The channel switched to a newscast. I glanced up and saw CNN. I slowed my eating.
“…Owen Marina was last seen by the police chopper getting off of I-95 and heading west on I-40, towards Raleigh. Authorities are saying he is most likely hiding out somewhere in that area. Please remember to call 1-888-FIND HIM. The FBI is offering a fifty-thousand dollar reward for his capture…”
I swallowed hard. The pizza slid down my throat.
The Asian lady turned to me, blinking, and then turned back to the TV. She turned to me again, and this time pointed at me. My heart raced, and then she moved her index finger towards the TV, and back to me again. A complete stranger now knew who I was. I couldn’t just sit back and watch her have this realization without saying anything.
I stood up, left my half-eaten pizza, and sat down in the seat diagonal to her. She stared straight at me, expressionless. Being so close, I could now see her in detail. Her skin resembled a grape that had pruned out in the sun all day. She had full cheeks and olive-colored skin. She then pointed at the TV once more and nodded to me. As if she was silently saying, “Look, it’s you.”
This time, I pointed at the TV, and then back at myself.
“I didn’t do it,” I said. “I am innocent.”
She didn’t respond. Just stared at me, blinking. Through her narrow eyes, I couldn’t tell if she had even absorbed what I said.
“Do you understand me?” I asked her slowly, pronouncing every word individually.
She laughed. “Just because I Asian doesn’t mean I don’t know English. Dumb white boy.”
I couldn’t help but display a shocked look with her response. I felt bad.
“I’m sorry, I really shouldn’t have assumed so quickly.”
She cackled. Her old voice cracked with each laugh. She sounded like a long-time smoker. She didn’t respond. Just looked back up at the TV for a moment, staring at the video of me on I-95 and the photo from my license in the corner of the screen.
She pointed at the screen again, then turned to me and suddenly placed her hand on top of mine on the table. I had an urge to pull back, but she leaned in towards me. With her free hand, she used her index finger to tap my chest, right around my heart.
“God has eyes,” she whispered, stretching out the words.
I was speechless. She nodded behind her in the direction of the TV.
“They bad people. Same people who took us from our homes. You…You good.”
I shook my head. I didn’t understand.
“How? How do you know I’m good?”
She threw her hands up in a shrug, smiling.
“Because I know!” she cackled once again, her voice raspy.
“What does that mean? God has eyes…”
She came in closer to me again.
“When I was little girl, I live in California. My parents came with me from Laos. Father always say to me, ‘God has eyes, Laura.’ I never understand. Then, one day, I come home from school and homeless man ask me for money. I have no money. I was ten, maybe. But, I have lunchbox with extra food from school. I give him my food.”
I listened intently to her story. Through her broken English, I sensed a lifetime of wisdom behind her rough appearance.
She paused.
“I get home. My dad was on porch. He saw what I did. He saw I gave my food. Then, he point to homeless man eating on street. He smiled, and say, ‘Now you understand, Laura? God has eyes. God sees through your eyes. When young, the soul pure. God does work through the young.’”
My mouth was agape. I had no words.
“What, am I that ugly?” she asked, laughing at my sudden stupor.
“No, no—what you said. It was so deep.”
She rested her hand on top of mine again.
“The ocean deep, too. Remember, most people drown in water too deep. They scared to go away from shallow water. They see the horizon but will never know what lies past.”
Confused from her riddle, my face contorted.
“What do those words mean to me?”
With her hand still on mine, she lifted her index finger to point at the TV.
“What they say on the news. That is shallow water. If someone were to shine a light, they would see under the surface is lies. Their water not deep enough to hide truth for long.”
“With all due respect, Laura, I think their water is deep enough to sink me to the bottom of the ocean and I’d never be seen again.”
She shook her head no.
“You don’t get it. It may seem like they have lots of water. Like a whole ocean…but, it’s all shallow. They spread their water too thin.”
“Hmm…” I mumbled.
“Owen, right?” she asked.
“Shh—not so loud.”
Her raspy voice cracked in laughter. “What, you worried about local hooker telling on you?” her smile was so wide it revealed her deteriorating teeth.
“No,” I laughed, “I’m just trying to be careful.”
Her eyes became softer.
“Owen…” This time, her voice was lower.
“Yes,” I murmured back.
“I remember when you first came on TV. Your nice suit and excitement in eyes. Our country had many problem. You came on stage like you had answer—a secret you had to share.”
I recalled the memory. My first big interview with NBC.
“I was so nervous,” I said.
“You didn’t look it,” she encouraged. “After long while, Owen, you became next great leader. Creator of Convergence Party. I watch you often. One thing I notice is that your ideas good for people. Good for everyone. Everyone except them.”
She pointed back to the TV. Her expression now tense.
“They will drown in water deep as yours, Owen. They fear what is on the other side of horizon, because they lose power if they go too deep. Your story, your water, is much deeper, much cleaner water than theirs. It scare them.”
I just listened as her clench on my hand grew tighter.
