Antonio Olivo

rolled his window down as I rolled my suitcase down the sidewalk.  He drove a yellow minivan and asked if I needed a cab.


"I do, but I have to run a few errands first.  I need to go to the ATM, and I want to get a scone."

"A what?" he asked.

"A scone."

"It'll take 10 minutes?"

I nodded yes.

"I can wait 10 minutes," he said.

I hopped in the cab, grateful that it was moving faster than my legs.

"Have you never had a scone?" I asked.

"No, I don't know what that is."

When we arrived at the ATM, I took my purse and backpack with me, but I left my suitcase, choosing to trust but mainly hoping that he wouldn't drive off with it.  He didn't, and he drove me to Sweetleaf Cafe, where I ordered two scones.  From the backseat of the cab, I handed one of them to Antonio.

"Virginia, is this healthy?"

"No," I laughed.

We ate the scones as he drove and something shook in the cargo space.  The clanking filled the air in the van, leaving just enough for us to breathe and occasionally speak.

"It's good," he told me.

We arrived at the airport, and as I grabbed my backpack and purse and suitcase, he rolled down his window.  I stood on the pavement and slid the van's door closed.  We both were smiling.

"Virginia, happy holidays."

"Thank you, Antonio.  Happy holidays."