After Work
No one at the convenient store saw the jolt coming when it threw Salvador to the concrete. Downwind of the wash tunnel, cool steel panels of the vacuum island had seemed a sensible place for a sweaty man to lean. But a faint trail of smoke rose from his back as he lay trembling on his face.
The crew leader sprinted from the bus when she heard the others screaming. She knelt at Salvador, rolled him onto his back and began the resuscitation process. The workers huddled around, with shallow breath they watched as chest pumps grew harder and faster, sweat falling from her brow as she leaned over to breathe into his lungs and whisper.
“Dios mio, por favor.”
After another round of pumping she bent over to check his breath. She pressed her damp fingers against his neck and dropped her head, sobbing gently. Salvador’s brother removed the bandana from his head and draped it across his brother’s chest.
“Por que, Dios? Por que?”
They passed one by one, nodding and making the sign of the cross as they looked to the ground. Once they loaded the bus her husband drove them to the motel, while she waited to file a report.
When the sheriff arrived he asked for Salvador’s identification. She tried to explain, but he stopped her and nodded as his eyes met the clerk’s. “If he wernt no citizen, we caint do nothing.”
She watched a blood orange sun sink behind attenuated pines as the cruiser pulled onto the highway and faded across sullen green hills.
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