MY SHOOTING STAR

Chapter Three

"You can never lose your way, for your light will always guide you back home."
--Shari Alyse

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Ever since the argument Nana and I had at the dinner table last night, our interactions have become limited, and conversations strained. We talked seldom to each other this morning, and it felt like we were acquaintances.

That afternoon, to get me out of the house so she could recover from the harsh reality of what happened, Nana missioned me to go out and replace the ice in the cooler that our neighbors had collected for us. Whatever she needed to have time to herself.

I usually make my rounds to three back houses for ice and trade cash for them, hatch them onto my trishaw bike, and haul them to Nana's house. However, the first two houses, I relent to say, had their supplies relinquished, so I had to wait until Monday for a new load to be delivered. In the meantime, I decided to head to my third supplier, Mr. Valencia.

An exchange of conversations from my sellers was relayed but only for a short while during transport since bags of ice unfortunately had a lifespan of a squashed Efímera. But for some reason, Mr. Valencia had a whole tale to tell about his parakeet.

Of course, I tried to be as respectful to my elders as possible, but there's a limit to what a young person can take. I was itching to just dissappear from monologues of a lonesome old man who felt it was necessary to express his utmost feelings about his uneventful life. But he was my supplier, and I supposed he needed the company...

For those who were oblivious to his character, they would have viewed Mr. Valencia as an attraction of oddity. He wore a chupalla hat wherever he went, even in the restrooms. He produced high levels of anxiety, which could have been mistaken for enthusiasm. He also had an ear-splitting laughter when mentioning his interests. Such as his fully developed parakeet.

In reality, Mr. Valencia was a man of integrity and devotion. No way would he helplessly watch me pick up four large, heavy bags of ice out of his garage on my own, so he assists in providing his labor as long as his aching knees spared him the long way down to hard concrete--and an expensive hospital bill, if I may add, in which I probably would end up paying for in compensation.

"--and he decided to fly towards the pajarito!" Mr. Valencia said in astonishment. "Aiee! If I wasn't there to break them up, Ellos tendrian pollitos!"

He was referring to his parakeet desperately searching for a female since it was mating season.

Exhausted, I carried the third bag to my trishaw. "They would have made a tender family, Mr. Valencia," I said to appear interested.

Bent halfway to gather another bag of ice, Mr. Valencia stopped in his tracks and conveyed a cold, hard stare in my direction. He knew well by now in his old age when someone's actions weren't genuine. "Are you playing me, boy?"

I stiffened. "Uh, no, Señor." Was I too obvious?

Instead of giving me discipline for my rudeness, Mr. Valencia decided to let it go and take a desired break from the heat. He twisted a folding chair out from beside him and expanded it to its fullness. He took his time sitting in it, and when he did, he sighed in relief of resting his worn and aching knees.

With a small portable radio in the background, a voice was heard reporting an occurrence in the weather that would soon take effect in the near future. It was mere chitter from our point of view, but the message was still delivered to those who needed to hear it. "Pronto habrá una lluvia de meteoritos que nos honrará con su presencia dentro de unas semanas!". The message was broken in some places, but that didn't stop the signalman from repeating it. "That's right, folks! Another meteor shower coming to our small town in Chile!"