The Colossus of Roads

by Christina Uss

  “You can peel off the tape and paint your own mythical creatures on that,” Rick explained. “And when it’s done, I’ll help you hang it up outside anywhere you want people to admire it. I get that your art means a lot to you.”

  Mila didn’t say anything. I think her quiet is getting a little less prickly, his stomach said.

  Rick went on. “If this isn’t enough, I had another idea. If we can go to Ms. Diamond’s house today, I’m going to explain to her what I did, and why I did it, and tell her we need to get your dragon sign back so you can finish it.”

  Mila put her pencil down. Abuelita peeked into the kitchen, giving Rick a questioning look and alternating between a double thumbs-up and a double thumbs-down. Rick responded with one hesitant thumb partway up.

  “My oh my, would you look at the time,” Abuelita said, bustling into the room and scooping her car keys out of a small ceramic dish on a table near the door. “If we don’t want to be late to Ms. Diamond’s house, we better leave now. C’mon, mi vida.” She tugged Mila out of her chair. “We’re going, right?”

  Mila shrugged and let Abuelita pull her toward the door. Abuelita gave Rick a confident thumbs-up behind Mila’s back.

  Mila didn’t say anything or even make eye contact with Rick on the whole drive, but Rick could tell that her silence was becoming even less cactuslike with every mile. When they arrived, both a mini two-person electric car and the big delivery truck were parked in the driveway. The delivery guy was coming out the propped-open front door with a sign-loaded dolly. “Might not want to go in there yet,” he said. “Heated discussion is under way.” Rick could hear shouting inside. He, Mila, and Abuelita went up the walkway and peeked around the doorframe.

  Ms. Diamond and a tall woman in a scarlet suit were facing off in the center of the room, gesturing wildly and shouting over each other. The Scout leaders and girls were standing in a clump on one side of the room, uneasily pretending to check their phones or stare out the window.

  The tall woman barked, “You thought hanging up on my calls would make this go away, but it won’t! Why did you have to make some giant artistic statement on the Four-Oh-Five Freeway? When I signed those work orders, I never dreamed you’d decide to hang art in a place that would interfere with my job. I could get fired over this. A horrible lawyer named Sydney Platt called to threaten me for not commissioning the proper studies on driver distraction! What kind of an older sister are you?”

  Rick realized this must be Mrs. Torres, manager of the LADOT. She was a tower of exasperated elegance.

  Ms. Diamond was a colorful balloon of indignation. “The kind of older sister that would never try to get you fired! I hung up on your calls because I’m not going to listen to you yell and yell without letting me get a word in edgewise. You have to calm down and listen to me—I don’t totally understand why those signs ended up where they did. But I do understand this: taking away the rest of our signs is not going to help. These children shouldn’t lose out!” Rick wondered if some not-so-sisterly punches were about to be thrown.

  Mila tugged at Rick’s shirtsleeve. She pointed to the spot where the as-yet-unpainted signs used to be. It was empty. Barely a handful of painted aluminum rectangles were left scattered about the room, a few lonesome smiling cupcakes and palm trees.

  From behind them, Liz announced, “Hello again!” at top volume, waving happily at Mila and Rick.

  Ms. Diamond turned toward Liz and noticed Rick. Her face did some odd things. Rick knew she understood how those signs had ended up in a place that made her sister furious, even if she didn’t know why. He mouthed I’m sorry.

  Her face did some more odd things before she mouthed back at him, We have to talk. Then she put a hand to her forehead and faced Mrs. Torres. “I can’t believe we’re having one of our arguments in front of this many people. Can’t we both take a breath and discuss this later?”

  “There’s nothing more to discuss,” Mrs. Torres announced. “I visited Sepulveda in person and examined each sign up close. You put up not only ‘artistic’ signs, but regular road signs. Labeling those regular signs The Colossus of Roads—what was that about? Trying to show that you’re better than me at everything, including traffic engineering, right? I don’t have to put up with this. I’m taking the remaining signs and I’m going back to my office.” She picked up a briefcase from the floor and strode toward the door, her heels click-clacking on the paint-spattered tiles.

