(9) Not Noah’s Ark:
Araceli Torre
“Good, so now what?” I questioned, still completely befuddled with the situation.
“Is that the end of your story?”
“Uhh, not really-”
Riggs waved his hand, not-so-secretly telling to me to get to the point. Everyone’s patience seemed to be running low.
“…the man came back,” I started.
Although my neighbor hadn’t radiated any ‘serial-killer’ vibes, I decided that precautionary measures were necessary. So I waited in my foyer for ten excruciatingly long minutes, crouched down and discreetly peeping through the door window.
When nothing exciting happened, I figured he’d just gone home. Another quick look through the peep-hole, verified that the coast I was clear and I made my move.
As I inched my way up the stairs towards my apartment, the silence shocked me. No noise filtered through the paper thin walls, and it could only mean that my crazy aunts were up to something else.
With each cautious step, filtered voices from the upstairs landing got louder and louder. Part of me wanted to run back outside, but morbid curiosity propelled me forward.
The changes in my home décor didn’t surprise me: purses, belts, and other random accessories were stacked into neat little piles all over the living room. Someone (probably Monica) had taped makeshift labels, cut unevenly from old school posters in front of each row.
The first two rows were items for the upcoming (and infamous) Torre Yard Sale, the second row contained items that were “graciously” being donated, but really were just items that no one wanted. The last row belonged to my (still) quarrelling aunts.
“That’s mine…ladrona,” my aunt yelled at my mom, who’d just stolen something from her pile.
“Not true, you took it from my pile first,” my mother said.
Separately my mother and aunts were typical adults, but put them together and they all acted like five-year olds let loose in a candy store.
“Ma, can you stop fighting?”
“We’re not fighting,” they both said in perfect harmony.
“Well… you’re doing something, AND you didn’t even realize that your own daughter was attacked by the neighbor.”
“Don’t exaggerate Araceli,” my aunt reprimanded (nothing bad happened in her world).
“I’m not, and he wants his garbage back.”
“Ooooooh,” Monica offered from somewhere in the room, lost under all the mess.
“Too bad, he threw it out and now it’s ours,” my aunt said, as she fussed around with the piles. She discreetly moved things around so that she would end up with the best pile.
“Finders keepers, right?” Monica butted in again. “Now that we resolved that, is anyone else hungry?”
It seemed like the appeal of stealing garbage had worn off for Monica, leaving her exhausted. I spotted her lying on my couch (under everyone’s coat), with two small handbags held firmly in her grasp.
“The food is almost ready, we made menudo,” Rogelia said from the kitchen.
Monica and I both turned to each other, making ugly faces. While I usually loved my aunt’s cooking, for some odd reason she had decided to make a dish with tripe (slimy and rubbery pieces of a sheep’s stomach).
“Hey Monica, want to go out for lunch?”
“Oh gawd, please,” she responded as she flew past me.
* * * * * *
Giant rain drops fell hard onto the sidewalk, blocking all visibility. At some point during our lovely dinner, the sky had transformed into a terrifying combination of blacks and purples. The mother of all storms had ensued.
I glanced over at Monica to suggest we just make run for it, but she’d already pulled her jacket over her head. With a warrior scream, she bravely dashed into the storm… in the wrong direction of course. It took her a while to realize her mistake, and her laughter echoed as she retraced her steps towards the car.
Taking a moment to appreciate my dry and warm state, I followed after my cousin.
“Hurry uppp,” Monica screamed at me, completely soaked. She was pulling the handle of the car repeatedly, as if it would magically open. I quickened my step, but unlocking a car door in the middle of a monsoon was not an easy feat.
It took me a few tries, but I eventually got the car open and we both slid inside. I tried not to think about the interior of my car, it might just make me cry.
“Took you long enough…Ms.Slowpoke,” Monica said.
“Do you want to walk home?” I asked.
“You can’t do that to me…don’t make me tell your mom.”
“Don’t make nanana-“I said.
But I couldn’t argue, my full attention needed to be on the road or we wouldn’t get home in one piece. The rain started to come down harder, and the traffic slowed down to a snail’s pace.
