Falling

One (Fight)

The sky spreads overhead like a giant gray blanket, hiding the persecuting rays of angry sunlight. Below the gray street pushes beyond my power to see farther than crumbling buildings, cement walls smashed into unrecognizable clumps of head high, dusty hills.

Waiting.

Some hands holding wiggly child bodies, empty bags in hand, a line of women stand with anticipation rumbling in their stomachs. Faces that bear the marks of fear and worry peek around and forward. The smell of chicken and noodle soup encouraging them to wait for a turn at filling their empty bowls.

A young mother steps into my view, red flowers sprinkled across the top of a white blouse. Her brown face mirrored in the little girl leaning into her body, clutching her mother's hand. The earthquake has taken what meager belongings they once had and reduced them to beggars.

I fill their bowls with soup and carefully place a loaf of bread in the mother's plastic bag. Their desperation tears a hole in my heart and nearly brings tears to the corners of my eyes.

Grace's Kitchen is what they call this place where I stand for a few small hours a day handing out various concoctions of food. We do our best with what we have.

Since there was no good job inviting me to stay in the States, my buddy Bobby and I decided to take a vacation on this island's beach.

We stumbled around the hotel for a few days acting like tourists. But, curiosity got a hold on our brains and sent our legs into town. We almost collided with this broken down building while meandering around a blind corner far from the sandy beach where most tourists camp out.

I stayed and Bobby went back to the beach. I stayed because this husky lady gave me a ladle and asked me to serve food to the line of people whose limp, hungry eyes trapped me.

"Wash your hands first!" she yelled over her shoulder while disappearing into the shadows of the building's interior. I haven't gotten up the nerve to leave, even though Bobby's gone and I missed the plane.

"Sam!" Toby's words crash into the emotions rambling around in my mind.

The slap of flip flops echo the worry lines streaking across his face.

"Trouble!" His arm stretches out, a shaking finger pointing back to the end of the line.

A small circle of bodies are caught up in dancing motion, flashes of blue jeans skitter between the spaces where arms dangle.

I hand the soup ladle to the young woman standing at my side.

"I need you to take over for me!"

I run! There's no time for hesitation.

My eyes close in on the circle of bodies shimmering with heat waves rising from the overheated asphalt. Two young boys, crouching, knives flashing, lean forward into each other's line of vision.

I squeeze between two of the several bodies commanding a place in the clangorous circle.

Anger is tearing at their faces. Arms slung out from their shoulders shoot power into hands that jealously grasp the handles of glinting blades. The silver blades mirror screaming eyes, bulging with the anticipation of the first cut, lips smacking and tongues lolling for that first taste of salty blood.

"Wait a minute...you guys!"

The sudden intervention of my voice slams into the air, taking hold of the moment like an eye blink.

"Which one of you guys is prepared to die first?"

The lines on their faces straighten a tick, acknowledging a new potential combatant.

"Is it better for one crew to win, or for both to save face?"

My question causes something to shift in their brains. Both bodies back up, almost touching the now silent crowd.

I step into the elbow room that has opened between them. Sunlight splashes off the knives' silver blades. I notice small tattoos clinging to their necks as they each take a step forward.

Then....