What has Water Washed Away

to head home and have your fate in the hands of your
social studies teacher. I know the drill. Look ‘em in the
eye, be direct, polite, but not too friendly.”
“Can you believe that guy? Telling us how scared
we should be,” Jim said.
The road inched its way further up into the
Edwards Plateau. Gus rested his head back.
Border town, Gus thought. Two words. One is
people. The other a story we tell. About ourselves.
Shapes us, what we become. The stakes couldn’t be
higher.
It can be a story about safety, trust, cooperation.
One that includes history. That all this was Mexico,
north and west up through Utah and California. A
regional story about families.
Back there, the story is that the world is a very
dangerous place. One of scarcity, winners and losers,
and places to fear. A nightmare, with dire effects for
families, for children. Acted out in large and small
ways. Back there, just some young guys, trying too hard
to show strength, not seeing it projects the opposite.
Those sunglasses a wall. How can you look someone in
the eye with those things? Those buildings. A prison,
and a checkpoint miles from the border, a show of
strength of reach. But an overreach. All arbitrary. Gates
dropped in the desert. Borders change, are temporary.
Many others working on a different story. For the
day you’ll hardly notice maybe. Just toot your horn at
a sign by the road. Look around jokingly, see if it looks
any different.
Gus sat up and looked around. “Hey, anything
look different?” he said.
“What?”
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