Carlos

Carlos

          One friend was Carlos from Venezuela. I had never heard of Venezuela, and was intrigued by Carlos' culture, accent, and appearance.  Both of us were already in the first grade, and had to make up for what our education lacked.



         Carlos seemed to live alone. I knew he spoke another language, and was soon asking about it. "How do you say, 'where's your dad?'"  "How do you say" ... a million questions.  After the first five hundred questions, Carlos said: "I have something to eat from my country. It is very special. It will make you strong like Superman!"  I had always wanted to be strong. Didn't care for the flying and getting shot in the chest like Superman, but I liked the idea of strength. "Look at my muscles" Carlos made a fist and flexed his muscle like Popeye. I gazed in wonder.  Is it really bigger than mine? It must be!  "What are you eating?"



Carlos led me to the refrigerator.  "You mustn't tell anyone. My dad brought this from Venezuela. It is very expensive and rare. If he finds out I gave you some, I will be in big trouble." I nodded and felt sure that the hairs were standing straight up on my head! My eyes must have looked like baseballs. We quietly walked into the kitchen and opened the door of the refrigerator. The treat was in the door. Carlos reached in and glancing around, pulled out the special food. It was a slice of cheese!



          "That's just cheese! We have the same thing at my house!"

         "No, but this is special cheese. It will give you strength enough to wrestle anyone. You can lift that chair." He pointed to an overstuffed recliner in the corner that had formed a giant crater big enough to hold the behind of a two-ton adult. I wasn't sure if I should believe him. I wasn't sure why I would want to wrestle anyone or lift a chair that clearly had the butt-print of someone else. I did want to be strong. So I ate it.



"How do you feel?" Carlos questioned. I swallowed; smacked my lips just to loosen the cheesiness.  Then, like a wave, power surged through my legs. Then it moved to my stomach. Now it was in my chest and arms. It made me stand tall. I made a fist like Carlos had. Pulled my hand to my shoulder and tightened the popping muscle. I touched it. It was a rock. Carlos stared in amazement. His eyes bulged with awe. He put out his hand and set his elbow on the kitchen table. "Come on! Let's arm wrestle. See if you can beat me!" I had never won at arm wrestling before - but I had just eaten super power cheese! With some trepidation, I rolled up my sleeve; set my elbow on the table and opened my hand for Carlos to grab. We pushed and stomped and nearly broke the chairs we were sitting in. Our faces were red with effort. I could feel my heart pounding. The tips of my fingers were swelling. I knew that if I let go there would be a permanent impression of Carlos' hand inside my palm. Then suddenly, Carlos weakened. His shoulders dropped; his head hung down. I slammed his hand to the table.



"Man!" exploded from my mouth. "That's some cheese!"

Carlos smiled; walked to the refrigerator; took out the package and showed it to me. "American Sliced Cheese". It was the same cheese my mother put on my sandwiches. Carlos, wise for his age, said: "you can do anything if you think you can."



I went back home with a new word: confidence.