So Close To The Border and So Far Away From Heaven: Short Stories, Poems and Musings

By Jr. Pablo Pimentel

The border has always been a hot topic, especially these days. The stories shared in this book are just a small sample of what can occur to any individual on either side of the wall. They were meant to entertain but are also a reflection of the struggles some may encounter and were written to help those in need of change. These stories might not

• Language: English
• Publisher: Stratton Press
• Release date: Jul 6, 2020
• ISBN: 9781648950957

Jr. Pablo Pimentel

Pablo Pimentel Jr. is an artist, writer, and a product of the Tijuana-San Diego Border. His experiences from a troubled youth to muralist, lay-out artist, life skills coach to campus relations at an at-risk high school has given him a vast amount of material full of human hardship, but he has also witnessed the wonderful miracles that self-determination can accomplish.

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Dedication

To the ones that I’ve been blessed to share an unconditional love

My daughters: Yesenia, Ana-Alicia, Elyza, and my son Pablo Angel

And in remembrance of two beautiful souls

My dear mother Julieta and my dear grandmother Luisa

Guarding the Past

Iwas driving my vehicle up a hill through the rugged terrain that overlooks the Mexican border. A full moon peeked over the mountains in the distance. The clear night and green hillside added to the picture-perfect sight. I had to stop and admire the landscape that surrounded me, which, in a sense, is also a part of my job. I’m a border patrol agent, and clear calm nights are unusual in my sector. I sat in my vehicle, appreciating the moment, and thought about life. A baby boy would soon grace our home. My wife was seven months pregnant and seemed to glow, which made her even more beautiful in my eyes. Thoughts of fatherhood ran through my mind as the stars shined a little brighter on this night.

A rustling in the bushes interrupted my thoughts. I quickly grabbed my night vision goggles to see who or what was coming my way. It was a person who walked slowly and with some difficulty. It appeared to be a male, unbalanced and disoriented―a soul who either became separated from his party or who the coyote decided to leave behind.

As he drew near, I flashed the spotlight atop my vehicle on him. He covered his face with the bony and wrinkly hands of an old man. In Spanish, he complained that the brightness of the light was hurting his eyes. This was a frail old man who didn’t pose a threat. There certainly was no need to call for backup since he appeared to be lost and alone. I opened the gate on the back of my vehicle and helped him climb inside. Since it was just me and the old man, I decided to wait a while before taking him to the station.

I sat back behind the steering wheel. After a brief moment of silence, I began to question him in Spanish. Where are the others? You couldn’t have made it this far by yourself.

The old man looked at me through the metal mesh divider that separated us and answered, I’ve made this trek alone in search of family. My body might not be of much help, but my spirit and determination are strong.

I smiled at him and gathered from the tone of his voice that this was a feisty old man.

People have many reasons why they come across as I did. Mostly, the reason is desperation. The old man continued to speak. What can you lose when you have nothing? They come here looking for hope and a better life, if not for them, then for their families.

I stared intently at my uninvited guest. Listen, old man, I’ve heard it all before, so put away your violin and relax, I answered. I could see in his face that he had much more to say; there went my calm night.

In my younger days, I traveled these same hills with my younger brother. We weren’t looking for a handout. We worked the fields and earned every drop of sweat. These people who cross illegally aren’t bad, they’re just looking for an opportunity to better themselves, he said.

I had to raise my hand to get a word in in this conversation. First of all, the reason I’m here is because people are disobeying the laws that were implemented by my country. There are legal means to come across the border, and that’s why I’m here, my friend, to make sure you stay in your place unless you have the proper documentation.

The old man was making me grind my gears, but he pressed on.

The problem with obtaining the proper documentations is time and money. If you are that desperate and don’t have the time or the money, then you gather some belongings and put them into a plastic grocery bag, stuff your pockets full of hope, and pray to your favorite saint to help to help you get over these dammed hills, was the old man’s point of view. "Can you imagine leaving all that you’ve been accustomed to―your loved ones, your surrounding, and your freedom? It’s not an easy decision to make, but when times are hard, there’s no other choice," the old-timer said.

I shook my head but tried to remain calm. I’m not here to listen to anybody’s problems. I’m just doing my job as your personal ride home, and you don’t even have to tip me, I said, trying to joke with him.

"Many have lost their lives trying to cross this border, and if they make it, they live with the fear of being deported. They expose themselves to being defrauded or exploited by dishonest