Out of Nowhere (fiction) . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Angela Canales

OUT OF NOWHERE

s the three men rush the cab – your cab – the truth hits: what only happens to others is about to happen to you. You are not the exception.

Moments ago, you and your Aussie boyfriend were splurging in a Bogotá bistro: grilled steaks, bottles of wine, and scoops of coke on an ATM card going black on the sides from acids. The waiter had looked away each time you ambled to the rest room. And here ’ s the killer: after thanking you for the fat tip, he ’d offered to call a cab (neither of you had cells). But something about his eagerness, Davy had muttered, already paranoid. He ’d probably call a friend, one of those dodgy drivers, saying, these gringos are loaded. And careless. Graciously, you ’d answered, no gracias,and instead hailed a taxi off the street. Like you ’d been told not to do a million times.

So here you both are, your hearts beating merengue, the coke redundant, the air around you stinking of fake pines and human grease. Davy ’ s round face suddenly looks gaunt.

A tsunami of silence then slammed car doors and heavy breathing. This is how it’ s going to go, the one now in the passenger seat barks in Spanish. You and Davy get sandwiched between the other two. You can ’t make out their features and never will.

Davy lets out a gurgling holler and stomps his feet as if running in place. A child scared out of his wits. Then the one in the front pulls out a gun.

The two of you dutifully unclasp your watches, unsnap your wallets and relinquish money, debit cards and pin numbers. For a rippling moment, you believe you may have to open something else as a sweaty hand reaches around Davy to caress your head, and the cab mazes deeper into unknown neighborhoods. You get a flash of yourself, flopping like a fish on the pavement as your jeans get yanked down and shadowed faces land on your face and neck. You imagine the aftermath: you and Davy

A12

lying face down, the sound of air being ripped by bullets.

You teeter on a precipice, flabbergasted by this possible fate. And to think it would be nothing personal, life just a

Family Tree by Todd Marrone © 2008