Juan and Maria

Writer's cramp: Write a story in 24 hours.
Today's Prompt is:an ice cube, a pick-up, and a drive-in movie. Romantic Comedy

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Juan and Maria

         The junky, old pick-up squeeked around the corner. Its warn-out tires laid a black trail on the highway. Inside Maria and Juan were bunched up as close as they could get to the door. Their eyes were wider than brown cupcakes, and they clung to each other, murmuring Spanish endearments in their fear.

         “Por favor, Señor, por favor,” begged Juan, as his wife moaned.

         Matthew O’ Kelly, the driver, didn’t seem to react to the fear and pleading in Juan’s voice. The man didn’t slow down. If anything he speeded up.

         After shooting around another sharp turn in the road, Matthew grabbed at a plastic cup on his dashboard cup holder, jerked it up and out, and then jiggled the ice cube that remained inside, jostling it back and forth. His eyes, still glued to the road ahead, seemed unaware of the white faces of Juan and Maria staring over at him.Once more, the driver brought the cup closer, inserted the straw into his mouth and slurped loudly, sucking up the remaining liquid.

         The road stretched straight ahead. Matthew rammed his foot down harder, then bent forward slightly as the pick-up surged onward.

         Maria let out an urgent, “Ayyyyyyyy” that continued for several seconds.

         Juan pleaded, “Por favor, por favor . . .”

         Matthew was doing 80 mph. The old truck was vibrating, a tooth-grating jiggle, that shoot its the metal frame, yet still Matthew didn't hold back. His foot pressed down clear to the floor. The truck, like a lathered stallion in full gallop, sped on.

         “Not far -- no muy lejos,” Matthew told Juan, shifting slightly to change the position of his tensed left shoulder.

         The driver slowed a bit as they thundered past Perry’s old drive-in movie theatre. It was closed now, but sometimes kids gathered there to ride motorbikes around the remnants of the speaker phone posts. Occasionally a cop hung nearby, watching for speeders. Matthew could probably talk his way out of a ticket, but he didn’t want the bother of doing so -- or the time it would take.

         Maria was crying again, her screams loud and gasping. Matthew shot a glance at her. “A moment. Hold on. Un momento.”

         “Te quiero,” her husband said over and over as he held her close and kissed her perspiring brow.

         Matthew listened. His Spanish wasn't great, but he understood, “I love you.” An odd flash of jealousy shot across his heart. Why had he never said those words to anyone? Why didn't he have a dark-eyed señora in his life that he could whisper sweet endearments to?

         “Te quiero,” Matthew whispered, trying it out, practicing for such a moment just in case.

         Maria burst out again, “Ayyyyyyy.”

         Matthew couldn’t help tossing a glance. Juan was kissing Maria, his lips the echo of his prior words. Lips on her brow, her cheeks, on the hair that cascaded down around her lovely face.

         Matthew sighed, looked away, sped on. Vaguely he heard Juan unbuckle his seat belt. What was he doing? But Matthew couldn't look. He'd entered the town. Cars, pedestrians, traffic lights. All about him, obstacles appeared, demanding his attention. He slowed, his heart racing. They were almost there, though -- just two more blocks. He started to tell the couple that, but Maria was screaming. Juan had dropped to the floor. He was on his knees, talking to Maria, encouraging her, calming her.

         At last the clunky old truck raced into the parking lot of Madonna’s Hospital. “We made it,” Matthew said, jubilantly. He turned to glance at the Maria, but the couple had not paid attention to his words. They were peering down at the baby Maria had just delivered.

         “Not again!” Matthew hollered in dismay. “This is the third time!”

          The infant let out a burst of noise -- a tiny wail of protest.

         Juan's face beamed with pride as he glanced up at Matthew. “The baby, she come muy rapido.”

         An aide from the hospital shot out through the electric door pushing a wheelchair. Juan and the medic helped Maria into the chair, the newborn snuggled contentedly in her arms.

