The dust and distant smell of exhaust are clear. Nothing else is.
I'm driving and driving and the road never ends. I can't reach Sands no matter how far the ball of my foot presses the gas. I have to get too him before he bleeds to death. Then I'm trying to save El. The car is careening out of control but somehow there is no crash. I gasp.
I feel thin cotton under my cheek. The sheets are wrinkled and I am halfway out from under the threadbare excuse for a blanket. The pillow is nowhere at all.
The smell doesn't change, though and the cool nighttime breeze passes for what they call winter here as I wake up in my dream of Mexico.
I open my eyes and Sands talking quietly into his iPhone. The moon turns him into a silhouette and his hair shines as he dictates. He's still wearing his boots, for god's sake.
"Why are you still awake?"
"I'm trying to get organized about this. We should have some sort of plan, you know." You can read it in the morning. "Haven't really slept well since '03. When you can't tell day from night it really screws with your circadian rhythm. I'm sure you know all about the pineal gland and melatonin and everything."
I'm going to tell him when I realize that he already knows. This is Sands. Why not go for maximum drama when you can? It's not a martyr complex, although that can be part of it. It's control. It's about setting the emotional tone. He's a control freak. He manipulates other. He throws shapes. He sets them up. But we know all about that.
I only hope the control extends to El's girl. After what he's been through the entire situation sickens me. Sands regaled me with the sad story on our way over.
You see, it begins with the cartels. It always begins with the cartels. It begins with an old grudge. But of course that is always the way as well. I really wish they'd get creative down there and do something different. The constant kidnappings cartel recruitment and the overload of weapons. "We don't have running water but we have a Bushmaster." I am never coming back here once this is done.
And don't get me started on the cartels. They make people disappear. Apparently, even the loved ones of those who have lost everything time after time. I don't want to be here. But what we are here to do needs to be done. The feeling of my heart in my throat comes back it's fear and it's also resignation. We are here and there is no turning back.