I arrive and there are five cars parked, and my friends are outside talking and getting ready. This is a first. They are never ready. There are twelve women and children sitting in the cars and ten or more men are talking outside, chewing betel nut or smoking. They are waiting for Grandma to finish in the bathroom. Six-year-old Mariska comes outside in a fancy pink party dress and sandals, and I suggest she go back inside to find better shoes. She either misunderstands or ignores me and gets into one of the cars.
As I program the GPS’s for the five drivers, a gaggle of teenage girls comes out of the house, with full make-up and lacey pants. They clamber into to my car, a 2-door hatchback, and I send two out of them back for better shoes, which they grab from the sooty mountain of shoes of every shape, size, and color from a dusty rack on the porch. Nineteen-year-old Sukmaya frowns at me as she gets back in the car.
As we take the first left onto Bridge street, she asks me, "Sister, do
you have a bag?”
“A bag for what?” I ask her, already afraid that she might be car sick.
“My shoes,” she says.
“No. I don’t. Why did you bring extra shoes?” I ask.
“You told us to bring shoes that cover the toes. I brought two pairs. Nice for pictures.”
The route passes heads gradually uphill, past Christmas tree farms, corn fields saluting the end of their season, and a farm stand that features orange piles of pumpkins and hay bales underneath laughing children. Samjana grabs the aux cable and plugs it into her phone.
“Sister, you have wifi?”
“No wifi in the car. Sorry, ladies.”
“Can we use your phone?”
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