I found God on a mountaintop. I found him in a little bag of dirt. I found him in the snows. I saw the hem of his garment in the snow clouds over the Sangre de Cristos. I have made promesa after promesa telling myself one day I would visit New Mexico and render hearty thanks to the Christ of Esquípelas, and to el santo niño. And lo and behold, after five years, I finally and miraculously did it.
Leaving Texas was the best thing I have ever done. I felt, for the first time, finally at home somewhere other than Harlingen or any of the other places I’ve been to. I’m tearing up right now because of how special it feels; to not worry about people that hate you or situations you keep on remembering or assignments or professors or even just having to be in school. There are some times I wanted to escape: to just pack everything up in a suitcase, and leave, and never look back, because of all the trouble I had found myself in. At least in New Mexico I could be myself with Shawn, and I wouldn’t have to be ashamed, or lie, or make things up. In New Mexico, I discovered, I could be more myself than ever, because no one really knew me, and for the first time, I could be myself and not have to worry about getting funny looks for speaking Spanish with an accent, because everyone does it there. For the first time in a long time I was just Joe, and not MeJoe, I wasn’t a student; I was a tourist, I was anonymous and ethereal.
Now that the façades are gone –– dispelled in a torrent of tears in Room 234 at Travelodge off Cerrillos Road –- I can start thinking about where my life is going. No more pain, no more worries, no more suffering at the hands of others or myself. No more wasted days, no more tear-stained nights, no more anguish, no more guilt, no more pity.
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