Corre

The wide, shallow river flowed along lazily between the two forested hills, and the high sun beat down on the grassy landscape. A dark-skinned boy peeked around one of the trees overlooking the river, scanning the scene below. On his side of the river, other people stood at the edges and stripped till their underwear, stuffing their few belongings into a plastic bag. One took point and led a group of five or so across the river, bags held high. On the other side, a patrol car with blaring sirens drove toward them, causing the group to scatter back to the boy's side.

Someone tugged on his shirt sleeve, and the boy turned and saw his younger sister hold a hand over her stomach. A growl rose from it, and she gave him a pleading look. He sighed and rummaged around in his torn pants' pockets until he found half of a candy bar he had saved. He put in her hands and looked back at the river again as she eagerly gobbled it up.

The patrol car had gone away for the moment, and the group began to cross again. They made it halfway before an engine was heard revving up, and they scrambled back to the other side. The car never came, and the leader swore colorfully before leading them across again. This time, they made it, and they dove into the opposite hill, hidden by the trees.

Another group was preparing to cross, and the boy picked out the leader, the coyote in a pair of briefs. It would have been comical if a gun had not been poking above the brief's elastic. He took his sister's hand and picked their way carefully through the piles of trash left by groups who had slept overnight. There were some who were asleep, but a few were unmoving, their chests still.

The coyote noticed them walk up, and he waved them off impatiently. Defiant, the boy planted his feet squarely on the ground and folded his arms. He met the coyote's eye and held it. Unperturbed, he waved them off again. The boy shook his head stubbornly, and the coyote's face darkened. He reached for his gun, but the boy quickly pulled a few bills from his pocket and flourished them at him.

The coyote froze and narrowed his eyes appraisingly. His attention shifted to the sister who huddled behind her brother. He frowned and stuck out his hand. The boy hesitated and held out the few bills, and the coyote snatched it away. The boy protested, but he ignored him and counted the money. He shook his head and pocketed the money. “Más.”

“¡Se di todo mi dinero!” The coyote shrugged carelessly and glanced at the other side, now clear of any sign of patrol cars. The boy looked to others in the group for support, but they avoided his gaze as they stripped.

The coyote gestured at them to follow, but then the girl cried out, “¡Espere, por favor!” He stopped and turned slowly, face stormy. Her brother gripped her arm and shook his head furiously, but she wrenched free and stepped toward the man tentatively. “Tengo más dinero.” She took a bundle of cloth from inside her shirt and unwrapped a few tattered bills. Before her brother could stop him, the coyote seized the money and counted.

He raised his head to study them again. The others were growing restless, saying that another patrol car would surely come if they didn't hurry. The boy tensed, eyes flitting to each person nervously, but then the coyote silenced them with a hand. “Vengan,” he said to the two children. The boy's face split in a relieved grin, but then he suppressed it and started to take off his clothes, stuffing them into a paper bag he found on the ground. His sister modestly ducked behind a few bushes, and he tossed her the bag of clothes.

When they were in only their underwear, the coyote motioned for them to follow, the other side clear for the moment. The group made their way to the riverside, and the coyote called to stop and rechecked the other side. He frowned and peered down the river, and the boy glimpsed another group crossing before the coyote was shouting at them to run, run as quickly as they could while the patrolmen were distracted.

Someone pushed the boy, and he stumbled forward but kept his balance. He began to pump his legs as fast as he could, the water sloshing at his knees and bag swinging in his hand. A voice yelled for him to slow down, and he turned his head to see his sister struggling against the water which came up to her waist. One of the others shoved her out of the way, and she fell. Her brother caught and pulled her along, noticing that most of the other group were across while he and his sister were only halfway. The coyote gave them a uncaring glance before leading the rest into the hill's forest.

