ALWAYS ALWAYS ALWAYS

17. HITCHHIKER

★ Leonard ★

I keep driving my car without any destination in mind. After a few hours, the truck passes Abilene, and I keep going west. My eyes are fixed on the road in front of me. In contrast, my mind ponders what has happened to me since Beth passed away.

I could have continued driving forever, but hunger brings my mind back to reality. My empty stomach aches, so I decided to stop at the next diner. It is close to Odessa. When I park the truck in front of a restaurant, I see a short, stocky man sitting on the edge of the road holding a torn cardboard sign.

"Santa Fe" is written on it with a black marker.

I don't pay much attention to him, but he seems to have been sitting there for a long time. I pass him and walk toward the diner. It takes me over an hour to eat my early supper, and I walk out into the parking lot again.

The Mexican man is still sitting there. So I decided to pick him up because I feel sorry for the guy, and above all, I don't have anywhere definite to go.

"I see that you've been waiting here for a while. I can give you a ride to Santa Fe."

That is how I end up going to Santa Fe. I don't care much about where I am going because I could have gone in any direction. He stands up right away and quickly runs toward the truck.

"Thank you, thank you, sir! I have been waiting here almost half a day!"

That is how he spoke to me with his thick Hispanic accent. Then he shuts the door after sitting comfortably in the passenger seat. After turning the engine on, I slowly start to talk to him. It is nice to talk to someone after a long drive alone on the freeway.

"You said you've been waiting there for half a day. Is that right? It's a pretty long wait."

He plainly responds to me.

"Yes, sir. Not many people want to pick up a Latino. I know this because I have been hitchhiking all over the country."

His simple response makes me ask more questions.

"So, what are you doing hitchhiking all over the country? Do you like to travel around? Or are you running away from someone?"

He smiles at my questions and starts to tell his life story.

"I pick fruits and vegetables on farms all over the US. There are many Latinos who work in the fields."

"According to the crop season, we move around from the south to the north and the west to the east. I just finished picking peaches in Parker County around Weatherford."

After hearing where he was, my attitude toward him suddenly changes. I feel closer to him.

"Is that right? I am from Weatherford. It is a nice town, isn't it? Which farm did you work at?"

Every season many Mexicans indeed come to work in our town to pick peaches. It has been a long tradition in our area.

He grins at me.

"Yes, it is a very nice town, indeed! I was with Mr. Brown on North Main street. We picked a lot this year, and he was very content."

I know exactly where it is. I become more open to this stranger. It is so funny that how you feel toward people depends on the energy you receive from that person. I am feeling very comfortable talking to him.

"So, what's in Santa Fe? Do you have another job lined up?"

He also feels my energy has shifted then keeps on talking about his life.

"My son and wife live in Santa Fe. I will see them—I have been away for almost a year—before another season starts. I know you are driving, so you can't see them."

He takes his worn wallet from his back pocket and pulls out some of the old pictures.

"This is my wife, and this is my son!"

He is trying to show me their photos, and the road is empty as we are driving in the desert. So I have plenty of time to glance at them. There is another little girl in the photo that he is holding. I thought it is funny that he doesn't mention her, so I casually ask him.

"Your wife is beautiful, and your son looks just like you. I see a little girl in your picture. Is she related to you?"

I feel a hint of hesitation in him, but he continues his story.

She is my daughter, but she died several years ago. We took this picture a few weeks before she died, so I always keep this to remember her. My little daughter was so pretty and sweet. She is always in my heart."

I don't know what triggered him to talk about his past. Maybe something caused him to reflect, and all his feeling came out as if a dam had broken.

"I was born and raised in Guatemala. I met my wife, and we started our family. We weren't rich, but we were comfortable. Our life was good."

"Shortly after, the war broke out, and our life became more difficult day by day. When the war continued, it became a life-and-death situation. We decided to leave the country and come to the US."

"We didn't have any means to reach Texas, so we walked for three weeks by crossing Mexico to get to the Rio Grande. Once we crossed the river, we could finally be free."

"We waited for the night to arrive because the border patrols were everywhere. I was hoping that clouds would cover the moon. That would make it much harder to be detected by the border police."

"When the evening settled in, the four of us walked to the river and quietly immersed ourselves in the cold water. I had all our belongings in a plastic bag to keep them from getting wet. I swam first, then my daughter, my son, and finally, my wife. It wasn't a wide river, but its current was quite strong. We were getting pushed by the strong current."

"When we were about halfway, my little daughter began to get tired from swimming. I was trying to encourage her to move on. She began to cry, and I held her hand to keep her afloat. But the plastic bag with all our possessions was in my other hand."

"I also began to be pulled downstream because I couldn't move either of my hands. I thought about what to do. If I let go of her hand, she would drown, and if I kept her hand and let go of the bag keeping us afloat, the two of us would be swept away and die. Then my wife and son would be lost in a foreign land."

"In the end, I had to make the worst decision of my life. I had to let go of my little girl's hand. Right before I made up my mind, my daughter said her last words."

"Papa, let me go! It's OK. I want to go!"

"When I let her hand go, the current took her away from me. I was crying, but I had to keep swimming to get to the shore. I kept telling my little daughter, "I am so sorry, baby! I am so sorry!" I still vividly remember the moment I had to let go of her little hand. The feeling is always with me."

"I don't want to let my feeling go because I know she is still with us. That is why I keep this photo wherever I go. I want to keep her in my heart. My little baby! She had to die to let us live. So I am living not only for myself but for her as well.