The Rio Grande
The sun is fading fast, reflecting off the river like thousands of glittering bugs. My feet are tired, my eyes dry from the heat and my hair knotted against my scalp. I can feel the sores on my toes and the scorching afternoon sun has baked the scaly shrubs and vegetation around the rocky bank of the river until they are nothing more than twigs and dead leaves.
Every day is the same. The fear of being caught….the fear of dying. But now I have my chance. Now I can see the murky water of the Rio Grande over the steep embankment. I can see the promise land just past it.
Two months ago, in the middle of the night, my oldest brother was taken by armed men from our home.
“Sarita,” he had said, “go and hide. Do not let them find you.”
The fear in his eyes, his voice, forced me out of bed. I hid in the pantry of our kitchen. It was the hardest I ever prayed for my parents. It was the first time since their deaths that I was truly frightened. My brother Juan refused to pay them for protection and from the small window of our kitchen I could see them beat him in the backyard we used to play in as children. When one of the men pulled a machete from a leather strap on his back, the moonlight caught on the metal and planted that image in my brain like the seed of a poisonous vine that grows and grows until it wraps around its host, killing all the good memories and leaving blood stains instead.
My brother begged them not to take his life. I could hear his voice muffled by blood and gaps where his teeth had once been. They took no pity. The man lifted the machete up to his neck and sliced into his flesh until his head lay on the ground, his body twitching in the dirt.
I swallowed the scream and rage that flooded my throat, placed a hand over my mouth so they did not hear me cry while they looted our home, taking everything of value. Then they were gone, like ghosts in the night and I stayed in that pantry until the sun rose and fell twice, unable to move and hardly able to breathe.
Now I am here, knowing that on the other side of that river, salvation awaits. In Mexico, I was a dentist. In America, I will be nothing. But what are we without family? If I have no one left, then do I exist at all?
I pull up the bag hanging from my shoulders and climb down the rocky surface of the river’s edge. The water is warm. I can make it, I’ve always been a strong swimmer and it calls to me. I stare at the open plain of the river, mindful of its power and the undercurrents that await me below.
The sun is already beginning to set and I find myself torn between fear and understanding. I can feel the Rio’s power and my mind fills with stories of my countrymen…some of who died trying to cross.
From my bag, I pull out the letter I found in my father’s belongings. It was from a man named Pedro, my father’s brother. My parents, my grandparents never spoke of this man. After reading the letter, I realized he was what the Americans would call “the black sheep”, disowned by my family for choosing a lifestyle they did not approve of.
I don’t care if he is American, gay or blue, I just know I have to find him. He’s my only hope of survival.
Carefully, I slip the letter into the plastic zip bag and put it back into my bag. He would help me…I know he will.
There is a strange silence before the wind changes and catches the branches of the mesquite trees and brush that resembles green tumbleweeds. And then the air is thick with perfume; a smell so familiar it begins to eat at my fear and pull forth my courage.
It is the scent of my mother’s favorite perfume.
My head swims for a moment and bit by bit I gather my senses. It is time to swallow my fear and go forward. It’s time to brave the river and learn her secrets.
The ledge is steep but I manage to make it down and come to a small embankment about the size of my feet. My bag is strapped tightly to my shoulders. Inside are pictures of my family, all of us smiling, before the wars got so bad we couldn’t seem to find that smile again. My brother, who realized early on that we might have to flee, began exchanging our Mexico currency for the American dollar. I had enough to pay a Coyote to drive me this far and I will meet his partner once I get to the other side. He will receive no payment, this one had said, because he is a missionary and understands what is happening in our country.
God has answered my prayers. He has kept me safe. I’ve heard stories of girls who are raped riding with Coyotes and so far, it hasn’t happened to me.
So far.
The water is warm on the surface and I take a deep breath, say a prayer and walk further into the Rio until I am waist deep in water. It feels cold on my feet and I am mindful of the undercurrents.
I wade until I am almost across. When I look up at the sky it is filled with countless stars, obscured by a few silver clouds that reflect the light of the moon.
The moon and I haven’t been friends since the day my brother was murdered.
Suddenly, there is no ground and I feel myself falling under the water, my arms flailing, my legs beating against the currents until they burn.
All is fading and in the darkness I hear my brother’s voice. “Sarita, keep swimming. Do not let them find you.” When I open my eyes, there is a light floating on the surface. It gets brighter and brighter until it is in front of me and I can see Juan with his hand out.
I do not hesitate. I take it, mold mine into his and he pulls me up until my lungs burn with air. I am coughing, the river taking its place in my mouth and nose. Slowly, I manage to pull myself out of the water and rest against the rocky wall of the embankment. My eyes close, my mouth is grainy, full of dirt and water. I keep spitting to rid it of the taste of sediments.
When I can breathe again, when it doesn’t hurt, I realize that I am on the other side, that I have made it. Now I must climb up the rocks and over the edge. My limbs are tired but my heart is racing and I find the edges of rock and dirt and my hand catches on a thorny cactus. But I keep going until I am over the edge and past the brush and trees.
I wait well into the night, hiding behind a boulder until I see the signal light flashing three times.
The man is short, with a long beard and a kind smile. “Are you hungry?” he asks and I recognize the word ‘hungry’. I nod my head and he hands me two sandwiches with ham and a bag of chips and a bottle of water. My stomach knots, my head swimming with possibilities.
I am free now, without my family, but I am free. I have left behind all I know, my home, my dead mother, father and brother. I have left my mother Mexico.
“You’re in Texas,” the man says when I ask him where I am in Spanish. I understand now. I am exactly where I’m supposed to be. My uncle is just a few miles away. I can feel invisible strings cutting the ties to everything I was, who I used to be. As we drive towards Laredo, I can see the lights of the city and I know things are going to be different, for better or worse.
