What has Water Washed Away

EARLY MARCH 2016
Patrick Staiger
A t a little place outside Del Rio Jim and Gus ate a plate
of enchiladas and afterward Jim said he still wanted to
drive. That was fine with Gus. He’d driven through the
night to pick up Jim in Houston and was enjoying riding
shotgun. He rested his head by the window and looked
out, wondering where the exact spot had been where it
had all changed to desert, and was drifting to sleep as
Jim spoke.
“Whooeee! Look at all that beautiful desert! You
do get tired of just seeing green all the time. Smell
that air! This is going to be a great trip. I checked out
the flow this morning. Not too bad. A little rain would
make it perfect… You know, somewhere around here I
got stopped at some little checkpoint a few years back.
These bored looking border guys in a dusty little trailer
peek in my car see half a joint and the bastards bust my
chops, keep me there for over an hour…”
I’m still awake, Gus thought. Let him vent. It’s great
to see him. And to be out here, get some perspective,
appreciate the things back home. So much it’s hard
to see it. Here it’s so bare, and then a flash. A desert
flower. Change of light. Or, where was it? Near the
Guadalupes. North side of the highway. Probably a dog,
some thin German Shepherd. But who knows? Down from
the Gila, through the White Sands. Or up from the Sierra
del Carmen. They say they’re not there, but maybe.
“Oh, damn. This is where it happened. Right
here,” Jim said.
Gus sat up. They passed a small empty trailer, and
beyond it a structure with gates spanned the highway.
Beside it, a large cluster of mute colored buildings
surrounded by high fence and razor wire took up the
space where the desert had been.
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