from Trevor’s window - a novel in progress

Hilcias, his mamí and his abuelo sat down on the ground in the shade of the peach trees. 

All of the workers were covered with dirt and sweat. Their sacks were filled to overflowing with peaches. 

Dr. Maria walked up and sat down beside Hilcias. She grinned at him.He took a peach out of his sack and handed it to her. It was yellow and red. It was fuzzy and easy to hold in the hand. It would be a good snack for her as she helped the patients at the clinic.

Before they the little family got up to go to the old, gutted out school bus in which they lived, Dr. Maria said, “Hilcias, I have something for you.” 

She pulled out a book from her doctor’s bag and handed it to him.

It was The Princeton Field Guide to Whales and Dolphins, with a blue whale on the cover. 

Hilcias opened the book to the page about blue whales and stared at it.

It was hard for him to read because his eyes were filled with tears for her kindness.

“Here’s to all of the whales in the world, Hilcias,” said Dr. Maria.

“They’re beautiful,” whistled Hilcias. “Thank you.”

Dr. Maria walked the dusty path with them back to their bus.

More and more workers filed out out of the fields and orchard. 

Some carried sacks full of tomatoes.

Some carried sacks full of peaches that made your body itch if they touched your skin. 

The women entered their yards and began cooking beans and tortillas. 

Dr. Maria sat near the door of the bus with Hilcias and his abuelo.

Mrs. Smith came by and passed around cups of sweet tea to everyone. 

The men got together into small groups, sitting on the ground under the large magnolia trees and drinking their tea. 

The women took their babies off of their backs and the old abuelas swayed them on their laps and made them coo and smile.

“Days have ended like this for migrant workers on the Smith’s farm for as long as I’ve been at the clinic,” said Dr. Maria.

All of the workers would gather together. 

The women would cook until everyone was fed. 

Everyone would talk, laugh, sing and dance.

On Johns Island, most of the migrants were Central American farmers who labored in tomato plants and peach trees and lived in dilapidated sharecropper shacks from the days of Jim Crow.

“You’re lucky to live in the bus, with open windows and doors that let in the coastal breeze,” said Dr. Maria.

No matter where they lived, this community meal was open to everyone.

Work and friendship were reasons to get together and celebrate life.