“Rápido, hermanita,” urged the boy. She nodded, water and sweat dripping from her forehead. They had just staggered onto the beach when he heard something that froze his insides: sirens. A single car with flashing lights screeched to a halt on the road just fifty yards away. They were transfixed like deer in headlights, and then a man in a beige uniform climbed out and yelled at them in an unfamiliar language. The boy looked at his sister, and he whispered, “Corre.”

They darted to the relative safety of the trees, and the man's yells faded. The sirens didn't, however. The trees prevented the patrolmen from driving after them, but this didn't make the boy feel any better as he and his sister ran blindly through the forest. Someone crashed after them, and the boy pulled his sister into a bush. A patrolman blundered by and continued forward, and they ran perpendicular to him, away from the river.

His sister's chest heaved, but they couldn't rest. They had to get to safety. The boy wasn't sure what would happen if the patrolmen caught them, but he was sure it wasn't any good. So he kept running, sister behind him, hands linked together. There was another yell in unfamiliar language, and the boy spotted another patrolman a few yard in front of them and off to the left.

He twisted behind a tree, but his sister tripped on a root and landed roughly. The boy sucked in his breath as the patrolman neared, but the man no longer yelled. His tone was soothing, and his words were understandable if with a thick accent, “No voy a lastimar Uds. Vengan aquí, por favor.” She stared at him with wide, scared eyes, and her brother frantically gestured for her to run. The man spoke again, “¿De dónde eres?”

“Guatemala.”

“Ah, sí. ¿Dónde está tu mamá?” The question cut deep, and the girl blinked back tears. Behind the tree, the boy bit his lip to keep from crying. It had been months since they had seen their mother, months since their bewitchment with Western culture had caused them to leave home. Riding La Bestia, shielding his sister from others, scavenging for scraps of food, and protecting the small amount of money they had saved had been all that the boy had thought about during these long months, and freedom was within reach, but he didn't know if he could follow through.

He wanted his mamá. Wanted her dearly. He wanted to feel her arms around him and hear her warm, loving whispers in his ear. He wanted to be back home where the smell of cooking food always filled the air, and the tin roof of their shabby house would ping as rain fell. He wanted her to be here to face this scary man, but she was hundreds of miles away. He would have to face this problem. He would take his sister away and lead her to a better life.

Una vida mejor. Those words had started this perilous journey. On the small television back home, the boy had watched shows depicting skyscrapers, beggars turned rich, and most of all loving and caring people. He wanted a generous couple to take him in and teach him anything and everything. A doctor was his aspiration, and he could imagine all of his family standing around him, offering their praise. All of that was easily possible on the other side.

His sister answered the man, snapping him out of his reverie, “Mamí... Mamí está en casa.” She sniffed, a tear running down her right cheek. She swallowed, and her body shook, and not just from exhaustion. The boy gestured to her again, but she didn't see. A sob escaped her, and the man crept closer. The boy gestured again, heart twisting.

“¿Y por qué no estás con ella?” asked the man.

“Porque queríamos una vida mejor... pero no la quiero. Quiero volver a casa. He odiado este camino.”

The brother stared at her listlessly, hoping she would take back her words, but she let them echo in the forest. Another sob escaped her, and then she collapsed in a crying heap, curling up in a ball. The man knelt by her and patted her back comfortingly, and she hugged him, tears spilling onto his uniform. When she quieted for a moment, he asked, “¿Vienes con alguien?”

“Sí...” She turned to where her brother was, but he was gone.

~

The boy climbed a high sandy embankment, mind focused on only trying to find shelter on this side now. He had no other distractions, had no other worries, had no one to constantly watch over. With the last thought, his hands clenched by his sides, but he pushed it aside. He pulled himself over the embankment and saw a road in front of him, one way leading to a small town and the other to a bridge with a checkpoint.

A sign greeted him, the first phrase in a foreign language but the second recognizable.

Bienvenidos a Los Estados Unidos

Something tugged at his shirt on his shirt sleeve, and he turned, smile on his face, but no one was there.