Tick Tock

from who you are, losing roots, try to be American but never can, going to end up lost.”
    “I am an American,” Tommy said.
    “Can never be,” she assured him, and her eyes were full of love and fear for him.
    Tommy was overcome by a terrible sadness. What his mother meant was that she could never feel herself to be a complete American, that she was lost. Her homeland had been taken from her, and she had been transplanted to a world in which she could never feel entirely native and welcome, even though it was such a glorious land of great plenty and hospitality and freedom. The American dream, which Tommy strove with such passion to experience to the fullest, was achievable for her only to a limited extent. He had arrived on these shores young enough to remake himself entirely; but she would forever hold within her heart the Old World, its pleasures and beauty amplified by time and distance, and this nostalgia was a melancholy spell from which she could never fully awaken. Because she could not become American in her soul, she found it difficult—if not impossible—to believe that her children could be so transformed, and she worried that their aspirations would lead only to disappointment and bitterness.
    “I am American,” Tommy repeatedly softly.
    “Didn't ask stupid Quy Trang Dai to make rag doll. Was her own idea to scare you. I hear about it only one, two hours ago.”
    “I believe you,” Tommy assured her.
    “Good boy.”
    He reached one hand into the front seat.
    His mother gripped his hand and squeezed it.
    “Good thing I'm not as sentimental as my mother,” Del said. “I'd be bawling so hard I couldn't see to drive.”
    The interior of the Jaguar was filled with the brightness of the headlights from the Peterbilt behind it.
    The air horn blared, blared again, and the Jaguar vibrated under the sonic assault.
    Tommy didn't have the courage to look back. “Always worry about you,” said Mrs. Phan, raising her voice over the airliner-loud roar of the truck engine. “Never see problem with Mai, sweet Mai, always so quiet, always so obedient. Now we die, and terrible magician in Vegas laugh at stupid old Vietnamese mother and make strange magician babies with ruined daughter.”
    “Too bad Norman Rockwell isn't alive,” Del said. “He could make such a wonderful painting out of this.”
    “I don't like this woman,” Mother Phan told Tommy.
    “I know, Mom.”
    “She bad news. You sure she total stranger?”
    “Only met her tonight.”
    “You not dating her?”
    “Never dated.”
    “Turn left next corner,” Mother Phan told Del.
    “Are you joking?” Del said.
    “Turn left next corner. We almost to house of Quy Trang Dai.”
    “I have to slow down to make the turn, and if I slow down, Mrs. Dai's demon is going to run right over us.”
    “Drive better,” Mother Phan advised.
    Del glared at her. “Listen, lady, I'm a world-class race-car driver, competed all over the world. No one drives better than I do. Except maybe my mother.”
    Holding out the cellular phone, Mother Phan said, “Then call mother, hear what she say to do.”
    Grim-faced, Del said, “Brace yourselves.”
    Tommy let go of his mother's hand, slid backward in his seat, and fumbled for his safety belt. It was tangled.
    Scootie took refuge on the floor in front of his seat, directly behind Del.
    Unable to disentangle the belt quickly enough to save himself, Tommy followed the dog's example, huddling-squeezing into the floor space between the front and back seats on his side of the car, to avoid being catapulted into his mother's lap when the ultimate crash came.
    Del braked the Jaguar.
    The roaring Peterbilt rammed them from behind, not hard, and fell back.
    Again Del used the brakes. The tyres barked, and Tommy could smell burning rubber.
    The Peterbilt rammed them harder than before, and sheet metal screamed, and the Jaguar shuddered as though it would fly apart like a sprung clock, and Tommy thumped his head against the back of the front seat.
    The car was so awash in the glow of the truck's headlights that Tommy could clearly see the Labrador's face across the floor from him. Scootie was grinning.
    Del braked again, swung hard to the right, but that was only a feint to lead the Peterbilt in the wrong direction, because the truck couldn't manoeuvre as quickly as the car. Then she swung sharply to the left, as Mother Phan had instructed.
    Tommy couldn't see anything from his dog-level view, but he knew that Del hadn't been able to get entirely out of the truck's