How should I say this?

I walked, We walked for a long time. He held my hand all the way. We held on to each other, all of us. It was dark, como un baldio. With dried bushes and dried land. I don’t like to remember that day. It makes me feel strong. It makes me feel definite.

I am not allowed to feel that way.

I am allowed to feel desperate.

I am not allowed to feel normal.

I am allowed to feel trapped.

He had to hide for a while because there were men in the other side. I saw lights. He said  “shush” he knelt down and hid behind a rock, i saw light getting near, footsteps, I was thinking about anything, because I didn’t know what I was doing, I was totally unaware of my position. I didn’t know where I was standing.

It was an hour, I don’t remember, to me it felt like two minutes. We continued. We crossed a road. A road that now seems totally magical. It’s a road between the baldio and suburban houses. We hid between bushes, and the guy led us to a house. We entered the house. We were there, and they asked if we were hungry. I said no. We all said no, but they gave us quesadillas. I was amazed at the size of the flour tortillas. They were bigger than my face, bigger that two of my face, maybe even bigger than three sizes of my face. My mom  didn’t sleep. She looked over us. When I woke up, my mom wasn’t there, it was my sister and I.  I saw her come in the door and I stood up. We were all headed to a new house. A fat chero told us to get  on the back of the truck and my mom would go in the front. He told us to stay still and not move, we were laying down. I didn’t listen. I looked up for most of the trip.  But once I saw lights my head went right up and saw a white  car and a woman driving it.  I told my sister. She just laughed.  I really didn’t know the significance of every act I made. It still amazes me.

Now looking back.

Now looking back, I wish this sunday would be a normal one. A normal sunday would be with my family and I going to church then coming home and eating something mexican ; like carnitas, pozole, something fatty and good. But we don’t. Everyone gets stressed, irritated, we can’t stand each other. I don’t want to help with my sisters’ kids, I don’t want to answer the phone, I don’t want to get up from my bed. I want to just sit and watch  movies, and sometimes I don’t even want to do that.

In my perfect world, I would writing an essay on some political thing, or I would be out taking pictures because  I would want to impress my photojournalism teacher. My sisters would be going to college, and working, maybe married, maybe single, but tonight we would all go dancing salsa tonight.

But I guess my reality is what keeps me going. I refuse to give in. I can’t afford to do that.  But I guess in my reality today is Sunday and not Monday. When my sister graduated high school she graduated with honors. She didn’t go to her graduation. She didn’t go to her prom,  She didn’t apply to any college. She was told she would never go to college. She graduated high school pregnant.

When my other sister graduated high school, she graduated pregnant.

They both started working after that.

When I graduated high school, I graduated with IB credits. But college is still too expensive.

The Start

I guess i should start, at the beginning. I said bye to a street , a street I no longer remember and have only tiny blurry memories of. I know the road was dark gray like dark smoke. I remember my house door it was green built with old metal scrapping. I was eight. Everyone was getting into a mexico city cab. I looked back and told myself “make it memorable, say goodbye” So I did. I turned and looked both ways before getting into the cab. I  looked a moment too long and tried to take in everything about that place. We  headed to the bus station. From there I don’t really remember much. The simple details are Godzilla, 101 Dalmatians , and another movie i don’t remember. I don’t remember the people around me, the people sitting next to me. The roads passing by or mexico turning blurry. The bus made restroom stops in improvised diners. I remember this particular one that sold menonita cheese. I thought the name was funny my sister and I laughed, the diner had orange trays. I remember my sister and I calling each other “menonita”.

I can probably affirm that about seventy-five percent of the people in that bus were going to attempt crossing the border. But i don’t remember their faces, their clothes, I just don’t remember.

We reached our stop. I don’t remember it. I remember a hotel, where the guy renting the rooms asked where we were  headed, My mom said “Colorado”

“tan lejos” he replied. “who’s the little lady”  he said looking at me and i smiled.

I remember the  shower, a head shower that i was happy and felt grown up to use. I remember sand and heat. I remember the heat from that place and the outside brightness. I remember going to a store; buying a telephone card. I remember my mom calling someone.  That’s all i remember.

We left all of our possessions behind, in the hotel drawers. We accidently left  the cadenitas our grandmother gave us before we left.

A car picked us up, it was an automatic car, the ones where once you get in the seat belts adjust to your body. I was amazed. It was brown. Two men took us to the border where another guy met us. I don’t remember his name. He was tall, white, dark hair. He had a goatee. I don’t remember his name, but i bet he was cute. We walked for a long time. He was going to take us one way but decided against it. He recommended that if we were to do this again we should use darker clothes, he gave me his shirt. His shirt was black. I don’t remember what color my shirt was. I remember a fence, a blue fence. A tall fence with people around it, with women hanging from it. But the fence ended and that’s when the journey began.