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the Bracero Program. Since then, most communities south of the border have become dependent on American dollars for survival.

The boy's mind spirals off to more pleasant times. The day of the fiesta, Lupita stood across the street watching him with those eyes- eyes like jet black volcanic glass. The girl's sleek hair unraveled, gushing down the hour glass contours of her body like crude oil over desert slopes. Pablo was certain that he knew what it felt like to be in love and that love was the only thing this could be. He imagined her naked body hovering over him, her skin galvanized in sweat, her hair like black-out curtains.

Guillermo, called Memo for short, suddenly rouses from his slumber and disturbs Pablo from a sleepless trance.

"We there yet?" Memo laughs, knowing full well that it will take at least 35 hours to get to the border town of Nogales, Sonora.

"Can I get one of those cigarettes?" Pablo implores.

Pablo studies the smoke from his cigarette as it floats up, spinning like two intertwined spirits.

His mind wanders back to Guanajuato. Monarch butterflies scatter and re-collaborate as Pablo chases down the earthen road to his house. He turns on the hydrant and inhales the sputtering crystal liquid; his shirt becomes drenched. Pleasantly weary from working in the corn fields, all of the siblings sit down at a creaky, yet sturdy, table. The modest home is rife with the heated fumes of tortas stuffed with aguacate, tomate, and cebolla. Accordions drone away on a small radio that crackles and pops in the kitchen.

That day their father had bought a gleaming new bicycle, but they all had to share it. They took turns pedaling through stubborn dirt, but the compromising was anything but peaceful. After much riotous protest over how unfair it is that Pablo never gets his turn, the bike was his.

It would ultimately buck him off over the handlebars, jarring his skull against unforgiving clay, tearing his flesh, and throwing his central nervous system into a disoriented panic.

"I hate you Dad! Why would you buy us this piece of crap?!" The child lashed out through streams of tears.

Pablo's heart sinks as he remembers what he had said to his father that fine afternoon nine years ago. The bus skates by a depressed taco stand, throwing on it another layer of dirt. The realization that he may not see his Dad for a while is troubling, and even more troubling is the possibility that there may be no more new memories containing his face or his voice.

So he stimulates his mind

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