“Yesterday, I see they make you terrorist. I know it a lie. What happen Owen, is those people, make shallow story in shallow water. You and I, we deep. We know better. What happen now is, those people try to drag everyone back to shore. Back to where it shallow. Where they have power.”
This woman’s simple, yet complex analogies were stunning me. Her statement sparked a question.
“Laura, what am I supposed to do?”
There was a long pause and she pursed her lips.
“You have to teach them how to swim. Those people are trying to take everybody back to shallow water. You must teach them to swim so they can see what beyond the horizon. Before it too late…”
There was so much truth behind her symbolic wording.
“I see…” I mumbled, still digesting her explanation.
“Why you sit down with me, anyway?” she asked, changing the subject.
“You were pointing at me,” I said with a confused look.
She busted out laughing.
“Good! My plan work! I wanted you to talk to me. I know who you are when you first sit down.”
“Why me?” I questioned.
“Because, you tall, handsome celebrity. Never thought I see you in place like this.”
“I never thought I would be framed for the bombs. I never thought I would rob a bank, either.”
“You rob bank?” she lit up in excitement.
“Yes, I needed cash. Everything I own is back at my apartment.”
“Nice. Remind me of movie I once saw, Bonnie & Clyde. But where is Bonnie?”
I sighed. My heart sank from her comment, and all it took was this overly-frank woman to remind me that I was alone.
“I don’t have a Bonnie. Right now I’m solo, I’m just Clyde.” I mustered up the strength to finish my sentence.
“But how? Look at you.” She waved her hand up and down as if she were displaying me to a crowd.
“That’s a good question. Maybe it’s because I ch
ose my passion over my lover.”
She creased her eyes from my statement.
“Owen, if your lover make you choose, she not real lover,” she whispered.
“I wish those words were enough to stop feeling guilty about choosing.”
“No. No guilt,” she responded firmly. “Let go of guilt. One day, you find woman who see your passion, and she help you follow it. That is true lover.”
“I agree,” I said.
She looked at me playfully and revealed her haphazard, yellow teeth.
“I will be Bonnie.”
I laughed and patted her hand.
“I appreciate the kind offer, Laura, but I will have to pass.”
“Well, shit,” she said jokingly. Her accent was so heavy I couldn’t help but laugh when she cursed.
“So, Laura, what is your story? Why are you here?” I changed the subject.
She glanced at me. Her expression showed reluctance.
“Like I said, I was born in California. My parents come to North Carolina when I thirteen. Some family already here. I live here since. Ten year ago, my husband, father of my daughter, die of lung cancer. It was very hard for our family. Very hard to be alone.”
“I’m sorry for your loss,” I interjected.
“I sorry too. For me, every day since is a dark day.”
Glancing at her hands, I noticed she had a ring on her wedding finger.
“Three year ago, I meet new man. I didn’t feel alone for first time in very long time. He nice to my daughter, he work hard. The only thing was he like to drink. But, it never problem. New Year 2015 come and go. Couple days after, kaboom.”
She paused, and I clenched my teeth from the memory.
“You remember…the riots…fire in streets. I never forget the bank they burn down in Los Angeles. My hometown.”
“I remember,” I confirmed.
“Then, Obama start Confinement. In days before, I remember big Army trucks pass by at night. When I wake up, I see equipment, tents, port-o-potty. I knew something no right…but where can I go? Nowhere. We stuck. Taken from our home. Three months sleep in cold tent, with too many people. No privacy.”
I tried to keep my eyes open…because if I were to blink, the moment my eyelids closed I would see it all again. The anger that burned my soul was a wound that would never heal.
“When we finally go home. My husband’s work lay him off. They need to save money after Confinement. He start drinking every night. He buy cheap liquor, and I smell it on his breath in bed. He was mad and sad. Angry at world. I don’t blame him. In past six month, we argue a lot. He come home drunk from bar, or friends, and we fight. He beat me…”
Anxiety coursed through me as she uttered those words.
“I tried to hide bruises from my daughter when she come visit. But she smart. She know. I left him. I had no choice, my daughter make me live with her. She like her father, so smart. She have good job with Duke Energy. So now, I live with her. I am happy I left.”
“I am happy you left too,” I added. “Why aren’t you at her house now?”
She smiled and brushed her thumb across my hand.
“Husband know where my daughter live, Owen. My daughter say it no safe to stay alone in house. So, when she go on business trip, she buy me hotel to stay in.”
“Does your daughter think it is safe here?”
“It is all she can afford. I like it, Larry take good care of me.”
All she can afford…
The words echoed. Her road had been extremely rough. Perhaps I could brighten her day.
“Laura, can you do me a favor?”
“Depends,” she said, hesitantly.
“I promise, it’s nothing bad, or difficult.”
“Okay. Tell me.”
“I need to change my appearance. If I give you the money to buy it, could you get me some things?”
She nodded. “What kind of things?”
“Hair dye. Find men’s blond hair dye. Bleach blond. A set of new clothes. A pair of pants, a hooded jacket, and sunglasses.”
