I know there is a war, far from home.
I know about the economy, thread bare and stretched thin.
I know about the civil liberties, and how Lady Justice needs to atone.
But least we forget immigration, how we all got here once.
It is for they whom I pull the lever for, those lost souls searching for the beacon of hope, invisible yet real, searching for their slice of American pie.
It is today I vote for the first time, immigration on my mind. I hope to share my hope for them. They know I know, because I once was one.
Jesus looked out across the desert, and only death stared back. He and Durado had woken up parched, disoriented and deserted by their coyote. Jesus was sure El Gabacho laid one direction, Durado the other.
"We walked down from that ridge last night," Durado said, pointing at a pass that had thirty identical twins in the valley.
"All the ridges look same," Jesus replied, sure he had seen the morning star to the north. He knew that was the way to the gates of paradise. He just could not convince Durado.
"Then how do you know yours is right?"
"Because I always sleep facing north."
Jesus grabbed what was left of their shit, with an extra eye on the two bottles containing the last of the water. The sun was helping by being brutal.
Durado grabbed a big stick for snakes, and Jesus laid the way.
*********
The last of the water went by late afternoon, where it was still blessed hot. They laid under a small cliff for shade, debating their next move. They could go back home, they hadn't the water. Even Rio Bravo was a good two days walk back and all they could see for miles was desolation. They were in the desert of Texas. It sucked to be them.
"All I wanted was job to pay for shit, güey," lamented Durado, realizing just how fucked they were.
"We just can't stop here, we have to at least try to find water."
"Not even scorpions can live out here, where is my milk and honey?"
"We're just lost, we need to find a town."
"And do what? Hey, we're just two Mexicans who showed up out of the desert, but we totally didn't hop the border. Seriously, we didn't. We're liking those flying witches outside of Montererry. We just magically floated here. Totally legally."
"We just have to get to San Antonio, I have family there."
"Can he magically float us there?"
"No."
"Then I don't give a damn."
They both sat and thought about how the heat was making them crazy. It was blessed hot after all.
"We should go east," a revived Durado said, wrapping his bandana around his head.
Jesus decided that was not such a bad idea, because sooner or later they would hit the Texas coast. And if they were lucky, Corpus Christi.
"But we should wait for night fall. It's to hot to walk."
"It's to hot to breathe. Like brimstone. Remind me to pick my own coyote next time if I am crazy enough to try this again. This shit is out of control," Durado wailed, trying to draw a map of their journey in the sand.
"We started here. Sure, it's just a little mountain village, but it was choice. So instead we hoofed it through the Desert of Chichauchu only to be greeted by an even greater forsaken land on the other side of the river. And somewhere, out here."
Durado drew a star in the dirt far from the desert and said, "Out here is El Gabacho, güey. El Gabacho."
"El Gabacho, indeed," Jesus chimed.
"Yes, güey. Just think, we slag it up here doing work for just five years, you can go home and buy a home. So you are home."
"Indeed."
"So I can finally get a lady, settled down, have money for the kids. They ain't cheap, school and shit. Be living like a hefe."
"Indeed."
"Just five years, we did the math. Unreal. Figured the totals, what, five hundred times?"
"Let's make it an even thousand times."
"Thousand times it is," Durado said as he started to create a stairway from the desert to the star. "Be set up, start a small business. Be my own man."
"Still gonna be a mechanic?"
"Hell yeah, Jesus. And you know what I am going to do?"
"What?"
"Build the biggest tope in the state right out front."
And Jesus knew he would.
Durado was like that.
********
It was night, there were mosquitos, and there was still the heat. They had been walking for hours, due east. There had been discussion if the stars had moved since they were so far north. It was decided that only counted if they were below the equator. They also discussed why bullfighting was falling out favor and which banda group had the most absurd amount of members. They briefly talked about the centro back home.
This ended when old lady who sold rice milk became the topic. While the two had always treated her with indifference, the vision of her and her thrist quenching wares was that of a saint offering sanuctury. A sancutury from the hell that was in their mouths and slowly crawling down their throats.
Durado did not look good. Already pretty blanco, now he looked like a b class goth kid. Jesus was concerned. But what the fuck could he do? He knew water was the answer. He himself was a bit loopy. He wish he had shaved his head. Durado had him beat there.
Then came a sign.
"Martuaro Ranch"
It was attached to a barbed wire fence. They had just stumbled upon civilization.
