Viewing Single Post From: Day 39

Viewing Single Post From: Day 39
DarthHaggis	Feb 26 2009, 07:09 PM
The Artist Formerly Known as Arzt Posts: 877 Group: Admin Member #152 Joined: September 28, 2008	Day 39-2 Reuben had grabbed the officer’s clothes, id, and some kind of chip from his walkie-talkie. He stuffed the former two in his bag. He pulled out a hand held computer, and somehow worked the walkie-talkie chip into it. That was about 10 minutes ago. Now we were speeding down Interstate 5 in Reuben’s El Camino. I hadn’t been able to speak since we left. The Mexico border approached us. Reuben stops at the border and I feign sleep. The border patrol seems to know Reuben, and they let us through without much hassle. “We’re just picking up a friend,” he says, and that confuses me. It takes me a few more minutes, but eventually, I get up the courage to ask him, “What are we doing down here? I have to go back. I have… stuff to do.” “Stuff to do, eh? It appears that those people back there have stuff to do to you, too,” he says as he pulls the car to the side of the road. “Listen to me. Are you going to tell me what is going on with you and these schlemiel’s back there?” He’s freaking me out a little bit. Back at his apartment, he went from bumbling idiot to cold and calculated. Then that Yiddish crap bleeds out of his mouth and he’s suddenly an old fool again. And now, he’s a mixture of the two. “I’m not real sure,” I confide. “Oy,” he says with his eyes closed. He opens his door and walks over to the brush on the side of the road. Is he taking a leak? I turn my head, but some part of me oddly wants to watch. How weird. I’m NOT into dudes. But there’s something about stuff like this that you just want to stare. Wait a minute, he’s not taking a leak, he’s looking around for something. I walk over to him. “So what is it you have to do then? This… stuff you speak of?” “My girlfriend and I are trying to get to this place in the South Pacific.” “Oh, sounds nice. You have family there?” he asks. What an odd question. I’m obviously not Asian. Then I remember my father and mother. “Something like that,” I respond darkly. “My father is from there, you know.” Jews in the South Pacific? There ought to be a musical about that or something. “I never knew my father until recently,” I confide. “Do you get along with your father?” “No, not really, no. He and I fight about a lot of things. What about you? Do you like your father?” “I did. He died last week.” I feel the anger welling up within me again. There seems to be a red haze that covers over my vision. Suddenly, Reuben doesn’t seem so fun to be around. He starts morphing into an obstacle to me getting back to the island. “How did he die?” he asks. He has an odd tone to his voice as he asks, as if he already knows the answer. “He was murdered. Along with my mom.” Reuben does a good job of looking compassionate. I almost believe him, and he is almost comforting. “How horrible. Is that why you want to go back?” “What’s that?” I say, pointing. Standing there, on the side of the road, looking at the both of us was a young kid that I recognized from pictures, and from passing him in the barracks. “Hi, my name is Walt. I don’t speak any Spanish, but you guys look American. Can you guys help me?” Edited by DarthHaggis, Feb 26 2009, 07:12 PM.


Day 39 · RPG Archive