Chapter 38
Don’t Hold the Birds Drink
“You can’t wear any of those dresses.
The colonel’s wife wants to take you shopping.
You need a new dress.
It’s the president of Panama’s daughter’s reception.
We are going.”
“I don’t want to go.
I hate stuff like that.
I won’t know anyone.
There aren’t any fancy dresses at the PX.”
“That’s why Mrs. O’Riley wants to take you shopping with her.”
“I’m not getting out of this?
When?”
“Thursday, at eleven.
You meet her at the office.”
“I’m not going into Panama.”
“I don’t know what she has in mind.”
I replayed that conversation at least a dozen times while sitting next to Mrs. O’Riley headed toward Panama City.
Or maybe it was Colon.
I can’t remember which.
What I do remember is crossing a four-lane street to get to the first dress shop.
There were tall trees on the median.
That’s a strange detail to remember.
But I remember it because sitting in one of those trees was a bird capable of bowel movements comparable to a wild hog.
I know this because the evidence was dripping down my shoulder, my left arm, and headed toward my hand.
“Oh, for the love of…”
First there was a mud hole whose sole purpose in life seemed to be physically and publicly humiliating me.
Then cat-calling parrots socially mocked me.
Now this elephant bird basically told Panama to “hold my beer and watch this.”
Then it unloaded a lifetime of poo down the one good arm that had not yet been subjected to complete mortification.
“Lee Ann?”
I turned toward the colonel’s wife.
Mrs. O’Riley was a classy lady.
She knew how to dress and how to speak.
Her gentle manners did not possess the ability to control her face when she saw the disgrace dripping toward my fingers.
Then she smiled.
“Oh! That is supposed to be good luck!”
“No. Absolutely not.
H-E-double-hockey-sticks no.
Maybe good luck for the person not hit!”
“The shop’s right over here, dear.
They’ll have somewhere you can clean up.”
I was still in shock.
She was happy about a bird pooping on me.
Then she knocked on a locked door.
“I think they’re closed,” I said hopefully.
“No, the shops stay locked.
They’ll come let us in.”
Oh no.
The mall.
The locked shops.
The armed guards.
A young woman’s face appeared in the window.
She shouted something toward the back of the store, apparently announcing that we had passed inspection and could enter.
“Mrs. O’Riley, I don’t want to go in there.”
“Well, there are other shops, dear, but we do at least need to clean up that arm.”
“I can live with the bird poop if you’ll just get me home.”
An armed guard opened the door, an automatic rifle slung over his shoulder as casually as if it were a book bag.
“No habla español,” Mrs. O’Riley explained.
“El baño?”
“No el baño,” the young woman replied.
I pointed toward the bird’s calling card dripping down my sleeve.
Suddenly there was indeed a bathroom.
The armed guard positioned himself between Mrs. O’Riley and me while I disappeared into the back.
I stepped into the bathroom and had a nervous breakdown.
I don’t want to be here.
I don’t like knocking on doors to spend money.
I hate mixing automatic weapons and formal wear.
I’m using local Panamanian water to wash off bird poop.
I’m going to get dysentery.
Someone may die if you don’t tell people you do business with who you are.
Am I about to do business here?
Keep quiet about the drug lord protection.
Tell people.
Don’t tell people.
I sure don’t want to say anything in front of the colonel’s wife.
Yes, this is a breakdown.
No. If you can ask the question, you aren’t crazy… yet.
“Lee Ann? Are you okay?”
“Just cleaning the shoulder of my shirt.”
There is truth in that.
“I’ll be out in a minute.”
Do I splash water on my face?
Will I die faster?
I risked it.
“Well, didn’t you clean up nice?”
She is crazy.
That bird stained my entire sleeve.
I was ushered to a chair beside Mrs. O’Riley.
I kept staring at the man with the gun.
You get me killed.
You kill people.
The shop owner finally realized I was not going to focus with the guard in the room.
She sent him outside.
A pink cotton dress was brought out.
It was almost floor length, gathered at the waist, and tied in the back.
It was eighty dollars.
My entire first-year teaching wardrobe consisted of five thirty-dollar dresses from JC Penney.
I did not want that dress.
“I love it.
I’ll take that one.”
“Lee Ann, that’s awfully simple for the reception.”
To my mind, eighty dollars for a dress was not simple.
“Robert said floor length.
It’s cotton and I like it.”
“You’ll be comfortable wearing this?”
“I don’t really do fancy.
This is about all I can handle.”
“Well, I suppose that’s what we came here for.”
“Thank you.”
She saw the relief register on my face when I realized the ordeal was over.
I paid for the dress.
Nobody died.
“Would you mind terribly if we skipped lunch and just went home?
I’m really not comfortable with all this.”
“I can do that.
I was hoping we could make a fun day of it.”
“I’m sorry.
I really can’t explain it.
I’m just not up to this.”
“The reception is still two weeks away.
Maybe we can plan another outing for shoes.”
“That sounds nice, but it’s a long dress.
I have shoes that will work.”
“You can never have enough shoes!”
I laughed, but her expression told me she already knew I disagreed.
Daniel's Den 