"We're there, güey!" Durado said, jumping up and down, forgetting he can't drink fences.
"But what if it's like back home, güey?" said Jesus. "Remember, walking across someone's ranch might get you shot."
"But it also means they have water," retorted Durado, holding open the fence for Jesus to get through.
"Right now, water trumps all," Jesus said as he trespassed.
**********
They could still not find water. But they had noticed they were slowly walking into a wide valley. Durado was convinced it was a bowl. And in the middle was milk and honey, with swimming maidens of glory all calling his name. They were calling him home. He was to build his sea monkey castle at the bottom of the bowl, and reign over this golden land. He would be their god and king.
Jesus slapped the hell out of Durado's face. He had face planted half way down an arroyo and passed clean the fuck out. Jesus kept slapping till Durado came, too.
"We're gonna fuck die out here!" were the first words out of Durado's mouth. "Fucking die. Jesus, Jesus, I am losing control."
"We're almost there," said Jesus, trying to help Durado to his feet. "Almost there."
Durado got up and brushed against Jesus, telling him, "Shut the fuck with the almost there."
"What?"
"I said shut the fuck up with the almost there."
Jesus couldn't believe this shit. The end of the rope for everything was long gone. Jesus figured, why not?
"Want me to want?
He shoved Durado.
Durado shoved back, saying, "Shut the fuck up!"
"Shut the fuck up?" screamed Jesus.
"Shut the fuck up!" said a wide-eyed Durado, who suddenly tackled Jesus to the ground. Jesus started to punch the living shit out of the back of Durado's head. Durado blocked him, trying to cover Jesus's mouth.
"Me? Shut the fuck?" a penned Jesus said. Durado whispered, "Shut the fuck up, güey!"
"Why should I shut the fuck up?"
"Somebody's coming."
They both shut the fuck up and listened to approaching horse. Crouching, they looked in the direction of the sound. Sure enough, somebody was coming. And they were headed right for them. It was only one dude on a horse, but it was quite obvious he had a gun.
Durado grabbed his snake stick, why not, you know?
Jesus thought about running. He could barely walk, and he knew it.
So he stood by Durado, ready to face the music. The horseman broke threw the brush line, he looked like them. He had the gun trained right on them.
"You guys bringing in drugs?"
Durado and Jesus were dumb founded. Jesus didn't even drink much less smoke.
"No."
"You lost?"
"Yes."
"For how long?"
"Days."
"Jesus."
"Yes?"
"What?"
"My name is Jesus, this is Durado, we come from Mexico."
"I bet you need water."
That didn't need answering. He lowered his gun, seeing two lost souls in front of him instead of drug mules. They looked bad. He tossed them his canteen.
********
"You boys are lucky, most people die out there."
Durado and Jesus trailed behind the man on the horse. He wound up just being a local cowboy. He wasn't gonna help them to the city, but also wasn't gonna help them die.
"We were about to have our death battle when you showed up. I had to take Jesus down," Durado, who had regained his stepp. Jesus was also back among the living. The cowboy had even given them jerkey and a stale old tortilla. It tasted like ambroise.
"Hell of thing for a man to do to y'all, leave you up in those mountains. If you had gone west, you would have been dead. To much further north, dead. South, dead. Good thing you went east."
Durado punched Jesus in the shoulder, "See, I told you."
Jesus didn't care, he could hear the road off in the distance. It was the prefect distance to be from a major expressway; it sound like the ocean. It sound like the village Maria was from in Nayarit. It was for her he had come to El Gabacho. Hearing the ocean in this sage brush wasteland brought that all back home to him. He remembered.
"Over that hill will be a highway that will lead to San Antonio. Good luck, Immigration is everywhere. Worst that can happen here is that they dump you back over the border and bar you from re-entry," the cowboy said, taking back his sucked dry canteen.
"Yeah, trying legally worked like gang busters last time," Jesus coffed, remember the absurdity of trying to do the right thing.
"Seriously, sure hate to have to jump the river. They got us," said Durado.
"Well, I'm off, may all your fantasies come true." With that, the cowboy literally rode off into the distance.
Durado remarked how it reminded him of the bad westerns back home. Jesus agreed, except this cowboy wore a black hat, but he was definitely a nice guy. They had gotten that wrong.
And that bullshit about dying in the desert without water, well, that shit really happens. They were just both glad that the kindness of strangers had made sure it didn't happen. With that, Durado held open the barbed wire fence, letting Jesus through.
The road was calling.