Chapter 42: The Mighty Rio Grande
March
When I was only nine, my father had packed his life up in two suitcases.
About a year later, they reappeared on the porch just outside the front door.
I'd heard a truck, saw the lights flashing through my bedroom window, so I went out to see if Joe had finally returned.
But it wasn't Joe. It was my dad.
He stood in the dark entryway where Ma left a candle burning. She'd fallen asleep on the sofa. Ever since my father had gone, I often found her there at night instead of in her own bed.
He stared at me from across the room as I stood protectively over my mother.
"Hey, Jack," he said, gruffly.
I wouldn't answer. I nodded and turned to go into the kitchen.
My dad followed and took two glasses out of the kitchen cabinet. I watched as my father opened the refrigerator, removed the milk carton, and filled the glasses.
"Your ma makes the best chocolate chip cookies," he said, arranging them on a small dish where I sat at the counter. Then he chose one, broke it in half, and dipped it in milk before taking a bite. He pushed the plate closer to me, but I wouldn't accept the offer.
"I missed these cookies," my father said, softly. "I missed everything, come to think of it."
Ma stirred, woke, and sat up on the couch. "Eli? You're here. I must have dozed."
"It's alright, Maddy. Jack and I were just catching up. Bit of a one-sided conversation, actually. Seems like he don't have much to say to me these days."
I prickled at the irritated tone in my father's voice. The edge that came just before the anger. The rage.
The front door creaked open, and Joe walked into the house.
"Joe," Dad said flatly.
"Oh. It is you. Damn," Joe replied.
"It's awfully late," Dad said.
Ma crossed her arms over her chest. Her face was impassive, watchful.
"Yeah, it is awfully late for you to come a calling," Joe said.
"I'm not visiting. I've come home. For good."
Joe glared at our mother and shook his head. "Fuck this," he said through gritted teeth before turning and stalking down the hallway.
I hopped down off the stool and followed my brother. I watched him take the satchel out of the closet and fill it. Boots, flannels, jeans, tee-shirts, underwear. He threw in a couple of ballcaps and then put on his cowboy hat.
"Whatcha doing, Joe?"
"Leaving, chief. Can't stay here no more, not now he's come back. There's only room for one of us in this house."
"There's lots of room, Joe."
"Nah. Not for two tempers the size of ours. We'd have to build a new wing."
"Joe," I said with tears in my eyes, "please don't go."
"What's all that racket y'all are making?" Jake said from his bunk.
"Go back to sleep, Golden Boy."
"He's leaving, Jake," I whispered.
"Don't let the door hit ya in the ass on your way out," was all Jake said.
Joe laughed and shook his head. "He's a real peach, ain't he?" Then he pulled his favorite trucker hat out of his bag and placed it on my head. "This is for you, chief. Wear it with pride."
I nodded.
"Stay honest. Don't turn out like your old brother Joe. I'm a bad seed."
He slung the duffel bag over his shoulder and walked down the hall, me following after.
"Where do you think you're going this time a night?" Ma asked.
"Just going. That's all."
"Joe, no. Please stay. Things will be better," our mother said with a pained look on her face.
"Sometimes it's just time, Mama."
"Time for what?"
"For a man to go." He hugged her and kissed her on the cheek. She grabbed his arms to hold him in place.
"Let him go, Maddy," our father said quietly. "Just let him go."
Joe tipped his hat at me and walked out the front door.
Ma fell to her knees sobbing.
It was the first time in the nearly two years since the drought hit that I had seen her cry. Even through the rage and the violence, she remained unshaken. But now, her entire body shook as wordless screams of pain echoed through the great room.
My father bent down and gently rubbed her shoulders. "It'll be okay, Maddy. He'll come home after a spell."
She shrugged his hands off her body. "It won't be okay, Eli." She shook her head. "He won't come back. We're never going to get our boy back."
*****
I keep thinking about that as Jesse and I drive south towards Brownsville.
