Consuelo teaches in my district. He’s a handsome Latino, inclined to smile, owns the gift of charm.  Consuelo started calling me Paul about a year ago, which goes a long way with me. Two weeks ago we commiserated about a kid.

    “So how’s your shitter?” he asked with a little food still in his mouth.

    “Juanita?  Poor kid doesn’t have a chance. She craps herself at least twice a day and the kids treat her like a leper.”

     Consuelo shook his head. “The kid’s got a lot going against her.”

    “Yeah, I know. I had a meeting with the principal, shrink, the mom. Maaaaan, both the mom and the kid are undocumented. Medicare won’t pay for illegals.  Mom’s supposed to bring her up to Stanford, but she can’t afford it.”

    A pained look hit Consuelo, “Illegal, huh?  The mom and the kid.”

    “Yeah, both of them.”

    Consuelo eyeballed me, “I crossed when I was six.”

    “SIX! You crossed the frontier at age six?” I had used the word frontier intentionally. Spanish speakers call the border La frontera. The frontier.

      “It was boom time in my Tijuana. But my parents struggled.”

       “Know what year that was?”

       “1980, never forget it.  My mom left me at a drop-off house on the Tijuana side. This teenager, a friend of the family, was the coyote. He was taking me across.”

     “Isn’t it like four-thousand bucks a crossing now?”

      “Yeah, now, but it depends on where you’re crossing and where your final destination is. In those days the gangs didn’t have the border all sewed up. The coyote took me across for nothing.”

      “What do you remember?”

      “It was Northern Tijuana, undeveloped area, plains only. The only light was moonlight. Then we started hearing the bird and my coyote got all shaken up.”

      “A bird?”

      “Not any ole’ bird…a border chopper with spot lights. We ran for bushes. I don’t think they saw us.”

      “What else?”

      “I remember walking so fast, tripping’, trying to keep up with this big kid. But no matter what, he just held my hand like it was glued. If I fell, if I tripped, when we ran, he didn’t let go. It must have been really difficult for him.”

        “You’re gonna’ make me cry.”

       “Sorry.  You want me to stop?”

       “No.”

       “O.K. then… so this teenager kept comforting me the whole time. We walked for the rest of the night over hills. At least it felt like all night. I recall stumbling, falling, and walking… walking those rolling hills. And then we got to this industrial complex. A mesh wire fence, way taller than me and a brick wall five or six feet tall separated us from the US. For a little kid that wall reached to heaven. The teenage coyote climbed up on that brick wall, trying to position himself to pull me over. Just at that moment a #$%^ing dog came out of nowhere and bit him.  He jumped back down, grabbed me, now we ran farther along the wall. Climbed over more fences. And we made it. Ironically we ended up in a parking lot of a place called Safeway. That was the meeting place in Chula Vista, my aunt was there. My aunt was worried sick and then when we showed up, she was grateful. The coyote refused payment time after time. In the end my aunt forced him to accept two bags of groceries.   Then we drove on Highway 5 just south of Temecula. There was a checkpoint.”

   “Any images you still have?”

    “Sure, everything seemed fresh, clean, and the lights were so bright and high up on the poles.  My aunt kept on saying, ‘Duermete, mijo, duermete.’”

     “Translate.”

     “Sleep little one, sleep.’ I think she was afraid I’d blow the crossing at the checkpoint and she wanted me asleep.  I don’t know why but even now when I hear her voice saying that in my mind it comforts me.” A calm smile grew on his face.  “I went to sleep and when I woke up I was in East L.A.”

 

     I couldn’t say a word, so I didn’t.

     Consuelo has been a U.S. citizen for a long time now. He’s a pretty good teacher too.