"Are you ok?"

I could smell him from where I was, and I was upwind. Ah well. I glanced at my
rearview mirror: He was balanced perfectly, somehow, with a folding stool under
one arm, a shoeshine box under the other,and his name was Augustino. Pulling
into my local liquor store, I'd seen him down the road, shirtless, with his thumb
out, along with a half-dozen other locals. I veered left into the dirt in front of
Yuco's Liquor Store..He ran across the road, and followed me in. "I buy". . .
"no, it's ok" as I took 2 sixes of Tecate out of the cooler, moving a little slower
than usual, I must assess the situation and act accordingly. I search the
storeowner's face for some sign of yea or nay, which is always a futile exercise,
as the Mexicans are unsurpassed in the art of deadpan, or the concealing of any
thought or emotion whatsoever, Which makes perfect sense because they are
also the people most capable of it, of feeling and loving life to the fullest.
That, I've decided, is why Hollywood insists on stereotyping Latino actors,
because if they really let them act, no one else would have a prayer. Anyway,
my good man does not look up from the register or encourage eye contact at all.
The moves you make, the decisions you make, the actions you take, will all add
up in the end. It's important for them to watch you make up your mind, to watch
what makes you tick, what motivates you.

I take my beer and thank him politely, thank Augustino politely, and head out to
my car. Augustino leaps on the back fender, clinging to the rollbar, clutching a bunch
of freshly-picked green onions. "What are you doing?". "I need a ride" Well, he had
me. I started the car, and he sat back on the bumper. Tattoos crossed his stomach,
arms and chest; his hands were black from shoe polish.

"Ok! Are you ok?'
"Yes. Are you?"
"Si."

I gunned the VW up off the dirt shoulder to the road back home, a skinny,2 lane
ribbon of asphalt that is absolutely impossible to drive on at certain times of the day
or night; the only road from the main Highway to La Bufadora. The wind whipped him
pretty good back there, but from what he said, we weren't going far and I still wasn't
quite comfortable enough to let him in the front seat with me. "Can I sit up there?"
I pretend not to understand him entirely. 'Are you ok?' I shout back against the wind.

"Yes"

We buzz along past the cowfields and peafields, it's a strange, gray, moody day.
Blustery and not really good for anything, really. He'd said straight, and past the curve..
we were nearly there, and I was almost home. 'Here!" he says, here! I pulled over on
the shoulder, in front of a field where a woman had set up a stand selling milk, and
eyed him in my rear-view: "this ok?" He appeared to be thinking about something.
Stuck there, his neck in a strange position, trapped by the rollbar. I shut the car
off and went around to the back to help him out.

"Give me this", I said, taking the folding stool, "and these" I said, taking the onions.
He was busy detaching himself from the rollbar. "Will you marry me?"

"I'm married" I said, sort of expecting this, somehow. He'd offered me 10 pesos
for the ride earlier, but I'd refused it. He's offered to pay for the beer, which was
a whole lot more, but we all know then I would have had to drink it with him, which
was completely out of the question. It took quite a long time for him to untangle his
head from under the rollbar. I patiently waited beside the car, with the stool and
onions, and a bottle of something he'd been drinking. "Can I ask you a favor?"
he said, bending his head, "ok", "I have a favor to ask"

"Ok"

I slapped his back good-naturedly, "ok?ok! If I see you again, Augustino,
I'll give you a ride".

Now free, he circled the car and took stock of everything in it. Scanned
everything; serapes, broken clay bits, almonds scattered on the rusty
floor beneath the floorboards, and a 10 peso coin lying in the open
glove compartment amongst nickels and pennies. "I need 10 pesos"
My eyes followed his, and landed on the coin in the glove box. "Ok, here"
and I handed him the 10 pesos. He was happy. "God Bless you"
"You too, Augustino"

I smiled, turned the key, climbed the VW back up onto the road, and drove home.
 
 
 
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