Grace Fried

10/6/14
3 English
Ms. Hamilton
One More Dollar
Frost
A short line of people stood in the dust filled air waiting for the
boss in the wooden shack. The early morning light was golden, and
shone on the eager faces of people waiting. The suns rays gently
illuminated the dust particles, flying and rushing around like gnats. A
few people shifted their weight excitedly as they stood on the dirt trail.
A man of about 30 shuffled over to the back of the line. He was
tall and dark, and wore baggy clothes that covered his lean frame. He
wore shapeless, faded jeans, and an oversized jacket with the lettering
Enrique sewn on the front. He craned his neck to look over the rest of
the people to see the door to the bunkhouse and the manager inside.
He had been called here, and rumor was, he was about to receive
some bad news. Everybody knew that being called to the bunkhouse,
especially around this time of year, means you were about to be
unemployed.
He ran a calloused hand over his messy hair and watched as a
woman wrapped in a multi-colored shawl entered the shack. He looked
down at his beaten, dusty cowboy boots, and finally started to face the
fact that after today he might not have a job.
After all, it had been an unusually cold winter and fall, similar to
the winters and falls of the last year. Last year, many bosses had to lay
off hard working people, just because they couldnt pay the salaries of
so many workers. The fruit industry especially suffered because no fruit
can grow when there is frost on the branches. Unfortunately for
Enrique, the fruit industry is where he was currently employed,
although he might not be for much longer.

The woman in the shawl flung open the door, letting it bang
about on the makeshift shack. She clutched her shawl tightly around
her like a hug, and walked off quickly. A short man in a big cowboy hat
slowly and reluctantly entered the bunkhouse. Enrique realized there
were only three more people, all probably expecting the same news
that he was. He thought to himself that this season was especially
cold, and it would be hard to find a sustainable job. He might have to
travel further down south in California, and away from the coast that
he loved so much.
He remembered when he was a child and his family would travel
to Louisiana, and stay near the ocean. They drove in their beat-up
truck about 10 hours, and Enrique detested being squished in the
backseat with his three other siblings, but going to the beach was
worth it. He vividly remembered being able to run in the water, lay out
in the sand, watch the trees dance in the wind, and relax. He always
thought coming to California would be like this, but six years of intense
manual labor had squashed this child hood fantasy.
Before he knew it, Enrique was next at he bunkhouse door. He
immediately felt his palms grow sweaty, and a nervous, anxious
expression crept on to his face. Butterflies danced in his stomach and
he could just hear the voices of the two men inside. One spoke slowly
and with a deep voice while the other was higher pitched, and from
what Enrique could understand, didnt speak English very well. The
shack walls were thin, and the sound carried right through them, and
Enrique could tell that the foreign man was angry. Enrique knew what
was happening, and his emotions gnawed at him and physically
weighed him down like a ton of bricks. There was a bang from inside
the shack, and the foreign man walked out with his shoulders slumped.
Enrique took a deep breath, and stepped inside the shack, fearful
of what was going to happen. The boss was a medium sized man with
a large moustache that covered quite a bit of his upper lip and curled

out on to his cheeks. He had small dark eyes that darted around
nervously, and Enrique could tell he was about to give bad news.
Hello. Thank you for coming this early he said slinking back into his
chair. He slumped over a binder full of records. Name? the boss
asked imperiously.
Uh Enrique Enrique replied nervously. Enrique Gonzales he
said, with more confidence.
Gonzales Gonzales The boss muttered, running his pen
down a sheet of names. Ah hah! Here you are! the boss said without
looking up. He moved his pen in a straight line across the paper. Bunk
house number 5?
Yes sir Enrique said. The boss closed the binder, and met eyes
with Enrique.
Well, the boss said a little more sympathetically. Im afraid I
have some bad news. You see, these last couple years have been
extremely cold. Freeze on the branches has prevented us from
picking fruit and making a profit. That first year was so hard. We
almost went under. So last year we had to lay off some workers, and
this year I am afraid we will have to do the same. He broke his speech
to look up at Enrique. I am so sorry. He swiveled in his chair and
fumbled through one of the broken down file cabinets behind him.
Enrique sat there with his mouth hanging slightly open. Even though
he had expected this news, he still wasnt quite sure what he would do.
The boss finally turned back around and placed an envelope on the
desk between them. I am afraid this is your final paycheck. Upon
realizing Enriques face was slightly contorted with hurt and worry,
the boss added a final, My condolences. Its nothing personal.
Enriques feet carried him out of the little office, past the line of
people, through the compound of bunkhouses, and onto the dirt road
that led towards town. His legs stopped there, even though the boss
words still rang and echoed throughout his head. His trembling hands

somehow managed to grasp the top of the envelope and he slowly

opened it. Three dirty one-dollar bills tumbled out. Enrique slowly bent
down to retrieve them, his shuddering breaths shaking his whole body.
What was he going to do? There was no more work in this area,
and he didnt have enough money to get himself to anywhere else. It
slowly dawned on him that he might have to walk. With a heavy sigh
that seemed to capture all of the hardships in his life, he placed his
right foot tentatively on the dirt, and then did the same with his left.
He closed his eyes and thought of his home and family; the reason he
was doing this in the first place. He imagined his return home and
despite his dreary situation, felt a small smile creep onto his face.
It was going to be a long night.