There was a pause. Then she opened her palm.
“Money,” she demanded.
I pulled out my wallet and kept it below the edge of the table, so she couldn’t see it.
“There is a Walmart a few blocks away. I saw it when I rode in.”
“I know where it is. I live here, remember?”
I laughed. “You don’t mind walking, do you?”
“God gave me two feet, and they still work.”
Smiling, I took my wallet out where she could see it. I pulled out and counted twenty-two hundred dollar bills. As I was counting, Laura’s eyes grew wide.
“Very expensive hair dye,” she said.
“No, Laura. This money is for you. Buy my things with it, and when you get back I’ll give you more.”
She stared at me as if I was crazy, like the words I had just said didn’t process.
“What? No, I can’t. That your money.”
I pushed it towards her adamantly. “Laura, this is for helping me. Use it to help you and your daughter.”
Her lip quivered. In the corners of her eyes, I saw tears form.
“That so kind of you…” She sniffled and stood up. She kept her eyes to the ground and I could hear her becoming more emotional. “Okay, I go now.”
I stood up in front of her—towering over her small frame.
I opened up my arms, insinuating we should hug, and I waited for her confirmation.
She peered up at me with glassy eyes and wrapped her arms around my torso. I heard a hiccupped cry as she held me. Although she was not my blood, the fact that Laura was a mother was sentimental to me. It had been over eight years since I had held my own mother in my arms.
“Don’t cry…” I said as I patted her back.
“I—I just never have a stranger be so nice to me…”
“You deserve it.”
She looked up at me and tapped on my chest with her index finger.
“You are good, Owen. Remember, your water deep. You must teach the people to swim…keep them away from shallow water. Keep them away from their lie.”
Her words resonated in my mind and I let go of her.
“I will, I’ll remember,” I said.
“Okay, now I go,” she announced with a laugh and began walking towards the lobby.
“I’ll wait here,” I called back to her.
I saw her walk out of the door, but it wasn’t a walk, more of a slow waddle. I gave her twenty-two hundred dollars with no promises, no guarantees…just a mutual trust from the conversation we had just had. She was right, though. We were both deep.
An hour passed. I had changed the TV station to AMC. They were playing reruns of Breaking Bad, which was the perfect way to pass the time. Plus, I was tired of hearing my name on the news. I had heard a few people check in, but luckily none of which came into the restaurant. Occasionally, doubt would seep into my mind. I wondered if Laura was coming back. I scolded myself for thinking that. It was natural to have been cautious, but I had put my trust in her, and I knew she wouldn’t just take my money and leave.
I heard the bell ring to the lobby door. I watched through the arch of the restaurant and saw Laura with bags at her side. She hoisted them up and plopped them on the table.
“I’m back,” she announced, her voice flat.
“I see that,” I replied with a chuckle.
“It all here. You check.”
I rummaged through the plastic bags and saw the hair dye, glasses, and clothes. Everything was there just like she said.
“Did anything happen to you? I was wondering what took so long.”
“I went shopping, too,” she informed me with a grin.
“What did you get?”
Her outfit hadn’t changed, and I didn’t see anything with her that resembled a purchase. She pulled out a small Nikon camera from her purse. She was beaming with joy.
“I set it up at Walmart. I love pictu
res. My husband pawn my camera three month ago. My daughter can’t afford to get new one. Now I can make photo album again.”
“I’m happy you could get one,” I encouraged.
“Me too. Thank you so much.”
“It’s the least I could do, no problem.”
She didn’t respond. I noticed a childlike enthusiasm in her expression, like she had a grand idea that she was just itching to tell someone.
“Owen…” She mumbled.
“Yes…” I said, tilting my head towards her playfully.
“Can we take a picture? Me and you?”
“Oh…uh…Laura, I don’t know. It probably isn’t—”
“Please! It safe with me, it safe.”
The thought of a photo surfacing with me in it was frightening. God forbid, if it were to get on social media before I left the hotel it could mean game over. Then again, I had yet to change my appearance, and I could tell this meant something to her.
“All right, you win,” I conceded.
“It has timer. I set it, hold on.” She said, fiddling with the camera. She set it on the edge of a windowsill along the dividing wall between the restaurant and lobby. “Ok, ten second!”
She scurried to my side and I put my arm around her. We both smiled, and after a few seconds the flash went off.
“Let me check!” she said and looked at the screen. “Look, Owen—it come out great!”
She was practically bouncing up and down from the photo, and when I held the camera I did see that the photo turned out great. We both smiled like we were long lost friends who posed for a picture.
“I like it, Laura. It’s great. Just please, whatever you do, keep it to yourself.”
“Yes, yes yes,” she obliged. “I won’t show to no one. Only my daughter.”
Just the thought of her showing it to anyone else irked me, but it was out of my control.
“When does your daughter come back from her business trip?”
“Monday. I’m here rest of weekend.”
Four days. I shouldn’t worry so much.
“All right. Oh, and Laura, I have the rest of your money.”
The Gambit Page 10