The year was 1992. I was 23 years old, an aimless college grad on my own. I had just spent a year volunteering at a legal aid society in El Paso, Texas, helping refugees apply for political asylum in the United States.
It was an eye-opening experience for me, living in a border town, learning about US immigration law and policies, spending my off hours with refugees and migrants from Latin America and the Caribbean. I made fast friends with the local activists and volunteers in town.
Amy was a volunteer at the local refugee shelter. Barely five foot one, Amy was half-Black, half-Latina, with big, expressive eyes and a raspy smoker’s voice. She had a way with children, often minding the many young kids at the shelter while their parents were filling out paperwork or looking for jobs.
Toward the end of both of our volunteer stints in El Paso, we decided to travel together to Mexico. My destination was Guatemala, where a Spanish language school was waiting for me. Amy wasn’t ready to go that far south, but she wanted to travel around Mexico. So we agreed to venture together for a couple of weeks until our paths diverged.
We had very little money, but it was Mexico so it wasn’t hard to get by. We traveled by train, bus, and on foot everywhere. We’d find the local hostel, where we’d share a bed in a crowded dormitory for a few dollars.
In El Paso, we’d sometimes sleep together. It was all platonic, mostly for the creature comfort of having someone else to hold at night. So sharing a bed in Mexico wasn’t a huge deal.
We wiled away the days and hours just meandering around whatever town we were in, arm-in-arm, without any real destination or goal. Usually we’d end up in the town square — the zocalo — where we’d sit and watch locals go about their business. It was the most carefree, peaceful time of my entire life.
A part of me knew that once I went back to the States that I’d have to get “serious” about life. Figure out what I wanted to do with my career, where I wanted to settle down. But that was the future, and I could hold that off for a few more weeks.
Eventually, Amy went as far south as she was willing to go. I my plan to go to Guatemala to study Spanish. So we parted ways and never saw each other again.
I sometimes wonder how Amy is doing and I hope that she is happy.
IMAGE CREDIT: AI-generated by ChatGPT on December 31, 2024.