When We Get There

Chapter 8

Ignacio and his parents had lunch in a deli before heading to the bus station on the east side of the city. Along the way, Ignacio stared at everything around him with wide eyes. Los Angeles was a lot like Buenos Aires. The most immediate difference was the temperature. Back home, summer had just started, and with it, the balmy humidity that clung to every air particle and pushed around by warm gusts of wind. As such, Ignacio had dressed for a warm summer's day; linen shorts and a thin shirt. Such was not the case when he stepped out of the airport. While not too cold, all it took was a decent gust of wind to pierce his clothes and prick up the hairs on his skin. Immediately he had pulled his jacket out of his bag and tight around himself.

The bus was already there when his family had walked into the station. It was a little bigger than the bus Ignacio had taken out of his hometown and far nicer. Compared to the other bus with cracked and peeling paint, this one had a shiny coat that reflected the station lights like mirrors. Not a speck of dirt marred its flanks. It rumbled silently in place, its massive yellow headlights and grill staring at Ignacio, smiling devilishly like a face.

Ignacio and his family hurried onto the bus and found their seats amidst easily a dozen other passengers. There was hardly any space. The inside was cleaner than the other bus too, though not by much. Ignacio sat in the row behind his parents, leaned backward, and immediately felt a wave of exhaustion wash over him again. His excitement, his desire to be with his mother again, drained him clean of any energy. Just before he pulled the jacket over himself to sleep, he saw his dad poke his head between the seat rows.

"Ignacio." He whispered. "Che. Ignacio."

"¿Qué?" Ignacio mumbled back.

"Todo bien? Feel alright?"

Ignacio nodded, then yawned. Pedro poorly stifled a laugh.

"Okay. Just a few more hours, enano. We'll be home soon."

Ignacio nearly missed that last part as the world around him collapsed into a ball that moved further and further away until it was nothing more than a black marble. For once, he didn't dream of anything.

Ignacio woke up just when the bus arrived at the station in San Francisco. The bus trip felt seamless, like the one back home, only this time when they arrived, the bus was still full of people. It even felt like there were more people, though that may have just been Ignacio imagining things. When they stepped off the bus, they saw someone at the other end of the station carrying a sign high over their head. Ignacio didn't recognize them, but when he called his mother's attention to them, she grinned and broke into a jog.

"Mari!" She called. The figure in the distance, whom Ignacio now realized was a woman, dropped their sign and ran, arms outstretched, towards his mom. They nearly collided, then hugged and laughed with each other. Ignacio looked at his dad, who shrugged with a sly smile and continued walking towards them. Ignacio followed.

Ignacio's mom and the stranger were hugging and laughing with each other. She was speaking English. It was slow, and she took great care in annunciating each word. Occasionally, she had to fill in words she didn't know with bursts of Spanish. After a moment of conversation, his mom noticed them.

"Ignacio! Veni, come! This is Mariana. She's studying with me at the university." She said in Spanish, then turned to Mariana and gestured to Pedro and Ignacio. "Mari, this is my son Ignacio."

"Oh! Mira que hermoso es!" Her voice was high, and She ran to hug Ignacio and nearly tackled him in the process. "Sofia, your son looks just like you!" Then, as if to prove her point, she pushed Ignacio beside his mom and looked at both their faces through squinting eyes. "He's like your double! Nose and everything!"