggling over the various pieces of silverware we couldn’t figure out a use for. Didn’t this hotel know all but two of us were just teens?
Five minutes later, we moved to opposite sides of the table. Not because the closeness was bothering us. We were both getting sore necks staying turned toward one another.
Our whole meal was fun. Although Betsy Jo had always been easy to talk with, she could be reserved at times. Aleesha wasn’t like that, and she didn’t act the least bit stuffy.
“What’s your favorite book?” she asked.
“Gone with the Wind,” I said. “Book and movie.” I hoped that would gain some brownie points with her.
“Hmm. Bottom of my list.”
“Why’s that?” I was incredulous. “After all, that lady who played Mammy—I forget her name—won an Academy Award for her part. First black woman to do that.”
“Maybe you haven’t noticed the demeaning way Margaret Mitchell portrayed black people.”
“Uh, sorry about that. But I dream of being Scarlett O’Hara searching for my Rhett Butler.”
She smiled. “No problem. You have a right to your own perspective, even if it’s off-color.” That set off a lengthy giggling spell.
“I have something in common with Scarlett,” I told her.
“What? Chasing after married men?” Man, did she keep a straight face when she said that.
“No, ma’am. I always think in terms of tomorrow.” It seemed like time for a change of topic. “Why did you come on this trip?”
“It’s my graduation present.” She grinned. “I already had everything else I wanted.” “Oh? You have a car?” “Nope. You?”
“Recent model Mustang convertible. I wanted a ‘Vette, though. Do you have an iPod or MP3 player of some kind?”
“Oh, you mean MVP3—the third Most Valuable Player?” She cackled. “That means no. I do all the singing I need to hear. But you have one?”
“Yes.” I hesitated. I hadn’t intended for this conversation to become a bragging contest that I seemed to be winning.
But if I felt uneasy about it at first, I shouldn’t have. Aleesha was eating this conversation up. She’d probably never been around such a spoiled white girl before, and she was making the most of it.
“Go on, girl,” she sai
d. “What’s next? A cell phone? Don’t have one of them, either, although everyone else in my family does. Even the baby.”
My tongue must have drooped halfway to the floor.
“Don’t go getting caught up in racial stereotypes, girl. I didn’t say ‘my baby.’ I was talking about my kid sister. I’m not getting married until I’m fifty—if then—and not having kids till I’m seventy. By then it won’t matter whether I’m married yet or not.”
She chuckled to herself, and I hoped she couldn’t hear my sigh of relief.
“Aren’t you going to ask why everyone in my family has a cell phone but me?”
I wasn’t used to conversations that moved along so quickly. Talking with Aleesha was anything but boring.
“Uh, wh—?”
“Because I’m so shy. I hate to talk. That’s obvious, isn’t it? The way you’ve had to drag every word out of me …”
I thought I’d fall off the chair. Instead, I knocked over both glasses of iced tea.
“Kim, you haven’t asked about a computer.”
We sat there mopping up the tablecloth with our fancy cloth napkins.
“That’s because I don’t have one. You do?”
“A laptop of my very own.”
“Oh.” I tried not sounding jealous, but I hated sharing the family computer with Dad.
“But, Kim, there’s still one thing you haven’t asked me about ….”
What? A boyfriend? I had too many to say I had one. I wasn’t going to guess, so I just looked at her. “Ask if I’m happy.”
“Aleesha, are you …?” I couldn’t imagine this upbeat girl having a negative answer.
“I told you I have everything I need, but I never said I was talking about stuff. My family is pretty well-to-do, but we do our best to put God first, others second, and ourselves last. And unnecessities are at the bottom of our list of interests. Who wouldn’t be happy living a life like that?”
“Amen!” But then I sighed. It sounded like my life might be missing something.
chapter nine
I can’t remember what was on the buffet, but it wasn’t pizza and there was a lot of it. We felt like two deer a taxidermist had gotten hold of by the time we finished.
Before Rob and Charlie herded us out to our buses, Rob asked if anyone was into weightlifting. He didn’t offer an explanation, and Aleesha and I were probably the only ones who understood the question, even though I’d confessed publicly to the mortal sin of excess baggage.
“Don’t drop any of that.” I laughed at the muscular volunteer. When he began lifting the first of my suitcases, he strained and grunted so convincingly I thought he’d hurt himself. “Those already cost a baggage handler at Dallas/Fort Worth a couple of his toes today,” I jibed once I knew he was okay.
The stony silence made his feelings clear. He would have preferred helping somebody else—somebody less … troublesome. Somebody more normal. Someone more deserving of help.
But I’d meant it when I said I didn’t expect forgiveness today. Good thing.
“Wha—?”
I was starting to sit down near the front of the bus when Aleesha pulled me by the scruff of the neck down the long aisle to the very back.
I gave her a funny look. “Why here?” I thought she’d come up with some rollicking explanation that would leave me coughing from laughing so hard.
“It’s just, you know, quieter back here. We can talk without being self-conscious.”
Huh? A serious response? Or was it? I couldn’t imagine Aleesha ever feeling self-conscious.
The question mark must not have evaporated from my face yet.
“Kim, I saw Mr. Rob getting ready to sit across the aisle from you up front. I thought you’d feel more comfortable not having him close enough to eavesdrop.”
