Stop at Motion City

"Attention, passengers. We are now arriving in San Diego. There will be a three hour wait before the bus will be on the road again. Please take this time to eat and do any necessary shopping. Do not forget your ticket. It will be your only way back on the bus."

I stare at the back of the bus as it drives away, leaving a small trail of kicked up dirt and dust behind it. My single bag, a faded brown, leather knapsack, hangs off my shoulders while I carry a bag of food in my hand. That stupid ticket had fallen out of my pocket back in the fast food joint I had gotten my food. If I had not been in such a hurry, I would have noticed it fall and gone to pick it up as I run back to the bus. I should have noticed it.

But I didn't and now I'm here, standing alone and with no where to go. Home was hundreds of miles behind me, and my future was another few hundred in front of me. I only had a hundred bucks to my name, and wasn't going to spend it on another bus ticket. Better start walking, I guess.

I walked. I walked for a very long time. I got across most of San Diego - dodged traffic and got my food stolen from some stray dog and was almost kidnapped - before I was sure that I had taken a wrong turn and landed myself in the neighborhood I was walking right now. The houses were pretty yellows and blues. They were calming. There was even one that was a bright, flamboyant red, with a white door and white trimming around the windows. Reminded me of my grandfather's barn on his ranch in Texas.

It was nothing like the concrete gray apartments I had lived in my whole life with my mother and younger sister.

"Are you okay, sweetie?"

I turn, surprised by the sweet, middle aged face that looks at me from behind a white picket fence. I don't know how to answer. Why is she being nice to a stranger? I could be some crazed lunatic looking for the closest victim to kill and drink blood from. (Just that thought proves I'm not right in the head.)

"Are you okay?" She repeats. I stand out, I guess.

"Not really," I tell her, feeling my face fall into one of sad-realization. I've lost my ticket, my chance at the audition for the movie that would have changed my life. I've lost my chance at making life so much better than it has been.

"Come inside," she says, opening the white picket fence and waving her arm for me to come. I hesitate, wondering if she's the lunatic, but realize that life couldn't possibly get worse, and decide to follow her in through the pale cream colored door. She sets down a straw-woven basket on the table inside the door and turns to smile at me. "Dinner will be ready in just a little while. Go watch some TV and I'll come get you when it's done."

"Thank you so much, Mrs..."

“Vivian Fuentes, but please, call me Viv.”

“Thank you, Mrs. Fuentes.”

She wears a look, telling me I should call her by her first name, but we’re still strangers. The smell coming from the kitchen pulls her away before I can introduce myself. The smell almost steals me away, but I hold back, feeling strange in this stranger’s comfy home. The walls are a warm cream, matching the color of the door, with burgundy accents and brown undertones to the rug and the curtains. It held a slight Hispanic theme to it all, with flashes of green and yellow in a few objects around the room.

I sit on the couch in the middle of the room, facing the television and watching whatever was on the screen. My eyes widen when I realize what it is.

”Help me, Obi Wan Kenobi. You’re my only hope.”

I easily quote the line I’ve heard hundreds of times from the countless Star Wars marathons I’ve had with my little sister. The scene continues to play, and like it was my first time ever seeing the movie, I watch with fascination and awe. For those few minutes, I’m captured by the works of Lucas Films.

“Uh, who’re you?”

The voice pulls me away from the movie I’ve been dragged into, as I look up, my eyes still slightly hazed over the same way they are whenever I’m caught into a Star Wars movie.

“What?” I ask, slightly not in my right mind as I focus on the guy standing a few feet from me, slight tension in his shoulders.

“I asked, who are you?” He repeats, stepping back slightly. Then, I realize that I’m some strange girl sitting in the house of Mrs. Fuentes.

“Oh, uh, well-“

“Tony! So nice to see you again.” Mrs. Fuentes came walking in, wiping her hands off on the kitchen towel. She brought the smell of the kitchen with her. It smelled delicious and suddenly I realized just how hungry I had gotten from walking all day, trying to get to Los Angeles. Tony leans down slightly to allow the short Mrs. Fuentes to kiss his cheek, but doesn’t take his eyes off of me. I wouldn’t either, I’m quite a sight to beheld with my bottle-blonde hair and hazed over brown eyes.

“Who’s this, Miss V?”

Mrs. Fuentes looks to me, smiling the kind smile she first gave me from just a little while ago before the smile falters slightly.

“Oh my! I never asked for your name, sweetie.”

My feel my face flush slightly. I never told her my name…

I stand from the couch, leaving my bag at my feet and wring my hands together in front of me. “Sorry, I never introduced myself to you, Mrs. Fuentes. My name is Olympia Contos, but everyone calls me Oly.”

"Well, it's great having you, Oly. Dinner's ready if you wouldn't mind washing your hands and helping Tony set the table. Vic and Mike should be back from the store any minute."

