Page 1 of A Me and You Thing
Prologue
THE ROAD FROM Matagalpa to Jinotega in Nicaragua is known for being quite beautiful. I’m looking forward to witnessing it. The elevation difference between the two cities is around one thousand feet, so it’ll be a bit of a climb.
I make my way toward the rear of the old school bus, preferring the panoramic view the backseat provides. It’s nice that my fellow teachers and I have the bus to ourselves.
“C’mon, Abi,” I say to my new friend and fellow teacher. “We have our choice of any thin-cushioned, rigid-backed seat we’d like.”
Abi smirks. “Lucky us.” She chooses to sit in front of me, close enough so we can still talk. “No back seat for me, Quinn. I hate sitting by the emergency exit.”
I grew up riding the school bus every day. My group of friends and I always chose the back of the bus to congregate. Old habits die hard.
“I’m so excited,” Abi says, rocking in her seat.
“Me too.” This really is an amazing adventure. I was invited to go with a group of volunteer elementary school teachers to a remote area in Nicaragua to help train the local teachers.
After teaching first grade for three years before I had my babies, I feel like I have the qualifications to really make a difference.
I adore my hubby for supporting me—and encouraging me to go. I’m so in love with him, it hurts. I already miss his handsome face. And my babies—let’s not go there. Suffice it to say, I’ll probably cry myself to sleep tonight, all while filled with excitement about what the next day will hold. I’m a walking contradiction. Welcome toMom Land. Darned if you do, darned if you don’t.
Once we’re all seated, our journey begins, the bus groaning like a tired old man first thing in the morning.
Abi turns in her seat. “This road is crazy curvy.”
“I guess we should’ve anticipated that since we’re climbing a mountain.” The constant twists and turns are making me dizzy. One side boasts a steep cliff with a swiftly moving river down below, making me a little nervous.
“Are you scared of heights?” Abi asks.
“No, but if you put me in a bus on curvy roads beside a steep drop, I’m suddenly scared to death of them. I think that’s called common sense.”
“Ditto.” Abi makes a funny face.
As we ascend the mountain, a light rain hits and a misty fog surrounds us, making me feel like I’m on another planet. I might as well be. This area of the world is so different than what I’m used to.
The scenery grabs our attention for a while, and I forget about the perils of driving next to Mother Nature’s abyss.
At least, until the rain begins to pound harder, making it difficult to see much of anything other than a sheet of water outside. I notice our bus driver doesn’t bother to slow down.
Abi notices too. “Evidently, our driver was a race car driver in another life and thinks he can conquer slick roads like a boss.”
“Seriously.” Our first driver, who drove us from Managua to Matagalpa, took things slow and easy. I want him back. “I suppose we should be grateful the bus can’t go all that fast while pulling itself up to higher elevations.” It simply doesn’t have the get-up-and-go it needs. The grinding noises that ring out with every shift of the gears hurts my ears.
Buses from Matagalpa enroute to Jinotega leave every twenty minutes. I suppose our driver has a schedule to keep. He was late picking us up in Matagalpa. Is he worried about a timetable? We’re now living onNica-Time.A slow-paced lifestyle is the norm—something I was really looking forward to and would now like to insist upon.
Our driver begins to sing in slurred Spanish, like he’s on a lazy Sunday drive with not a care in the world. The situation and his behavior are at odds with one another.
Something catches my eye and alarm bells go off in my head. I stand and walk halfway down the aisle, holding onto the seats with a firm grip. Sure enough, just as I thought, there’s a beer can in the driver’s cup holder. I was so distracted by the sights around me, I paid no attention to the state of our driver. Could he possibly be drunk? That would explain his careless driving.
I turn to my fellow teacher, Joseph, who is also acting as a translator for our trip, and point out the beer can.
His eyebrows furrow with worry as he nods. “I see it.”
“Will you say something to him?” I ask.
“If I need to.” His hands tap nervously on his knees.
“I think you need to.”
“I know. You’d better stay in your seat, Quinn. It’s safer.”