I nodded without remembering to thank her for doing that. Not even Betsy Jo would have been as thoughtful.
“So, why did you come on this trip?”
“Not for my original reason.” As honest as we’d been so far, I wouldn’t attempt to hide my faults now.
“Oh?”
“Yeah. To make a long story only slightly shorter, my parents were pushing me to get a summer job. I just wanted to hang at the pool and the mall.”
“Tough senior year?”
I would never believe Aleesha wasn’t a mind reader.
“I know you’re right about that, girl.” Or was it “You know …”? I’d overheard black girls at school use the expression. If it was good enough for them …
“So this mission trip would be easier than working?” Her eyes laughed at me.
I shook my head and chuckled. “I didn’t say that, Aleesha. But I didn’t think a job and a mission trip would both fit in the same summer. That’s what I tried convincing my parents of, anyhow.”
“Did it work?”
I giggled. “Yes and no. I got an involuntary, seven-day gig doing volunteer work with migrant children at the House of Bread. That’s an outreach ministry of my church.”
“Seven days? It took you that long to finagle your way out of it? I’m gonna have to give you lessons, girl.”
“Quitting was actually my parents’ decision. They did it for me.” I couldn’t hide my resentment.
“Huh, girl? That’s what you wanted, wasn’t it?”
“Surprisingly enough, no. Before the first day was over, I fell in love with those migrant kids. When I went to their camp and saw how they were living, I wanted to rescue them from that lifestyle. You know?”
She nodded. “But you couldn’t take them home with you like so many stray kittens and puppies, huh?”
“No. All I took home was a lot of guilt for being so much better off than they were—that and a burning desire to improve the quality of their lives.”
“You a do-gooder, Kim? No offense, but I wouldn’t have taken you for one.”
“Nobody else would, either. I’m too self-centered. But everybody who knows me well knows I go all out if I want something enough.”
I looked Aleesha in the eye. She was listening intently.
“But I couldn’t accept being powerless to help the migrants. To make real changes. So I got depressed and poured myself deeper and deeper into my work with those kids. I went to the HOB earlier every day and stayed later. I stopped wearing good clothes, jewelry, and makeup to work with the kids, and I quit worrying about my appearance at all.”
“That doesn’t sound like you, girl.”
“I almost stopped eating, too. I could barely sleep for thinking about those kids getting stuck in the same endless cycle their parents were in.”
Aleesha didn’t say anything. I’d already discovered that silence on her part was significant.
“So Mom and Dad met with the director of the House of Bread and decided—without talking to me about it—to retire me before my volunteer work did any permanent damage to my psyche.”
“You resented that …?”
“Very much so.”
“You still resent it?”
I hesitated. Maybe resent wasn’t the right word, even though I’d thought it was a few minutes earlier. “At least now I can accept the fact they did the only thing they could do. They couldn’t have talked me into quitting, and pushing at me might have put me over an edge I was already dangerously close to. They had to do their thing as parents and make a decision, no matter how I felt about it.”
“You seem okay now.”
Although her statement was positive, she seemed to want confirmation of my current emotional state.
“I am, thanks. Mom and Dad sent my best friend, Betsy Jo Snelling, and me to the beach for a long weekend of R & R. They hoped that would make me forget what I’d gotten so distraught over. I didn’t expect it to help. At first, the idea of sun and surf, Thrasher’s french fries, and crab imperial at Phillips by the Sea seemed frivolous, but the change of scenery helped, and I finally began unwinding.”
“So you went back to the way you used to be?”
Regardless of how she’d worded the question, Aleesha obviously wanted me to say no.
“I came home ‘normal’ again, if that’s what you mean; but the House of Bread changed me. I’ll never be the same carefree, uncaring person I used to be.”
Aleesha nodded thoughtfully.
“You asked why I came on this trip. I hoped I could make a permanent difference in Silver City. In fact, I convinced myself that God was going to use me in a mighty way. I was starting to get bigheaded about it, too, if that makes any sense.”
“And now that God has humbled you by sending you to tiny Santa María instead …?”
“I’d better start putting today’s lessons about faith, obedience, and flexibility into practice.”
chapter ten
Santa María turned out to be at least as far from civilization as Rob and Charlie told us and infinitely harder to reach than they had imagined.
Since only one of the three buses had onboard restroom facilities, our caravan stopped frequently after our very filling dinners of whatever was on that buffet table. Aleesha couldn’t recall what we’d had, either.
We rode on the interstate for several hours before turning off onto what was still a relatively decent two-lane road, but the closer we got to Santa María, the slower our progress. After exiting onto a bumpy, unpaved road—calling it a road at all was a sick joke—we slowed to a cautious crawl. Before long, the road disappeared and the buses inched their way along a path of faded tire tracks left by unknown vehicles weeks, months, perhaps even years ago.
If the lead driver hadn’t been using a GPS—a global positioning system—to supplement his photocopy of the hand-drawn map and directions, we wouldn’t have gotten close enough to the village to find it. And we probably wouldn’t have had much greater success turning back if we’d needed to.
His opinion, which he shared loudly, vigorously, and profanely—without regard for the ears and beliefs of the Christian gentlefolk aboard—was that the map’s unknown writer and direction giver knew no one would be stupid enough to undertake such a journey if he knew how abysmal the roads were. He claimed that the map provider had purposely understated the dangers.
