Sand

Inspired by a student of mine...rather...inspired by hundreds of students of mine...

A senior of mine came into my classroom today…defeated, like a single snake in the desert surrounded by hawks.    “Miss, I didn’t get in.”

                “What do you mean you didn’t get in?”  Was it fair of me to have him repeat it?

                “Miss, I didn’t get in…I didn’t get accepted…I wasn’t deemed worthy with every one of my A’s, or days that I’d wake up sick, tired, and worn to the bone…literally to the bone, from hours upon hours working in the fields and I’d come to school anyways, because my dad always said that education was it; it was my key to be a better man than he could be for us…and a good man he was.  Strong like the brown, leather skin he wore…cracked but never broken.  And I want to be a better man than him.  I want to go to school and show the world that I’m not the stupid little boy they all thought I would be. 

                “Oh he’ll just pick up and leave when harvest ends.”  But no…I stayed.  No car, no food, and hardly a home…frost filling the fields and I stayed.  I let the cold nights fuel me like gas to a flame, and I trudged to school and never missed a day…not a single day because this was my ticket…this was my key.  This was the reason that my old man took us walking in the desert like I walk to school now.  Miles and miles but “estamos casi alli�"we are almost there” he would say.  And Miss, those are the words that I would tell myself every day…Estoy casi alli.  And now I am here.  I have taken my journey through the desert not once, not twice, but three times since I was a niño…on my dad’s crooked back, cracked but not broken, we’d walk.  Inhaling the dry air slowly�"thick, scalding, billows of dust…promising dust.”

                And as my student spoke, passion and rage filled the room like thorns on a cactus.  I selfishly asked him again in hopes that his words might help me�"as an over privileged American�"hide my own denial: “What do you mean you didn’t get in?”  And he looked at me with damp eyes and said,

                “I sat across from the most beautiful white woman, on a white leather sofa…leather that was smooth…smooth unlike my daddy’s hands.  The white walls began to close in allowing the perfect echo to bounce off of them like rubber:

                “You are an ideal candidate for our University.  4.0, great test scores, and a high IQ…but…”

And as she spoke, I sat back in the smooth white leather sofa and could almost feel the weight of the cold, steel key in my hand.  But the white walls…the echoes…the smooth leather…it began to be too much when she uttered the sharpest words I’d ever hear: “You are not an American Citizen, Rene.” She said. 

                My eyes closed, dehydrated, sweating, moments from fainting, and I see mi mama in the distance with my hermanita  on her back…Estamos casi alli…miles in the desert…you’ll be a better man than me…almost there…Every day I went to school…and the leather began to crack, Miss.  I didn’t get accepted because I am a Mexican.  I am not a legal citizen of the United States and because it is against the law for my skin to be brown in this white room, I cannot go to college.”

                A single breath escaped him, and if you listened closely you could hear it echo off the walls.  Tears slowly dripping like the last drops of water at the bottom of a thermos…almost empty. And in that moment I was almost empty too.  I spent my life dangling this key over Rene’s head, promising that if only he jumped high enough he could reach it.  And he jumped higher than anyone.   I looked at him now and put my brown skinned hand�"just  a tad bit lighter than his own�"into  his hand, and all I could say was:

                “Don’t forget that the sand in the desert that brought you here was brown too.”  And in that second, the key fell from my brown hand into his. 

Reviews

[Coyote Poetry]

A amazing story.
“Don’t forget that the sand in the desert that brought you here was brown too.” And in that second, the key fell from my brown hand into his. "
The above lines are a perfect closing. Thank you for sharing the excellent story.
Coyote

[siddhi]

thankyou for posting such a lovely peotry





from
siddhi