We found it at the end of our neighborhood... the edge of Benavides Heights. Large flat rocks stuck out of the light brown caliche soil, out into the open sky. From these heights we could see two countries but no border. The river obscured from view by the old mesquite trees and roof tops.
On the hot humid nights of summer, there was always a southern breeze. It would stir the moisture in the air and creating a semblems of coolness. Never a true cool breeze but still enjoyable.
This was our sanctuary, a place to sit and talk, to verbalize our dreams, and look forward to the years that were to come. My sister and me, as teenagers got along very well. I never imagined that we would end up leaving in Waco, working were I am or that my sister would work were she does. That out crop of rocks was our haven. From here I saw the seventies start but not end. In the mid eighties, as a married adult, I returned to those out crops to see our sister city across the river burn in the night. Riots had sparked over disagreements with their city government. A disagreement that saw military troop come in and bring peace to that city.
I returned again in the nineties with my sons and looked at the landscape changes in both countries. Old building disappeared and new ones cropped up, along with a second bridge connecting the two countries.
In 2006 we returned as a group to that edge of the world. We walked the same paths, sat on the rocks and talked about the past. Our son Carlos walked with us. On his face one could see the worry of knowing that he would leave soon. He would be leaving for Okinawa,... so, so far away.We, comfortable in the certainty of our past... he, just embarking on that unknown journey into adulthood.
We found the the stonewalls of the old house. Ruins of what were already ruins when youth was my companion. Built on the foundation of those who were here before us. Their future was our past, our future now Carlos' past... his future is our hope.
