Perfectly Ridiculous (5 page)

Max taps the steering wheel. “How about this? We'll all go to dinner together. How's that?”

I have to close my mouth for fear of swallowing flies. Max's way of solving this problem is not kosher.

“Sounds wonderful,” my mom says. “We wanted to have a nice dinner out and not just eat in the hotel both weeks, right, honey?”

“I did promise Claire we'd go out tomorrow night,” my dad says.

“Oh,” my mom says, no doubt doing calculations in her head. “But it does sound so nice. Max, being local, would know of a good restaurant, and I'm certain it wouldn't be too expensive, right, Max?”

It sounds wonderful to my parents. Well, so does a chastity belt. That doesn't make it right.

“I know of just the place.”

I hear myself sigh out loud.

“Don't you want us to go?” Dad asks me.

“If you change your shirt, maybe.”

“We're leaving the Recoleta barrio,” Max announces. “This is Palermo. It's the largest of the neighborhoods.”

“Look at those skyscrapers,” Dad says. “It's like New York.”

“SoHo,” Max clarifies. “It's young and hip. Where all the trendy folks live after a day at the office. It's not really for families.”

“It's very green, though,” my mother says.

“It is,” Max says. “A lot of parks here and fruit trees and vineyards. Maybe like your Napa a little bit?”

I slink farther into the van's cloth seats. I'm not really in the mood for the whirlwind tour of Buenos Aires, as I'm currently trying to decide how to lose my parents from my impending date.

Dad takes out his camera and snaps a few photos of the lush area when we stop at lights. “What's that there?”

“That's the Lagos de Palermo—the lakes. The zoo is here, and the Japanese gardens as well. I guess it's kind of a city center. Hopefully you'll get a chance to tour this area. There's a world-famous planetarium too. I think you're going to have a great time while you're here.”

“Sounds like Golden Gate Park,” Dad says.

“Maybe,” Max says. “But you'll see that everything here has a different feel, maybe slightly more artistic, no?”

“Ah yes, and there's the historical aspect that's so much richer than anything we have in California,” my father says.

Max laughs. “Now we're heading into Las Canitas, where we'll have dinner.”

I pout through the entire barrio, but do my parents get the message?

“Well, that looks lovely,” Mom says. “We should have a nice meal here. I hope Libby hasn't planned anything for us. Max, we will have to beg off the invitation if Libby has dinner planned. We wouldn't want to be rude.”

“Goes without mentioning. This is Belgrano,” Max continues, and truthfully, I'm grateful for the buzzing noise of Max's narration that keeps my mom and dad content. “It's an upscale neighborhood, and it used to be the government center, so there are a lot of military statues, that kind of thing. Very official-looking, don't you think?”

“The buildings are beautiful,” I say, to see if anyone can hear me.

“The row houses look like something out of San Francisco,” Mom says. “Everything is so neat and clean. It's like Disneyland. Look at the cobblestone streets there. Don't you think it looks like Disneyland, Daisy?”

“If you say so.” I cross my arms and look out the other window. It's hard to enjoy your first international vacation when you're touring it like a five-year-old with your parents. Yeah, I'm happy they came, but could they not let me just have had the car ride? Was that too much to ask? At least they didn't bring the leash like they did when they took me to the Grand Canyon.

Max pulls the van over to the side of the road and stops. He turns to face me. “Daisy, you're such a sensitive soul. I need to prepare you for the real Buenos Aires. We're going to the part that people don't usually see. Once you leave the tourist areas, it can be harsh.”

“Max, it's poor. I understand. That's why I'm here.”

He shakes his head. “I don't know if you do understand. Poor compared to St. James's students isn't poor. Not having enough to feed your family or warm clothes and bedding for them at night? That's poor.”

Hasn't Max been to my house? If there's something I'm familiar with, it's poverty in the midst of mass riches. “I'm fine, Max.”

