The School of Taco

The street lights on Nectare Road flickered once and then went black, taking with them the pot filled pavement. All was pure night outside and inside the twenty or so homes and as parents rushed to light candles and ignite flashlights, the sky above rumbled. There was no hurricane intended for the small Florida town of Amos, but as any Floridian would tell an outsider, ‘it didn’t take a direct hit to knock our power and empty water shelves across the state’. Although to be true, most of the water disappeared because of stubborn tourists, refusing to leave vacation too soon and willing to ride out the storm. Homeowners propped doors open to invite the breeze in, kids bugged their parents to visit friends down the road since ‘the storm wouldn’t be that bad’, and down the road a loner of sorts packed a few items in a bookbag destined to be used for her first year of college come fall.

Nora James donned her favorite raincoat, snapped in place a headlamp, and slipped on her black water boots with little yellow ducks printed on the rubber. Nora relied on a feeling, more than anything this night, and trudging through sodden grass towards the Cobalt Isle neighborhood, she envisioned her goal. A yellow school bus, with the roof missing from rows five to the end and replacing the seats, a kitchen on the inside and a garden on the outside. Nora imagined what the engine would sound like hauling around mounds of soil where onions, cilantro, peppers, an avocado tree, a lime tree, and more grew. The inside would be bright with a fluorescent light and at the stove, a person Nora had never met prepared the best tacos in Florida, perhaps even the universe.

At the end of Nectare Road, Nora looked over her shoulder at her darkened home, reminding herself that her mother would not be home until after third shift at the hospital. However, knowing her mother’s affinity for patients, Nora would not be surprised if her mother stayed longer to see the younger patients off. Other than her mother, that was it. The three-bedroom house with a single bathroom and back porch made of dirt and topsoil claimed only them as family. Looking down at the key in the palm of her tawny hand, Nora rechecked in her mind that she had indeed locked every door and closed all windows. Nora loved her home, she loved her town, and even as she entered Cobalt Isle where all the larger homes boasted of electricity, she did not waver in her decision to go to school so close to home. These days Cobalt Isle kept their gates opened making it easier for Nora to navigate into the sprawling complex and find her best friend’s home.

Calla Miller’s parents would be up in their room at this hour and Calla’s brother would be off at a friend’s house, no doubt enjoying the last bits of summer before school started. Nora would not knock on the door of the two-story home, but she would admire it until it came time to tap on Calla’s window. The Miller’s house possessed a shade of blue somewhere between the cloudless sky in winter and the flat ocean when there was no wind. Nora loved that color. She loved the wide windows, the long cream-yellow curtains, the furniture on the porch that accounted for everyone, including the Miller’s two dogs.

“What the hell, Nora!” Calla loud whispered from a first-floor window. She was in the den watching a horror film when she saw Nora’s reflection on the TV. Calla looked down at her cell phone.

“TacoScholar just posted she’ll be somewhere near Big Fish Beach. If we hurry, we might be able to catch her. Did you bring the stuff?” Calla spoke quickly as she wrestled her body to the ground from the open window. “My mom keeps saying she’s going to bed only to come back downstairs and get another glass of wine.” Calla said and once safely on the ground, she peeked through the window to ensure the scene looked as if she had not left at all.

“It’s like we’re not even eighteen.” Nora mused, opening her bookbag so Calla could see that everything they required was present.

“I feel sorry for them. My dad bought a new jet ski to cope with me going to college and it’s not even nine and my mother’s gone through an entire bottle of wine. How’s your mom?” Calla asked.

“My mom worked sixty hours last week, that’s how she’s doing. I’m not even leaving home and she’s mourning.” Nora zipped the bag closed and followed Calla around the house until Calla uncovered a couple of bikes hidden behind a bush. “You really think this will be a quicker route than using my car?” Calla double checked, as her Charger could go pretty fast.

“I’m sure. That’s was the problem two summers ago. We expected TacoScholar to be where anyone could find her and she wasn’t. She was off some dirt road you could only access either by kayak or bike.” Calla and Nora quietly pushed their bikes to the edge of the driveway and took off towards Big Fish Beach. By the time they exited Cobalt Isle, the rain had picked up and off in the great distance, lightening flashed.

“Oh, before I forget,” Nora reached into her back pocket where one of two walkie-talkies was attached.

“They’re waterproof.” Nora said, hating the fact she’d have to wait another week before her replacement cellphone arrived. Nora sighed, that is what she got for fishing and refusing to listen to the weather station.

“These’ll work better, anyway. I have a feeling TacoScholar is leading us away from any cell service.” Calla commented, turning on the walkie-talkie and whispering something in it.