  Abuelita, Rick, and Liz all took a step backward to get out of Mrs. Torres’s way. Mila took three steps forward into the house instead. Mrs. Torres clacked to a stop in front of her.

  “Please don’t,” Mila said. “Please don’t take the rest of the signs away.” Mrs. Torres looked like she was waiting for the rest of Mila’s speech, but that seemed to be all Mila had to say. Abuelita came forward and wrapped her arms around her granddaughter’s shoulders.

  Rick’s stomach said, Look at that lady’s face. I don’t think two pleases are going to do it. Go help Mila. Go!

  Rick balled his hands into fists and walked forward until he was between Mrs. Torres and Mila. Ms. Diamond caught his eye, patting her hands in the air and shaking her head to say not now. She obviously didn’t want him to reveal to Mrs. Torres that he was the one to blame for the Sepulveda art. Probably because she didn’t want to see what her sister would do to an eleven-year-old.

  Well, what could she do? his stomach asked.

  She could yell a LOT, Rick answered.

  His stomach wouldn’t let him back down. Tell her you’re the one she needs to yell at. Maybe when she’s done yelling, she’ll realize she doesn’t need to take away the signs from Mila and everyone else, only from us. She’s getting ready to leave—say something now!

  Rick blurted out, “I don’t always have to do what my stomach tells me to do!”

  Mrs. Torres said, “Excuse me?”

  Well, that broke the ice. Rick got control of his mouth and said, “You’re taking the signs away because of what happened on Sepulveda Pass, aren’t you?”

  “Indeed I am,” Mrs. Torres said, tapping one fingernail against her briefcase handle. “These signs belong to my department, and I’m not letting my sister do anything else crazy with them.”

  “Ms. Diamond didn’t do anything crazy,” Rick said. “I was the one who wrote the work order for Sepulveda Pass. Me. To help my family.”

  Mrs. Torres stopped tapping. “You.”

  Ms. Diamond gulped. Rick gulped. But he kept going. “Me. I’m the Colossus of Roads. I shouldn’t have used the art, it wasn’t mine to use, but I thought it would help protect my good idea. I didn’t ask anyone before doing it because no one ever seems to understand what I’m talking about. So if you’re going to be mad at anyone, it should be me. I never meant to cause you—or anyone—any problems.” He braced himself for the yelling to begin.

  It didn’t. Instead, Mrs. Torres went from looking ready to yell to looking like someone who’d realized that a puzzle piece she’d been trying to fit into a puzzle came from a completely different box. “You,” she said again, this time as if she recognized him from somewhere. Ms. Diamond was glancing from her sister to Rick.

  I think it’s working! his stomach said. Keep talking!

  Rick said to Ms. Diamond, “I’m sorry I got you in trouble with your sister, and your sister in trouble with her job.”

  Ms. Diamond looked at him gravely. “Art calls to us and we follow,” she replied. “Sometimes it leads in unexpected directions.”

  He said to Mrs. Torres, “If you have to take the signs on Sepulveda down so you don’t get fired, okay, but please give my friend back her dragon painting so she can finish it.” He thought about what he’d said. “Actually, please, please, don’t take them down. I can give you so many reasons why it’s better to leave them up—traffic-solution reasons, not art reasons.”

  The delivery guy said, “Pardon me, pardon me,” and the little cluster of people blocking the door came farther inside to let the
man by with his empty dolly. “One more trip and I’m done,” he said, moving toward the lonely cupcakes and palm trees.

  Mrs. Torres held up her hand. “Wait,” she commanded. The delivery guy waited. Mrs. Torres focused on Rick. “My assistant opens and sorts my mail for me. This week he brought me a manila folder labeled Traffic Solutions, without any name or contact information, which he insisted came out of the same envelope as a pile of Girl Scout thank-you cards. I was sure he’d made a mistake. Was that folder yours?”

  “Always sign your work,” Ms. Diamond admonished Rick, wagging her finger.

  “That was mine,” Rick said, remembering when he’d stuck the folder in the thank-you-card envelope about a million days ago. “I can’t believe I forgot to put my contact information on it. I thought I’d be giving it to you in person. It was supposed to make you want to talk to me.”