Dad twists around and gets that deep expression on his face. The one he usually has before I get a sermon. “You haven't seen this kind of poverty, Daisy. The reason your sponsors wanted you to see something like this is so that you'll truly understand the gift you've been given and that much will be expected. Finance doesn't mean a thing if you don't understand the human costs.”

“I get it. Quit looking at me.” Don't they think I'm worried about it for myself? I am. It's going to pain me to see children without enough. Hearing about it is only making my anxiety grow.

Max's cell phone rings, and he answers it. “
Hola.
” He rambles on so quickly that I understand only the fifth or sixth word.
Madre
, meaning “mother,” is one of them. His voice pleads, but he seems to agree at the end. “
Sí. Sí. Sí!
” He punches a button and puts his foot to the gas again. “I'm afraid dinner will have to wait. I'm needed at home.”

“Oh,” my mom says. “Well, that's too bad. Isn't that too bad, Daisy?”

Max reaches into his bag between the front seats. “I brought something for you.” He hands me lice shampoo and automatically I scratch my head.

“Are you trying to tell me something?”

“Just for protection. You don't want to bring lice back to Claire's hotel.”

“I don't want to bring lice anywhere. There's going to be lice?”

“And maggots and kids without shoes or food.”

I suddenly understand the gravity of what he's telling me, and I'm not sure I am ready. As we exit the freeway, we see a mother juggling with one hand and balancing a baby on her hip. She nearly jumps in front of our van to extend her hand for money. Max swings around her and exits the thoroughfare.

The smooth road underneath us disappears, and the bumpy dirt path jiggles us all over. I grasp the armrest to stay in the seat. My mood drops as if I can feel the sadness in the air. The needs seem so overwhelming that I wonder if I can make even the smallest dent by coming here.

The bright green grasses and the perfectly ordered mansions and skyscrapers are long gone. In their wake are makeshift concrete shacks and mud everywhere. The smell of the dirt hits my nostrils first, and as I get accustomed to it, deeper, more vile smells infiltrate. The stench is awful, like mud combined with a dirty river and sewage. I cover my nose with my sleeve as we go farther into what looks like a battle zone.

There are children everywhere, like cattle roaming free on a plain. They are little, unguarded, and filthy. Most of them have shaved heads, and I circle my hand around the lice shampoo.

My breathing is shallow. Max pulls the van up to the address on my paperwork, and it looks like an abandoned building. My heart is in my throat as I think about getting left here alone. It's ominous in nature, isolated . . . bare.

“It doesn't look like there's anyone here. Are you sure this is the right address, Max?” I ask him.

“It's the right address,” my dad says, reading the brochure. “Libby told your mother it was humble. And if she said humble, I instinctively took a few amenities off.”

“Libby takes humble to a new level,” Max says.

“She said it was humble or invisible? I feel like I'm in a horror movie and the place might disappear in the mist. Or in the dirt cloud from the van.”

Children rush to the van, and Max gets out and speaks to them. He hands out little pieces of candy he's brought with him.

“I'll go meet Libby.” My mom unlatches her seat belt and covers my hand with her own. “It will be fine, Daisy. Libby wouldn't allow you to be put in danger. You should feel honored the needs are such that you won't get bored while you're here.”

“I'm not afraid,” I lie. I keep hoping that if I think
bravery
often enough, it will make it so.

My mom and dad exit the van and Max opens the back doors. “I didn't want you to see this part of my country. No one should have to live like this.”

“Maybe if I get good enough at finance, fewer people will have to live like this.”

“If anyone can do it, it would be you.”

I lean my chin on my arm. “You really can't do dinner tonight?”

He shakes his head. “My mom was adamant. She needs me for something and wouldn't tell me what it was, only that it was vital.”

“Will I see you before I leave here?”

He looks at the shack in front of him. “I'll try to come back tonight and bring you a few more things. It looks like you might like to have some things that make you feel more at home. Snacks, maybe?”

“That would be great.” I calculate when my parents will leave for their hotel and the possible discussion Max and I might have under the full moon, and instantly I remember my promise to Claire that I will not romanticize a futile friendship in a foreign country.