“Luke, this is your father. It’s time to set the table for dinner.” Calla made her voice deeper, but broke character halfway through The Office line. “So, we’re thinking cut through the high school. Take Old Possum Road towards East Lake, and hope the rain doesn’t flood our path?” Calla checked.

“Yeah, the clues TacoScholar left on Twitter show she’s setting up shop between East Lake and Big Fish Beach.” Nora confirmed, wondering what it would feel like to cross her old high school for a final time. Tiger Pine High School stood against the depths of forest behind it as its few emergency lights outlined the massive building. Taking advantage of the darkness, Calla and Nora were able to slip through a gap in a gate with their bikes and continue onward across the property.

“Are you going to miss this place?” Calla asked.

“Not one bit.” Nora answered flippantly. Nora loved her home, but that love stopped at the entrance of Tiger Pine High School.

“Oh, oh!” A voice called down a hallway and echoed off the cement walls and solid doors of the high school.

“Oh boy,” Calla rolled her eyes as the figure of her younger brother, Watson, came closer with his friend, Augustus, at his side.

“Well, well, well if it isn’t, Calla Marie Miller escaped from home.” Watson looked down at his phone and read aloud the message his mother had just sent him. “Is your sister with you and Watson?” Looking up, Watson smiled and began texting back. “Dear mother, Calla is at the high school–”

“Moron, if you’re at Augustus’ house, how can you know Calla is here?” Nora smiled and stared down at the sometimes bratty, sometimes kind brother of her best friend. Watson’s chill smile drained from his face, leaving behind two pouty, tawny cheeks. “Where are you guys going, anyway?” Augustus asked.

“TacoScholar is in town.” Calla said and then took off on her bike with Nora close behind.

“TacoScholar!” Watson yelled, but Calla paid no mind as she pushed her bike faster towards Old Possum Road that ran behind the school. Both Calla and Nora raced toward the mostly solid dirt road and took its winding path that narrowed and widened and narrowed again until they were both out of breath. Caked in mud from their rain boots to their knees, the two youths looked behind them to find Watson and Augustus had not given up on them.

“Let’s give them a chance.” Calla said and Nora agreed. Anyone willing to cross what felt like half of Florida to try the greatest tacos was worth having around.

“You really think you’re going to find her this summer?” Watson asked as his sister handed him the bottle of mosquito spray Nora fished from her bookbag. “I hope so.” Calla said. “But TacoScholar certainly doesn’t make it easy.” Once doused in two or three layers of bug spray, the teens entered the forest running along East Lake. Around their ears, angry mosquitos buzzed and frogs in the distance chirped a near synchronous tune. At a bank covered in down palms, Nora began pulling away debris to reveal a kayak.

“This is where the kayak went!” Watson exclaimed and Calla shushed him. “Get in,” Calla commanded her brother and his friend and together Nora and Calla pushed out the kayak into mid-calf deep water and got in. Across the inky water of East Lake, two of the four teens paddled until reaching a bank claimed in vegetation.

“What now?” Watson asked, and without answer, Nora reached into her bag and pulled out a rope with a delta anchor at the end. Throwing the three kilogram anchor out, Nora caught it on rock and grass and so pulled the kayak onto more friendly, albeit muddy, grounds.

“Oh my gosh, there it is!” Nora said, pointing at the green light stationed above the order window of a yellow school bus. “I can’t believe it.” Calla said. Squelching towards the green light, the youths crossed the muck and swamp before coming to another dirt road and there, shining brightly, was the bus parked at the back entrance to Big Fish Beach.

Approaching the window, Nora looked up at the bright light and the impeccable interior, complete with postcards from all over the world. Where hadn’t this bus been, Nora asked herself. Answering the window was a woman with kind eyes, hands dotted in chopped cilantro, and a mischievous smile.

“You’re TacoScholar?” Nora asked, and the woman winked.

“I won’t be here much longer. You and your friends better order soon.” TacoScholar answered, wiping off her hands on a blue towel.

“Um, four tacos each.” Nora knew there was no use in being specific as TacoScholar sold what was available. When the tacos arrived moments later at the order window, Nora tried to hand the woman cash, but she refused. “Keep it till next time.” TacoScholar said, and Nora watched the woman take the driver’s seat. As the school bus pulled away, the teens took their first bite and were overcome by pure, heavenly bliss. The maize tortilla boasted of crisp warmth. The cilantro prepared the palate for touches of spiced beans, sauteed onions, tender cheese, and more. The tacos were consumed in utter silence as the beach beyond crashed and rain above slowed its pace out of respect for human culinary feats. Nora feared the moment she ate the last bite of taco that she would miss them forever, but that never happened. Somehow the TacoScholar had prepared such a dish that began and ended as a story with a satisfactory conclusion, leaving the young woman full with the knowledge she would live to eat another perfect taco.