cans. The poor reliable car was thrust out the door like an old house cat while the brand new kitten got a soft pillow on the bed.
Mike ended up spending several hours in the garage that night cooing over and petting the convertible. I, on the other hand, spent my evening figuring out what to bring to India. I did my laundry, packed a large bag, and spent some time hanging out with my foster family. The two kids, Rebecca and Sammy, wanted to hear all about my two weeks at the circus. We also talked about the exciting things I might see and do in India.
They were good people, a good family, and they cared about me. Saying good-bye was hard, even though it was only temporary. Technically, I was an adult, but I was still nervous about traveling so far alone. I hugged and kissed the two kids. Mike soberly shook my hand and gave me a half hug for a long minute. Then I turned to Sarah, who pulled me into a tight embrace. We were both teary-eyed afterward, but she assured me that they would always be just a phone call away.
That night, I quickly slipped into a deep sleep and dreamed of a handsome Indian prince who happened to have a pet tiger.
5
the plane*]
t he next morning, I awoke with great energy and felt positive and enthusiastic about the trip. After showering and a quick breakfast, I grabbed my bag, hugged Sarah again because she was the only one awake, and ran out to the garage. Sliding into the Bentley, I found it as delicious as I remembered.
I pulled into the fairgrounds parking lot and stopped next to a medium-sized cargo truck. The vehicle had a thick windshield, very big wheels, and tiny doors that required climbing a step to reach them. It looked like a monster truck past its prime, but, instead of being put out to pasture, it had been recruited into the cargo business. Behind the cab was a flatbed with a boxy steel frame draped with gray canvas.
The ramp was down in the back: Mr. Davis was already loading Ren into the cage. Ren wore a thick collar around his neck, which was firmly attached to a long chain that Mr. Davis and Matt both gripped tightly. The tiger seemed very calm and unruffled despite the chaos going on around him. In fact, he watched me while waiting patiently for the men to prepare the truck. Finally, they were ready, and with a command from Mr. Davis, Ren quickly catapulted up into the crate.
Mr. Kadam took my bag and slung the strap over his shoulder. He asked, “Miss Kelsey, would you like to ride in the truck with the driver or would you like to accompany me in the convertible?”
I looked at the monster cargo truck and quickly made my decision, “With you. I’d never pick a monster flatbed over a sleek convertible.”
He laughed in agreement before placing my bag in the trunk of the Bentley. Knowing it was time to go, I waved good-bye to Mr. Davis and Matt, climbed back into the convertible, and buckled my seatbelt. Before I knew it, we were cruising along I-5 behind the truck.
Talking was difficult over the wind, so I just leaned my head back against the soft, warm leather and watched the scenery go by. We were actually driving at a leisurely pace—fifty-five mph, about ten miles per hour under the speed limit. Curious onlookers slowed their cars to stare at our little convoy. The traffic became heavier near Wilsonville where we quickly caught up to the morning commuters who’d passed us earlier.
The airport was about twenty miles farther on Highway 205, a small highway that sat like a teacup handle on I-5. The truck in front of us turned onto Airport Drive and then pulled off on a side street and stopped behind some large hangars. Several cargo planes were lined up and being loaded. Mr. Kadam wove between people and equipment and came to a halt near a private plane. The name on the side read Flying Tiger Airlines, and it sported the image of a running tiger.
I turned to Mr. Kadam, nodded my head toward the plane, and said, “Flying Tiger, huh?”
He grinned. “It’s a long
Mike ended up spending several hours in the garage that night cooing over and petting the convertible. I, on the other hand, spent my evening figuring out what to bring to India. I did my laundry, packed a large bag, and spent some time hanging out with my foster family. The two kids, Rebecca and Sammy, wanted to hear all about my two weeks at the circus. We also talked about the exciting things I might see and do in India.
They were good people, a good family, and they cared about me. Saying good-bye was hard, even though it was only temporary. Technically, I was an adult, but I was still nervous about traveling so far alone. I hugged and kissed the two kids. Mike soberly shook my hand and gave me a half hug for a long minute. Then I turned to Sarah, who pulled me into a tight embrace. We were both teary-eyed afterward, but she assured me that they would always be just a phone call away.
That night, I quickly slipped into a deep sleep and dreamed of a handsome Indian prince who happened to have a pet tiger.
5
the plane*]
t he next morning, I awoke with great energy and felt positive and enthusiastic about the trip. After showering and a quick breakfast, I grabbed my bag, hugged Sarah again because she was the only one awake, and ran out to the garage. Sliding into the Bentley, I found it as delicious as I remembered.
I pulled into the fairgrounds parking lot and stopped next to a medium-sized cargo truck. The vehicle had a thick windshield, very big wheels, and tiny doors that required climbing a step to reach them. It looked like a monster truck past its prime, but, instead of being put out to pasture, it had been recruited into the cargo business. Behind the cab was a flatbed with a boxy steel frame draped with gray canvas.
The ramp was down in the back: Mr. Davis was already loading Ren into the cage. Ren wore a thick collar around his neck, which was firmly attached to a long chain that Mr. Davis and Matt both gripped tightly. The tiger seemed very calm and unruffled despite the chaos going on around him. In fact, he watched me while waiting patiently for the men to prepare the truck. Finally, they were ready, and with a command from Mr. Davis, Ren quickly catapulted up into the crate.
Mr. Kadam took my bag and slung the strap over his shoulder. He asked, “Miss Kelsey, would you like to ride in the truck with the driver or would you like to accompany me in the convertible?”
I looked at the monster cargo truck and quickly made my decision, “With you. I’d never pick a monster flatbed over a sleek convertible.”
He laughed in agreement before placing my bag in the trunk of the Bentley. Knowing it was time to go, I waved good-bye to Mr. Davis and Matt, climbed back into the convertible, and buckled my seatbelt. Before I knew it, we were cruising along I-5 behind the truck.
Talking was difficult over the wind, so I just leaned my head back against the soft, warm leather and watched the scenery go by. We were actually driving at a leisurely pace—fifty-five mph, about ten miles per hour under the speed limit. Curious onlookers slowed their cars to stare at our little convoy. The traffic became heavier near Wilsonville where we quickly caught up to the morning commuters who’d passed us earlier.
The airport was about twenty miles farther on Highway 205, a small highway that sat like a teacup handle on I-5. The truck in front of us turned onto Airport Drive and then pulled off on a side street and stopped behind some large hangars. Several cargo planes were lined up and being loaded. Mr. Kadam wove between people and equipment and came to a halt near a private plane. The name on the side read Flying Tiger Airlines, and it sported the image of a running tiger.
I turned to Mr. Kadam, nodded my head toward the plane, and said, “Flying Tiger, huh?”
He grinned. “It’s a long
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