  “It worked,” Mrs. Torres said. “I—”

  Rick’s stomach made a sound like flargle, and he started to lose his balance. The tile floor felt as though it’d been suspended over a bed of marbles and was rolling slightly from side to side. A little tremblor. Earthquake-prone LA had them every now and again.

  “Uh-oh,” said the delivery guy.

  “Anna?” Mrs. Torres turned and looked at Ms. Diamond. The windows rattled in their frames.

  A shower of dust came down from the ceiling and Mila sneezed. Instead of the usual whooshing sizzle of car engines, a deep crunching noise approached from outside. Rick’s stomach announced, Potato chips. That sounds like a platoon of elephants charging through piles of potato chips. The extra-crispy kind.

  Mrs. Torres grabbed Rick and pulled him to the floor, covering his head and neck with her briefcase.

  “What are you doing?” Rick choked out. He was vaguely aware that Abuelita had pulled Mila to the floor and wrapped her body around her granddaughter’s.

  “Stop, drop, and cover,” Mrs. Torres said, eerily calm, and curled into a ball. “Hold on.”

  His stomach flargled once more, and the earthquake began.

  LET THE BRAINSTORM FLOW

  RICK HEARD SOMEONE shout, “Earthquake! Away from the windows! Away from anything that can fall on you!” He suddenly felt a brief moment of shaky weightlessness, as if a giant toddler had picked up Ms. Diamond’s house in one unsteady hand. Rick pulled his legs into his chest.

  The giant toddler threw a tantrum and started whamming the house on the ground, the way Baby Daniela sometimes purposefully slammed an empty dish against her high-chair tray. Rick heard metallic thunkings and crashings around him. This was nothing like the minor tremors he had experienced before, where all he noticed was a picture rattling in its frame or a sensation like a semitrailer had barreled down the street outside. This was clearly a Big One.

  The giant toddler continued bashing its toy house around but eventually got tired and dropped it. Everything stopped moving at once. Rick heard girls crying and distant sirens, but mostly there was a thick, eerie silence. The constant whoosh-shoosh of traffic was gone.

  Mrs. Torres told him, “Stay still. It might not be over yet. Everything is going to be okay.”

  “Everything is going to be okay,” Rick parroted back. He stayed still. The air was thick with dust and smelled like a freshly dug hole. He heard Mila sneeze again beside them. The ground shook again, one brief jolt. Then another.

  After a few minutes of stillness, Mrs. Torres peeked under the briefcase and asked Rick, “Can you move your arms? Did your head hit the floor? Or the floor hit your head?” Rick felt himself all over and said he thought he was unhurt. She addressed the room at large. “Is everyone all right? Anyone injured?”

  Abuelita disentangled herself from Mila and alternated hugging her and checking her for injuries. The sounds of crying died down and were replaced by volleys of anxious questions. The Scout leaders opened up their plastic tubs with the first-aid kits inside and older girls began checking the younger kids and each other. Nothing more serious than bruises and small scrapes turned up.

  The room itself was a mess. A vicious crack ran down one wall. The hanging pieces of art had fallen and splintered. Glass from one shattered window had sprayed inward and mixed with paint spilled from several cans. Every metal sculpture was upended. The double helix was now two single helices. The lollipop-holding rooster had lost all his lollipops and lay face-down, his beak impaled through someone’s phone.

  Rick climbed to his feet. The floor developed the marble-rolling feeling again, and Rick’s stomach said, Noooo, thank you.

  “There’s no telling how long these aftershocks will go on. Let me check outside,” Mrs. Torres said briskly, and ducked out the front door. She returned and addressed the room again, “C’mon, folks, let’s go. We don’t know how stable this ceiling is, and the front yard’s clear, except for the broken art.” Abuelita took Rick’s and Mila’s hands and steered them outside.

  The street-sign condor had crashed to earth. Rick stepped around it. The metal chickens and flags once decorating the yard looked as if they’d fought a war no one had won. Distant sirens continued to howl.

  In the driveway, the big delivery truck was now leaning at a drunken angle on the mini electric car. The rear of the truck was open, and road signs were strewn across the driveway. The delivery guy shuffled over to tenderly pat his truck’s bumper, then started to pick up the signs. The biggest danger Rick could see was that two big palm trees had fallen across the road, blocking it in both directions. Luckily, the trees hadn’t crushed anything other than bushes beneath them, but it didn’t look like anyone with their car on this block was going anywhere any time soon.