Mrs. Fuentes leaves, humming to herself as she goes back to the wonderfully smelling kitchen. The guy, Tony, continues to stand with tense shoulders before turning and walking out of the room. I don't follow, but after a moment, I step into the small hallway also and look around. The walls are lined with pictures and memorabilia that each hold a story of their own. There's one photo, however, that catches my eye. I can see Tony on the right side of the photo, standing with his leg propped on what seems to be a riser as he plays a white guitar. There are three others in the picture on the black stage, playing in front of a large crowd of people.

I look at it for those fractions of a second before I'm passed it and looking for the dining room. Tony is already in there, setting out seven plates. He looks up at me for a second before going back and grabbing napkins and silverware. I do the same, taking what he couldn't, and follow behind him, setting up the forks and spoons as he lays out the knives and napkins.

"How do you know, Miss V?" he asks me as I'm putting out the third set of silverware. I don't answer for a moment, trying figure out a way to explain that she just invited me off the road. That wouldn't sit well with anyone, but I don't want to lie.

"I don't," I tell him, stopping as soon as he freezes. The tension in his shoulder is back. I open my mouth to give my story, but Mrs. Fuentes comes walking in with a plate full of food and sets it in the middle of the table. Three other guys follow behind her, talking back and forth and joking.

As soon as they put the other plates and saucers down, they notice me. I do stick out, obviously, from their tan skin and deep voices.

"Guys, this is Oly. Oly, these are my sons, Vic and Mike," she points to the ones with the longer hair, before moving on to the one with shorter, spikey hair. There's a stripe of bleach blonde in the front. "And this is Jaime, one of their best friends. You've already met Tony, their other friend."

They greet me awkwardly, and I return it with the same amount of awkwardness. We sit at the oval table, Mrs. Fuentes beside me and Tony on the other side, before the rest of the new faces settle into other seats. The chair to the right of Mrs. Fuentes stays empty.

"Where's dad?" The taller one asks - Mike, I believe his name is - taking the first plate and making his own helping before passing it to his brother, Vic.

"Late night at the shop. He had to fire his secretary and now he's busy trying to catch up on all the paperwork she never did," Mrs. Fuentes tells her son, taking the plate when it's her turn. I sit quiet and patient, my hands folded in my lap as I look around the table. They continue on with their normal routine of dinner, it seems. I take the plate from Mrs. Fuentes when she passes it to me and put a bare minimum on my plate before handing it over to Tony. He eyes me with uncertainty.

"Uh, Oli, is it?" Jaime says, catching my attention as Mrs. Fuentes hands me one of the small saucers. I nod at him. "Is 'Oli' short for something? Olivia?"

I feel flushed, suddenly. "Actually, it's short for Olympia. My dad was Greek."

They don't say anything, and the silence sinks in before Mrs. Fuentes speaks.

"So, Oly, where are you coming from?" she asks, sipping at her drink. The boys half way pay attention to me as they stuff their mouths with food. I fidget slightly, pushing around the rice and beans with my fork.

"I lived in Seattle with my mom and sister, Ophelia. I was taking a Greyhound bus from Seattle to LA in hopes of getting there in time for a movie audition that was going to help me make a name for myself, but I lost my ticket here in San Diego and, well..." I trialed off for a second before putting my fork down and putting my hands in my lap. "I started walking and ended up in front of your house."

The forks clinking on the glass plates suddenly stopped.

"Mom," Vic said harshly, looking at his mother. I sit in my chair, uncomfortable. Tony has just barely shifted his chair over slightly. "You can't just let strangers into the house!"

"Victor Fuentes, do not be so rude to our guest," she says right back to him. "She looked like she needed help and I was all for helping the poor girl."

"That's not the point, mom-"

"No, it's okay," I interrupt and stand from the chair I'm sitting in. "I shouldn't have come in. Thank you for being so kind, Mrs. Fuentes, but I should be looking for a hotel. It was a pleasure meeting you all."

I leave the room, get my bag, and leave the house. The sun it setting, and the street lamps are gradually coming on one after one. It's going to get dark soon, and I have no idea where I am or where I'm going. The street is empty of people, but full of the dim lights coming out of the windows and passing cars from the end of the block. I'm at lost of what to do with my life now that I've missed the movie audition.

I'll be lucky to get through the night.

Suddenly, a car pulls up beside me. I glance over from the corner of my eye, afraid it may be a cop car or some creep looking for a hooker. Instead, I'm surprised at what I see.

"Tony?"

He answers with is own question. "What planet did Chewbacca die on?"

I stop walking, and frown. "What?"

He repeats the question. "What planet did Chewbacca die on?"

"Sernpidal, why?"

"Get in the car."

I blink and take a slight step back. "Why?"

Tony looks at me under the edge of his snapback and smiles. His antieyebrow piercing glitters for a second while his hand comes up and tugs at the small braid hanging over his right shoulder. "A padawan always helps another padawan, right?"