Traffic grew increasingly heavier as Juan barreled down the Rio Salado Parkway. As he neared Tempe Beach Park, the packed vehicles became impassible, so he pulled onto a side street and drove as far as he could until the throngs of pedestrians prevented him from moving any further. With no parking spaces available, he juked his pickup wheels roughly over a curb and parked on the gravel landscaping of the Tempe Center for the Arts at the park's west end.
Thousands of people milled about in a mad assortment of costumes. Everywhere, he could see dyed hair, piercings, and gaudy banners protesting every conceivable cause. Evidence of their month-long occupation was everywhere: tents, tarps, trash, and crudely-constructed barriers. The latter were evidently designed to keep the authorities out.
How am I ever gonna find Sofia in this mess? Juan wondered.
He thought for a moment and then reached for his phone. Scrolling madly through his contact list, he finally found an entry labeled 'Diego.' Juan stared hard at the screen, willing more information to come forth. But it was no use. He wasn't really sure who Diego might be, but there was a chance it was one of Sofia's friends. He punched the call button.
After several rings, someone who sounded like a young, white man picked up, "Yeah? Who is this?" his voice tense and hurried.
With a name like Diego, Jua assumed he was talking with another Mexican. But he couldn't be sure, so he spoke slowly and in English, "This is Juan Torres. I'm Sofia's father. Is this Diego? I think we've met before."
There was a lot of background noise, and Juan had to listen hard to hear.
"Yeah, this is Diego," came the reply. "Look dude, I can't talk. It's hitting the fan right now!"
Juan definitely heard the sound of sirens, both over the phone and coming from the far end of the park. "Please, wait! Have you seen my daughter? Have you seen Sofia? I'm here to pick her up."
A distant roar erupted from the crowd. Diego was yelling something, but Juan couldn't make out what it was. It sounded like, "It's your dad..."
Please God, Juan breathed a silent prayer.
"Dad?" Sofia's frightened voice.
"I'm here, mija!" Juan shouted into the phone. "I'm over by the Arts Center. Where are you?"
There was a pause, "Dad? You're here? What are you doing at our protest?"
"We were watching the news," Juan spoke rapidly now. "C'mon, let me get you out of here before you get any trouble."
"You can't be here, Dad," Sofia pleaded. "We're holding these protests all over the country, Seattle, San Francisco, Chicago, New York, all over."
"You're mom and I are worried sick, mija," Juan cajoled. "They're sending in soldiers and we don't want you to get hurt."
"Nobody's getting hurt!" Sofia said defensivley. "We're just exercising our First Amendment rights. We're just making speeches."
"Why?" Juan just wanted to reach through the phone and drag her home.
Sofia's response was filled with fire and venom, "We're pissed at the illegal and illegitimate re-election of Donald Trump!