“Juan, can I see you in my office?” The question sounded like an order, but then everything Richard Thompson said sounded like an order.
"OK, just a minute!” Juan called back. Richard was Juan’s boss at the metal fabrication plant. Juan finished giving the day’s instructions to his crew and followed Richard down the long hallway from the shop floor.
Richard’s office was unpretentious. It was little more than a side room. His desk was made of steel painted in a dark gray, as was the single bookshelf. Across every flat surface lay a haphazard collection of papers, folders, and the occasional food wrapper. As Juan came in, Richard offered him a cup of coffee from a stained coffee pot that looked like it had seen better days.
“I’m surprised you came in today,” Richard began gruffly and without preamble.
“Why?” Juan’s voice pitched querulously, seeking more explanation. But Juan wasn’t concerned about being in trouble. He’d worked for Richard for over a dozen years, and every conversation began the same way. Richard was more than a boss. He was Juan’s friend, too.
“I heard about the shooting yesterday,” Richard waved to Juan to take a seat. Juan had to move a tool belt off a chair before he sat down.
Juan’s face blanched. “Yeah, that was pretty bad,” he confessed.
“Why don’t you take a couple of days off?” It seemed like a struggle for Richard to say anything with compassion, but he followed up with, “I’ve told you a million times that we can get along around here without you for a little while.”
Juan flashed a slight, fleeting grin. It was a lot easier to handle Richard when he was a grouch. He tried to make light of the subject with a brief chuckle, “What good’s that gonna do?” Then the grin was gone. “That little girl is still in the hospital.”
“How bad is it?” Richard’s face was a mask of concern.
Juan sipped his coffee and leaned back, “The doctors told me that when the bullet passed through her abdomen, it missed the major organs.”
“Thank God.” Richard leaned back too, shaking his head.
“Yeah, but it nicked her intestine, so they are afraid that’s going to start leaking into her…” Juan stroked his abdomen thoughtfully as he remembered the conversation, “So they’re gonna have to keep an eye on her for a little while.”
“Did they catch the guy that shot her?” Richard asked.
“No!” Juan suddenly grew indignant. “The police thought I did it!”
“What?” Richard gasped, “Why?”
“Maybe because I came walking into the hospital covered in blood, carrying a little girl,” Juan ground his teeth. “I guess I could understand that,” he said wryly. “But they interviewed me for almost two hours. I thought I was gonna go to jail!”
“What did you tell them?”
“I just told them what happened,” somehow, Juan’s coffee cup was already empty. He held it out for Richard to refill it. “I was coming out of the community center after registering to vote, and I heard this noise like firecrackers. Next thing I know there is the screaming, and I’m holding a little girl with blood all over the place…” Juan trailed off, unable to finish the story as he relived the experience.
Richard poured coffee. “You’re a mess, amigo," he drawled the unaccustomed Spanish word slowly. But his next words were sincere, “You really need to take some time off.”
“Gracias,” Juan said, accepting the cup. “But no. I don’t need to take any time off.” His eyes implored Richard to understand, “I feel better when I’m workin’. If I stay home, I’ll have too much time for thinkin’.”
“You got it. Anything you need.” Richard nodded resolutely; the matter settled. “Well, at least you registered to vote, right?”
Juan nodded, grateful for the change of subject.
“So, what did you decide?” Richard turned his chair towards his computer, clicking the keys to start his workday. “Are you going to vote straight Democrat and bring that third-world Mexican socialism to my beloved state?”
“No,” Juan chuckled, “You can tell all your gringo friends that this brand-new American citizen just registered as a Republican!”
“Seriously?” Richard spun his chair back to face Juan. “Why?”
What will Juan say next?
Choose Option 1: The Elections are Rigged
Choose Option 2: Trump Will Be the Nominee