I needed this.
I needed to know what I had found.
I stood nervously. “I’ll be right back,” I said to Emilia. “Just have to relieve myself and take care of a couple of things.”
“¿A dónde vas, Xochitl?” Jorge called out.
I pointed to the south of us. “To the edge of the field. I need some privacy, that’s all.”
“Don’t go too far,” he said. “It’s easy to get lost out there.”
My ecstasy flared, and I did not listen to the aching soles of my feet or the dull burning in my legs. My body may have wanted me to stop, but my soul was calling out for the next poema. I had to have it, had to feel it wrap its arms around me, had to know that someone else out there knew who I was.
At the edge of the field, just out of sight of the others, I crouched down and set the pouch on the ground, then carefully untied the leather strings. They were still coated in dirt, but that didn’t matter. Whatever was inside was pure. It was exactly what I needed.
I slipped the paper out of it, felt the sharp edges, how thick it was, and I could see the writing in black coal, the curved, delicate letters … Oh, it was them, it was the same person!
I read the words under the starlight:
Cada una de nosotras es una desierta
solitaria y vasta
quemada
nos estiramos por siempre
Each of us a desert
solitary and vast
burned
we stretch forever
I fell back, and it swept over me, and I lay supine on the earth, my gaze up at the sky, and I repeated each of the words aloud, felt their sharpness and meaning on my tongue, and I said it all again.
Each of us a desert.
Weren’t we all?
Weren’t we all so vast and solitary inside? Or was it just me?
No, it wasn’t. There was someone else out there who understood me, who knew what it was like to feel this unending loneliness, to be empty within.
We stretch forever.
What did that mean?
I let it tumble in my mind, and as I did so, they awoke.
They stretched.
They yearned for more.
We stretch ourselves: to fit within the roles we are given. To make ourselves look better to those around us. To convince one another that we are good people in a world so vacant.
Each of us a desert.
My back was against the cool dirt, and my heart was satiated. Quenched. As if I had drunk an entire well’s worth of water.
I walked back to the camp in silence. I looked up, and there was a long flash of light that burst across the night sky. We saw them sometimes, distant estrellas moving across the darkness, and they were considered a good omen, a sign of blessed fortune to come. I nudged Emilia, who was gazing up as well. “Did you see that?” I said.
She shook her head. “See what?”
“Ah, nothing,” I replied, and I smiled at her, thankful that she was here. That I was here. That the others might be joining us on our journey in the morning.
Maybe it was not so strange that Emilia believed so fully in You. I had my doubts about You and Your love, but at that moment, surrounded by possibility and hope, it was easier to believe.
I curled up and faced away from Emilia, the fire crackling behind me, the conversations dying out.
“Where did you go, Xo?”
Her voice was soft, barely louder than Rosalinda’s snoring or the crackling fire. I didn’t say anything at first, because unconsciousness was pulling at me.
The fire sparked louder. “Nowhere,” I told her.
Emilia said nothing more. The fire calmed down, and I passed into sleep.
I woke the next morning, alive with hope.
I watched Your light slowly bleed into the sky. Los pájaros were chatty and eager, though, and I knew they wouldn’t be for long. I could feel Your heat entering the world, Your embrace clinging to my body. I was calm.
Sore and aching still, my muscles protesting the very thought of another day of walking, I was ready to continue on. My destination was clear: Solado. You had guided us here, so maybe Emilia was right. You wanted this to happen.
Maybe You were as done with me as I was done with You.
Rosalinda was already awake and was stirring something in a metal pot over the fire.
“We’re leaving in ten minutes or so,” she said. “Get some food and agua, relieve yourself, and then we go.”
“Mami says we should get as far as we can before el mediodía,” said Felipe, waddling back from the well with a bucket of water.
We. I guess we were all headed north together.
I returned to the edge of the field to duck behind a few stalks to relieve myself. I was thankful that my urine was clear; that was a good sign at the start of the day. I pulled up my breeches and then passed Felipe, his round face bouncing as he rushed to the maíz, panic twisting his features as he hurried to relieve himself.
I laughed at that, then rejoined the group. I packed as quickly as I could and munched on some leftovers from the meal that Rosalinda had prepared. We took turns refilling our waterskins, and as I was nearly finished, I looked up to see Jorge, his hair disheveled, staring at me.
“They left already,” he said, and when it was clear I didn’t understand, he shook his head. “Roberto. Héctor. To Obregán.”
Eliazar dumped dirt and some water on the fire, and it steamed and smoked. “We will be fine,” he said. “There are now five of us. We will make it.”
“Make it where, exactly?” I asked. “How long will you travel with Emilia and me?”
“I don’t have a specific destination,” said Eliazar. “I’d like to find a new home someday, but right now…” He picked up his pack and slung it over a shoulder. “… I’m
