Riding in Cars With Boys

There was no room in the van or Troy's car, so my roommate Leslie and I got a ride with Pastor Sasha. The village of Cojusna is not far from our home in Chisinau, but it was an adventure. I opened the back of the truck to find three blond boys under the age of twelve, two pieces of gum that had been eaten and spit out, wrappers and clothes and a few other unidentified objects. I beckoned Leslie bravely and climbed in. The boys were more than delighted and a fourth blond boy in the front seat asked if got to go home with them that night. And the conversation began.

This was chance to practice my Romanian, so I used all I could. I talked to the boys, asking their names and ages and teasing them about the tongues that had been turned various colors by candy. We talked about where America is located and how to get there. Dennis, the youngest boy, about three, was pacified and happy for the most part, until his supply of candy ran out. Then Dennis would yell in my ear at his two brothers and their friend, until candy came. When Pastor Sasha got in the car and turned it on, we headed to the church and unloaded a bunch of lawn mowers. Then we were finally on our way, boys bouncing around without seat belts eating candy by the fistfuls. They kept talking to me in Romanian, in words I couldn't understand and we finally gave up.

I guess the light summer drizzle outside was too much for them, because they turned the heat on full blast. In the past week I have played soccer in the afternoon sun, walked four miles across town and been in an apartment without air conditioning. After fifteen minutes in that car, with Denise sleeping against me and Clement on my lap, I submit that I have never been sweatier.