“Just like you didn't want me to see this part of your country, I didn't want you to see my house. How about if we make a deal not to hold each other responsible for things we have nothing to do with?”

“Deal.”

I climb out of the van and round the vehicle to where Max is standing. The neighborhood kids are still milling about, and I feel bad that I didn't know to bring them some sweets. “Maybe you could bring me some candy when you come back. If I give you money?”

He looks at the dirty little faces around us. “Sure.”

I open up my wallet and grab a few bills. “Will this be hard to change into your money?”

“Not at all. You're thoughtful.” He plants a chaste kiss on my cheek.

Am I thoughtful like an elderly aunt? Because that's what that kiss meant. “I missed you,” I tell him.

He smiles at me, and his silence punctures my heart.

“Let me help you with all the luggage. Your parents have a cab coming later?”

“Yes, Libby said she'd find someone to take them back to town. She wanted to reminisce first.”

Max places the suitcases on the porch of the sparse, concrete building, a simplistic rectangle.

“You can do anything, Daisy.” He squeezes my hand. Max is king of eye contact, but he won't look at me. “You've got the world at your fingertips.” His cell phone buzzes and he glances at the text. “I have to run.”

I stare at the building. “I wonder if there's a worse feeling than not having a choice, of being powerless.”

“There is, Daisy. You'll have to trust me on that.” He brushes the back of his hand along my jaw. “I've got to go.”

I grasp his wrist with more desperation than I'd planned. “But you'll be back after dinner tonight?”

“I'll do my best.” He stares into the distance, slams the back of the van shut, and climbs into the front without a proper goodbye.

“Well, Claire, you should be happy,” I say to myself. “Romance is not going to be a part of my Argentine experience. Clearly.”

 5 

My mom rushes out the door. “Daisy! Daisy! Come meet Libby!” She scoops her arm around me and hurtles me toward the door with such force, I have to push back not to run into Libby. “Libby Bramer, this is my daughter, Daisy. Daisy, Ms. Bramer.”

“It's nice to meet you,” I say. “Thank you so much for letting me do my scholarship requirements here.”

Libby is a pale woman and doesn't crack a smile. Her pasty skin matches her hair, and there seems to be no contrast to any of her features, giving her a ghostly pallor. The only color on her is a gauzy cotton skirt in an Indian design and a “Peace” T-shirt. The sixties are alive and well in Libby's world. Next to my mother, she's positively Bohemian.

“You'll receive no favors from me,” Libby says. “You do the work or I don't sign off on the paperwork. That goes for anyone who works for me.”

“Naturally,” I say, taken aback by her abruptness.
Can't you say hello?
I want to ask her.

“Daisy's such a hard worker,” Mom says. “You won't have any trouble getting a full day's work out of her. She worked overtime through her whole high school career.”

“Why?”

“She was saving for a car to drive at school.”

“Humph. Can't you take the bus?” Libby asks me.

“I have taken the bus for many years. I hoped to have my own car in college.”

“Seems like a waste of money when the public transportation system works fine.”

“Daisy will probably work through school. She'll need to get to work,” my mom says.

“It's her money. I don't care what she does with it. I'm only saying it seems like a waste of money. We rode bikes when I went to school. Remember?”

“Ms. Bramer, where should I put my stuff? I'd like to rest for a while. I'm exhausted from the trip.”

“Already? How old are you?”

“She's seventeen,” Mom says, “but this was her first international flight.”

“You'll be out in the classrooms there with the other staff. None of them have showed up yet, but you can go pick out your mattress and toss it on the floor. If you need a sleeping bag, they're in the cabinet next to the chalkboard. I'll go unlock the room.” Libby takes a ring of keys and leads us to the outbuilding behind the smaller rectangle she calls home. She sticks a key in the door and unlocks a deadbolt. “You hungry?”

I'm starving! “No.”

“Daisy, you need to eat,” Mom says.

“I think I'm too nervous to eat.”