My hands gripped the steering wheel tightly; I edged my body close to the steering wheel, and focused on the two feet of road I could actually see.
“I think the world is ending,” Monica whispered.
“Maybe.”
Monica whimpered next to me, as she plastered her face to the side car window.
“Mey Manri-“
“I can’t understand you.”
She whipped her head around, and stared me down with her creepy bug eyes.
“I think someone is following us.”
I glanced at my rear view mirror, and noticed a familiar dark car…it had been parked next to us at the restaurant. Of course, that didn’t mean that it had followed us.
“Turn at the next light, it’s a short cut and we’ll lose the car,” Monica said.
I didn’t remember that specific route, but I was horrible at directions on a good day…so I turned.
Bad idea. Terrible idea. The worst idea in Monica’s list of bad ideas.
We’d left the safety of a major street for a smaller, less frequented off-road. Several burned and abandoned houses bordered the left part of the road, while deserted train tracks occupied the other side.
The streets reminded me of a scene in a horror movie, where several people were murdered and bodies were hidden.
“We’re going to die.”
“No one is going to die,” I replied through gritted teeth. I didn’t want to alarm her, but the situation seemed to be getting worse. As the rain kept pounding on the windshield, I noticed the puddles quickly growing into small ponds and getting closer to our car.
“The water is rising. The water-“
“I can see the water Monica, just chill.” I tried to keep myself calm, two neurotic women wouldn’t help.
The water had drifted to the bottom of my list anyway. The dark car was being driven by a pudgy, bald man…Mr. Garbage had been following us around all night.
I couldn’t turn around, it just wouldn’t be safe. Although there were only a few cars on the road, they drove erratically. Plus with the water level above my bumper, slowing down would only flood my engine.
“So dead.”
“Have some faith woman,” I answered, keeping an eye on my mirrors.
“Is someone still following us?”
“Yeah, and I think it’s our neighbor.”
“He was real?”
“Yep.”
“What do we do now?”
“Just keep going,” I sighed.
“We’re going to die.”
Monica resumed her whimpering position, and every few minutes she would inform me how high the water had risen – Oh the water is half-way up the car door, now it is at the door handle….and oh no the water has reached the window.
“Monica, I’m not blind.”
“I’m just saying.”
I let the issue drop. Despite her ramblings, Monica seemed oddly calm and I didn’t want to stir the crazy pot.
I just really hoped my car could keep it together for a few more minutes. Judging from the cars in front of me, the water levels were going back down.
Just a few more feet.
“Red light…it means stop,” Monica said.
Damn. I had hoped she wouldn’t notice the light change. If I stopped now, the car would for sure stall and we’d be stranded in four feet of water.
And although there were cars coming down the intersecting road, they were pretty far away. I felt confident that we could make it without crashing, and if we didn’t...the cars were moving to slow to cause any real damage.
“Araceli, stop.”
“I can’t.”
“Stop the car right now or I-“
“Or what? You’ll try to open the door and swim out?”
“We’re going to crash.”
“Maybe.”
“Araceli…”
“If I stop the car, it will die and the crazy neighbor will catch us.”
Silence.
“So our options are, crash while moving at two miles per hour or face a body-chopping neighbor.”
“Crash, but I’m not looking,” Monica responded as she covered her eyes.
Cars beeped at me from both directions, and I shrugged at them. This was out of my control. Time stood still, and the tiny five seconds it took to pass the intersection were the longest seconds of my life.
“Shh Monica, we made it.”
She looked up and started laughing, “We’re survivors.”
“Damn right we are.” I laughed with her.
The cars behind me had not been as lucky. They were forced to stop at the red light and were now stuck; several drivers (including my angry neighbor) were climbing out of their car window.
“He almost killed us,” I finished.
“That’s quite the story,” Riggs responded. Of all the stories, this is the one that he’d chosen not to believe.
“Well his car died in four feet of water, so it probably had to be towed. There should be a record.”
“We’re checking, but that doesn’t seem to be the end of your night?”
“Nope, and the next part could possibly…maybe...be illegal.”