On our drive to Nevada, we stopped in a tiny California town off Interstate 15—it is the half-way point on the drive. We pulled up to a pump at a gas station that happened to franchise a Dairy Queen. Lucy, excited to get a Blizzard, ran into the restaurant while I headed straight for the bathroom.
Lucy, is a friendly and kind, teenager and she often holds the door for people, but whether or not she held it for a bald-headed, middle-age man is unknown. She does however remember saying hello to someone who fits that description.
The only thing I remember about the day was my illegal park job at the pump because there were no parking spaces, and a bus that pulled in on the other side of the pump where my car was parked.
Now, fast forward three months… Lucy has her first day at school, and her Spanish teacher (the class she didn’t want to be in), says to her, “I know you.”
Lucy has no idea what he is talking about, so he continues to grill her about where she is from. She answered his questions by saying she was from a city called Hemet, in Southern California. He continued to think as he looked down on her as she sat at her desk. Needless to say, other students were interested in the conversation, too.
Finally, he said, “Where you ever at a Dairy Queen in a town called Baker.” Lucy was dumbfounded. How could he know that? It was a ten minute stop for a bathroom break and some ice cream. The teacher continued, “You were there with your mom. I saw you when I was on vacation this summer.”
As soon as the teacher walked back to the front of the class, several students around her asked if he was telling the truth about seeing her at a run-down little gas station, in some tiny little town several months back, but it was true.
Now, he is one of her favorite teachers, and he refers to her as “Hemet.” Lucy loves her new school, her new friends, and even her new state.
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