A horn honks steadily. “Oh, that's Hank. He'll be driving you to your hotel,” Libby says. My dad is standing by quietly—trying to stay out of Libby's way, perhaps?

“So soon?” Mom asks. “I thought we might help Daisy get settled.”

“She's a big girl. She can't make her own bed?”

“Mom, I'll be fine. You and Dad go and have a nice dinner and I'll talk to you at the end of the work week.”

I can tell my mother's bear sense has kicked in and she does not want to leave me with Libby just yet. Something tells me my dad is going to get a big dose of being right when they get to the hotel. He should enjoy that.

“What are you smiling about, Daisy?” Dad asks me.

“Just thinking about how much fun I'm going to have with the kids.”

He winks at me, runs to get my bag, and sets it down outside the dilapidated building. He kisses my cheek. “Be good. You have our cell number if you need anything.” He looks at Libby. “If Daisy needs us, I'll reimburse you for any phone calls she makes.”

“Naturally,” Libby says.

The horn blares again. My mom kisses my cheek and wraps me in an anaconda-like grip. “Call us if you need anything,” she whispers into my ear.

I nod.

Libby claps her hands. “Chop chop. Hank can't wait forever. No time for dramatic goodbyes. She'll be fine. Or she won't, and this wasn't the job for her.”

My parents are shuffled off like unwelcome relatives, and Libby soon comes back toward me. My mom's eyes are filled with worry as they pull away in the giant sedan.

“Get your rest!” Libby yells at me. “We get up at six sharp around here to get things ready.”

I nod and push my suitcase into the lopsided classroom building. Let me just say, for the record, this was not the warm Latino welcome I was expecting. I should know better than to stereotype.

I pull a mattress down from against the wall and pull out my travel journal. Maybe this will prevent me from making future travel mistakes.

My Life: Stop—July 6, 8:04 p.m.

Random factoid: Al Asador is a traditional Argentine BBQ—and we're not having one.

I wanted to have an experience in Argentina. I wanted to feel the plight of the people so that it might drive me to fulfill my calling in finance and not become a selfish hoarder. However, starving was not what I had in mind. At least not on the first night. I rummaged through the cabinets, hoping to find something to cook on the warming plate, but unless I want to make melted crayon art, I am plumb out of luck. The more I try to think about not being hungry, the louder my stomach gets. If I could only put aside my pride and go knock on Libby's door . . . but I can't. Quite simply, my host scares me.

Oh, the agony!

The classroom is festive, with a colorful mural of Jesus on a mountain, arms outstretched and little children of every color sitting at his feet. The cabinets are all painted in bold, vibrant colors, and the room itself is happy, making me hopeful for what the week will bring.

It does have its creepy aspects, don't get me wrong. A long rectangle of a room with chipped concrete on the floor, walls, and ceiling. I've pulled out my filthy, most likely infested mattress and thrown it on the concrete floor, and I'm ready for bed. I already had a nap and awoke in the damp, cold air to the moist scent of beans and rice, taunting me with their glorious smell. I wonder if I will look back at this journal and think how stupid I was not to just get up, march over to the kitchen, and get some food. Only the future will tell.

Since I came down here with romantic hopes, I think it's only fair that I write down what happened with Max. Except I don't really know, other than he dumped me for dinner after a phone call from his mama. This means he's either (1) a mama's boy or (2) a liar. Or maybe (3) he's just not interested, and if that's the case, he should not have flirted with me on Skype and lured me down here. Maybe that was a boost to his ego. So if my thirty-five-year-old self is reading this, please tell me that you aren't this pathetic. That you learned something from this humiliation.

“Daisy, are you asleep?”

I bounce from my mattress and clamber out of my sleeping bag. “No, no, I'm not asleep. Is Max here? He was going to bring me some treats for the children.”

I'm struck again by Libby, a stern, colorless woman. It's like her hair, her face, her features—they all blend into one bland color, and nothing strikes you about her except the assault of her bluntness. She doesn't have the warmth of what I imagined a missionary to have, and her personality seems more like a Silicon Valley CEO than a ministry-running missionary in a third-world country.