Joe told me last night that he didn't leave because of Dad. But my memory is telling me something different. In my mind, he became our scapegoat—when he left home and headed out for the wilderness, it was Dad's day of atonement.
I always thought of it as our family's sacrifice, a penance for my father's sins.
But Joe doesn't think of it that way at all.
In Joe's mind, he had set himself free.
The sun is just peeking over the horizon as Jesse drives along highway 281 to Refugio Ranch. It's a new day, but all my problems are still here.
Jesse had it wrong. Problems don't stay home—they follow you wherever you go.
I'm more confused than ever about the right thing to do.
I know it's not right to marry a girl I don't really love.
And it's not right to abandon an innocent child or its mother.
It's a choice between wrong and wrong.
"How you doing, Bud?" Jesse asks.
I shrug. "Fine. Why?"
"You've just been real quiet on this trip. You usually like a little banter."
I shake my head. "Oh, there's banter. All the voices in my head keep talking, but none of them can agree on anything."
He chuckles. "How'd things go with Joe after I left? He didn't try to bag a waitress, did he?"
"Does a bear shit in the woods?"
He laughs again. "That boy. I swear, it's a miracle he's lived this long."
I nod. "He did say something kind of interesting though."
Jesse glances at me and smiles. "He does that from time to time."
"He said that there's two types of people, those who let things happen, and those who make things happen."
Jesse nods. "I suppose that's true."
"So, I've been thinking about that. Wondering which type I am," I say.
"If you're not sure, I guess you'd be in the former category."
"Damn." I sigh.
He shrugs. "It's only natural. You're the baby of the family. You had four older brothers and Dad bossing you around your whole life. And you've always been an easygoing kind of kid. What was it Ma used to call you? Mr. Sunshine?"
"Mr. Blue Sky."
"That's right. Mr. Blue Sky." He looks at me for a few beats. "You know who you remind me of?"
"No, who?"
"You ever seen that movie Forrest Gump?"
"Yeah, great movie."
"Yeah. You remind me a little of Forrest."
I roll my eyes, shake my head. "Because I'm not a smart man?"
Jesse shoves me lightly in the shoulder. "Naw, son. I actually think you're smarter than you let on. You do like to play dumb, on occasion, but I see through it."
"Then why am I Forrest?"
"You're loyal and trusting...to a fault. A fierce protector of those you care about. You tend to act on impulse, and you're easily influenced."
"These don't sound like compliments."
"Oh, I don't know, Forrest was a very lovable character. You remember that feather?"
"Feather?"
"Yeah, in the movie. The one that just floated in the wind."
"Oh, yeah. Yeah, I remember."
"I always thought of that as a symbol for Forrest, for his story. He just kind of went with the flow, wherever his life circumstances took him. You're like that too."
I nod. I guess he's right. I do like the path of least resistance.
"And going with the flow is a great quality to have. It can make for a real peaceful life," he clears his throat and continues, "unless that flow takes you somewhere you don't wanna be."
"I think that might be happening right now."
He nods. "I think you might be right." He slows to turn at Marylu's Café. "Better get breakfast. We're gonna need some grub before we go test the size of this bull's balls."
When I hop down from the truck, I take in my surroundings. The parking lot is full of Border Patrol vehicles.
"Damn, you think they're hunting fugitives?" I ask.
"Nah, more like hunting some breakfast tacos."
"How close are we to the border?"
Jesse points south. "You see those mesquite trees off in the distance?"
I shield my eyes from the morning sun and squint into the horizon.
"That's the river," he says. "That's Mexico."
I gaze out at the vast expanse of dirt and low brush, blue sky and morning sunlight as songbirds sing and cicadas call. All of a sudden, I get the urge run to the border, swim across the mighty Rio Grande, keep heading south, and never look back.
Then I notice something in my peripheral vision.
It's a lone Monarch Butterfly flying north, slowly making its way back home.