         Matthew smiled then sighed as Maria was wheeled away. He started up the engine, parked, got out. A stray pebble appropriate to kick. He should be feeling happy for them. He was, except . . .

          The couples's little boys were back at the house. His mother was taking care of them. She loved Juanito and Miguel. Matthew did, too. He'd love the new baby. A girl, they'd said. A beautiful little girl.

         Matthew kicked another stone, watched it knock into the wall of the hospital. Geez, Juan was sure a lucky fellow -- sons, a daughter, a wife so sweet sunshine followed her every smile. Matthew sighed again, wished he could find another rock to kick, something to take away his streak of jealousy, this dissatisfaction with his own empty life.

         But the sidewalk was free of stones. Matthew passed through the electric doors, made his way toward the flower stand at the side door. He chose a bouquet of white asters and pink roses. The young girl who was helping him tied it with a pink balloon. “Congratulations! It’s a girl!” the balloon said.

         The flower shop woman smiled at Matthew. She was very pretty. Shiny white teeth, hair cascading down her back in rich, thick lusciousness, and eyes like milk chocolate.

         Matthew blushed then smiled. “Guadalupe” the tag on her breast said. Matthew forced his attention away from the rest of her form-fitting uniform.

          "Guadalupe," he murmured, trying out the name.

         “My friends just had a baby,” Matthew explained to the woman. “It's their third child, a little girl. Carlotta.”

         “Ah,” said Guadalupe, dimpling prettily. “I love that name.”

         The woman tossed her hair back, but one lock still clung to her pink uniform. Matthew found the curl delectable. “You do?” he gushed, admiring the darkness of her sparkling eyes, the thick, frond-like lashes that teased. “I do, too," he began and then paused, hesitant for fear that she might laugh. "I was just thinking –- but this is silly . . .”

         “No, what?” Guadalupe placed her hand on Matthew’s arm, urging him to continue. The softness of her eyes begged for him to speak.

         Matthew's heart raced. He couldn't look at her eyes another moment. If he did he feared he would melt and lie puddle-like before her. He stared instead at her dainty fingernails, shiny, as if painted with creamy pink frosting. He smiled, then grew brave enough to look into her eyes.

         “Well, I was just thinking . . ." A stray arm flapped without cause. Matthew had knocked over a vase. Water gushed down the counter and onto his shoes.

         "I'm sorry," he apologized, but Guadalupe just gestured it away.

         "No importa -- It is not important," she said, smiling more fully into his eyes. "You were saying?"

         Matthew cleared his throat, shook water from his foot, and continued. "I was just thinking that if I ever had a daughter, I might want to name her Carlotta . . ." Then he stopped, and suddenly words he hadn't planned to speak tumbled out. "But Guadalupe is a beautiful name, too . . .”

         “You think so? What is your name, Señor?”

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         Later, the asters and the roses made it up to the new mother’s room. Maria smiled at their beauty, kissed Matthew, and thanked him sweetly for his gallant driving to the hospital. Of course, she spoke in Spanish, and Matthew only understood about half of it, but he knew what she meant. He smiled back at her and said, “De nada.” Then he introduced Guadalupe, and they all oohed and aahed over baby Carlotta.

         Juan was sitting on the bed beside Maria. When the talk between them slowed and a moment of silence came, Juan bent over and whispered to his wife. “Te quiero.”

          Matthew was relieved to notice he didn’t feel as jealous.

         He looked down at Guadalupe, and he whispered. “Te quiero,” to try it out. It sounded sweet.

          As if she'd heard him, Guadalupe smiled at him.

          Guadalupe had agreed to go out with him Friday night. Could it be possible that she might turn out to be his Maria. Te quiero was such a lovely way to live life . . .

         Te quiero, Matthew thought as he stared at the new baby. Then he took Guadalupe's hand and felt her fingers interweave with his.

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