  A few drivers sat frozen and wide-eyed in the front seats of their unmoving cars. Others had gotten out of their cars and were walking in circles, holding their phones up to the sky. Every adult and some of the kids coming out of Ms. Diamond’s house held their phones up as well, trying to get a signal. The ground outside briefly rolled on marbles the way the floor inside had, and Rick stumbled over a metal chicken part.

  I want to go home, his stomach flargled.

  Rick squeezed Abuelita’s hand. “Can you see if your cell phone works so we can call my mom and dad? And my brothers? See if they’re okay?”

  She squeezed back. “The metal rooster wrecked my phone,” she said. Then she exclaimed, “My radio! I can call the other radio at our house!” She pulled Mila and Rick toward her car, which was serenely resting near the curb. It didn’t look like it’d moved during the earthquake. It didn’t look like it even knew there’d been an earthquake. Abuelita climbed into the front seat to grab the mike from her ham radio. After a few minutes, she said with deep relief, “Mila, your mother and sister are fine! Ricardo, your parents are with them, and they’re fine too. I’m going to call around and find someone from the TCD to check on Mila’s Papi at the hospital and Ricardo’s brothers at the university.”

  Rick found a fallen metal flag with rolled edges, propped up like a low bench, and plopped down on it. Mila sat next to him. The earth beneath them rode another wave, and his stomach repeated I want to go home.

  One Scout echoed his stomach by wailing, “How are we going to get home?” This wound up triggering a bunch of Brownies to start crying. The older Scouts didn’t look too far from tears, either, including Liz and Q.E., who had their arms around each other’s shoulders nearby. Rick swiped at his own eyes.

  Mrs. Torres kicked a metal chicken feather. “Ugh! Cell towers are probably down or jammed. I should be at city hall, directing my team to help the city. Instead, I’m here, where I can’t help with anything, because I felt like I had to fight with my sister in person. I’m sorry, Anna,” she said to Ms. Diamond. “I let my temper get the best of me again.”

  Ms. Diamond said, “You’re forgiven, as always, if you’ll help me get some emergency supplies from the shed.” She led Mrs. Torres around the corner of the house, and the two of them returned with a battery-operated radio and packages of bottled water.

  �
�I’ve got some emergency supplies of my own to share,” Mrs. Torres said, depositing the water on the front stoop. She popped open her briefcase, revealing a bag of Blow Pops. She stuck two fingers in her mouth and let out a sharp whistle. “Girls! It’s time for drinks and treats! Please form an orderly line to come tell me your favorite lollipop flavor!”

  Rick started to stand. Not worth it, his stomach warned him. More of those aftershocks are coming. Stay put. Right on cue, the ground rode another wave. Rick plopped back down and clutched the edges of the flag with white knuckles. The earth should not MOVE, his stomach announced angrily. They call it solid ground for a reason!

  Mila made no move to join the lollipop line, either. She abruptly turned to Rick and said, “You know everything’s going to be fine, right? We have nothing to fear but fear itself.”

  She was talking to him again. Even if it was to quote a Roosevelt. He tried to smile at her. Instead of smiling back, Mila winced and wrapped her arms around her middle. Oh, no, Rick’s stomach said, stupid not-solid ground is giving her motion sickness too. And she’s not as used to it as we are. His stomach clenched like it was girding for battle with the next aftershock. I’ll keep myself together while you try to distract her somehow.

  Rick noticed a metal chicken foot poking out of the sandy soil and picked it up. He started to trace lines on the ground. He told Mila, “You’re right. We’ve got nothing to fear, because we’re going to get back home in no time. You know why?” The lines on the ground became Abuelita’s big red car. “See these fins on the back? I’ve guessed Abuelita’s other secret, and it’s even bigger than the TCD. Those fins open up into wings, so she’s going to fly us home in the Pegasus-mobile.” He added blocky wings to the car, then sketched a sign advising CAUTION: LOW-FLYING GRANDMOTHERS.