Maria was hysterical, “You’re on the news! They’ve got helicopters taking pictures!”
Juan did his best to calm her down, but his efforts were in vain. Finally, he let her speak to Carlos.
“No, Mom. We’re not hurt, we’re OK,” he said.
Juan couldn’t make out everything Maria said, but he could hear her high-pitched, rapid questions.
“No, Mom. Nobody’s bothering us. They’re just making speeches.”
For the last two hours, men and women dressed in a wild assortment of camouflage clothing had been taking turns standing atop the overturned truck, screaming slogans into a bullhorn while their companions filmed them with cell phones.
“Yeah… I know, Mom. Yeah…” Carlos had trouble getting a word in over his mother’s fevered rant. “Hang on, Mom. I’ve got to talk to Dad for a minute. No, don’t worry. I’ll call you right back… Mom… Mom… Yeah, I love you too, Mom. Call you right back.”
Juan tried to suppress a chuckle, “What’d she say?”
Carlos blew out a long breath. “She’s saying that this is happening at airports all across the country: Denver, Dallas, Chicago, a bunch of them.”
Juan mumbled a curse. “Why?” was all he asked.
“I think they’re pissed the election was stolen again,” Carlos offered.