alright—imagine the scene.
we are in above bus. there are (don't count) like 20 air freshener trees dangling from the handrails above us. this is an old shuttle bus that cannot conceal its age and smell. we have a twenty-something driver, multiple piercings, a little upset, maybe tired of tourists. maybe was recently shamed on facebook, or just plain pissed at some chica from school.
we are moving towards a motorized wheelchair at a hefty speed. he is to the right. to the left is a speeding jeep. this is not a wide road. there is suspense in the air. what the frick! I lose sight of the wheelchair in my hazy plastic window due to our close proximity. finally some brakes—screeching—jerking, and really jerky, as with this aged vehicle and the typical PR driving, suspension is probably shot. so, to a halt we are. and all I can think of is: someone is dead. I am not. thankfully. but this guy in a wheelchair; I was concerned.
to my right. blonde, big wide sunglasses, thirties, obvious tourist, but no nationality that I could tell.
"Je-sus," she exclaims in that long, slow, southern accent.
I am dying. I am transported to some place with michaela and can hear her saying it, and am immediately filled with comfort, yearning, and laughter all at once.
no one died, thankfully. Liza can be my witness. it was quite funny.