“Max?” she asks. “Who's that?”

“No one. A friend from school, is all.”

“I wanted to check if your friend from Pepperdine had arrived.”

“My friend?”

“The other scholarship recipient from Pepperdine.”

“I didn't realize there was another recipient.”

“Yes, when she heard where you were going on the mission, she signed up for the same work. I suppose so she'd have a connection once she got to the school. That should be nice for both of you. So this Max? He lives here?”

“Max is a friend of mine who lives in Buenos Aires.”

“You kids with your internet. You're world travelers without getting out of your beds.”

I venture a smile.

“I'll put a sign on the door and send the other student out here tonight. It's always good to have a connection before meeting the kids. If the other volunteer doesn't show up tonight, I'll send the dog out to sleep with you.”

I've seen that dog. “No, it's all right. I'll be fine. I sleep in the garage at home, so I'm used to this.”

“I don't want you to be out here alone. It's for my own peace of mind. Lot of work to do tomorrow, so you'll want to get your rest.” Libby lifts a clipboard from the wall. “It looks like your shower day will be Thursday. You brought a towel and your own toiletries like the listing required?”

“I did, but today's Wednesday.”

“I mean of next week. We've already taken our allotment today. You look pretty clean to me. Besides, the dirt protects you.”

“From?”

She just shrugs. My attitude is definitely not that of a good, serving missionary. It's more Claire-like at the moment, and how I wish I'd stayed there in her luxurious suite to bathe in that giant marble bathtub before I'd left. A week? I am going to be riper than a California raisin.

“We'll have breakfast at seven a.m., and then we'll start training. The kids will be milling about everywhere tomorrow, and they'll be so excited to get started. So I need you to keep your mind on your job and working with the girls who know the ropes. With the language barrier, you're going to be partnered with a translator.”

I nod and force a smile. Something about the woman rubs me the wrong way. As if this may be her best behavior. Isn't that awful? Maybe it's because so far she's broken every manner rule my mother—and her friend—ever taught me during our introduction. It's like she's devoid of human emotion. I want to find that place of connection within her, but at the same time I want to avoid her with all that I am.

“I want you to understand that I run a tight ship. As I said earlier, if everything is to my satisfaction at the end of Vacation Bible School, I will sign off on your papers and the scholarship will be yours.”

I veer back slightly at her words. It never occurred to me that this was some kind of test. I imagined I'd come down here and get the work done and be on my way to Malibu.

“You're surprised. You shouldn't be. You wouldn't believe how many kids come down here for some kind of spring break experience rather than to do the work God has called them to. I'm here to ensure that doesn't happen. This work is my life calling. I can't be babysitting short-time do-gooders if I'm going to be effective here for the long haul. The kids have to know they must show respect here. You'd be surprised how out of control things get when chaos reigns.”

“Well, isn't that the definition of chaos? Ms. Bramer, I can assure you, I think my parents would tell you—”

She laughs. “Parents often miss their children's flaws. Not having any of my own children, I rarely miss the flaws.”

My body involuntarily shudders. “I'm really tired from my traveling. I need to go back to bed if I have to rise at six.”

“If you need to use the outhouse tonight, I'll leave a lantern here by the door. Don't leave it outside or it will get stolen and you'll have no way back. Everything here can be sold, so don't leave anything out, and don't venture off without a translator. You may think you know Spanish, but if you get into trouble, words will fail you.”

I slide into my sleeping bag again. “Okay, thanks. See you in the morning.”

There's no more mention of the dog or the other missionary, and Libby slinks out backwards, turns off the light, and pulls the door shut with force. I'm left in the pitch-black darkness with no more colorful reminders of children's paintings on the wall. I have that prickly feeling that bugs are in my hair, which I'm sure is only my imagination.

I'm not sure how long I'm asleep before I'm awakened by the door slamming against the wall. Groggily, I call out, “Who's there?”

A male voice answers, and I tighten my bag around me. “J.C. Wiggs. Who's there?” he answers in English.