Hurt By Myself
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I’m so tired of the pain. I want to feel something else, but it’s not happening for me tonight. Maybe tomorrow will be better? I don’t know if that’s possible anymore. The only thing keeping me going is knowing there are people who care about me and my family.
But what am I supposed to do with all this guilt in my heart? It makes me sick every time I think about it. There were times when I thought I was never coming home again…and then I did. And now we’re here, on our own land where nothing bad can happen ever again. Or at least that’s how it feels right now.
It wasn’t until after he died that I realized just how much I loved him. He made everything seem okay and even though his death hurt more than anything has before or since, I still miss him terribly.
Sometimes I wish things could have been different for us; maybe he would still be alive today if they had just given me a chance back then. But no one wanted to listen. They didn’t take into consideration that I hadn’t done anything wrong except fall in love with someone who happened to be part Native American.
That isn’t fair! Why should anyone get punished because of their heritage? What kind of world is this anyway? A place where you can be persecuted simply based on your skin color? No matter what they say, I believe everyone deserves equal rights under the law.
We shouldn’t live like animals—like slaves, forced to work without pay. If we worked hard enough for what we got, then why aren’t we allowed to keep it? Things need to change. Someone needs to stand up for justice. To make sure those in power stop trampling over our human rights. That’s what I plan to do. One day. Someday soon.
But first I have to survive the next few days. This week has taken its toll on me emotionally and physically. It’s almost impossible to sleep these nights. All I see is blood everywhere. So many dead bodies lying around. Some of them were my friends. Others belonged to strangers.
Everyone seems to hate each other. How can that be true? Have we really come to this point in history? Is life truly as hopeless as it looks from where I sit?
There’s too much misery out there. Too much suffering. People are dying left and right. I’m not saying this is the way it ought to be, but that doesn’t mean it won’t always be like this. Not unless someone steps in to help. And who knows when that might happen?
I’ve tried to tell myself that there must be some good people somewhere trying to put an end to this madness. But sometimes I wonder. Maybe the ones doing all the killing will win. Who cares anyway? As long as I’m able to defend myself against any potential attackers. Because that’s what matters most. Survival. At least for now. Until I find a way to make a difference.
For now, I’ll just have to try to stay away from trouble. Stay safe. Keep my head down. Even if it means living alone forever. I suppose that’s what I deserve. After everything, I’ve done.
***
A few hours later, I woke up to a pounding headache and the sound of voices outside. When I look through the window, I see two men standing by the door talking. One man is dressed in a suit while the other wears jeans and a T-shirt. Both men are armed with guns, which tells me they probably belong to a gang or something similar.
Judging by the clothes they’re wearing, I’d guess they’re also from Mexico. But why would they be hanging around here? Unless they came looking for me specifically.
The man in the suit speaks up first. “You’re trespassing,” he says. His voice sounds angry and authoritative.
“We weren’t told not to go onto this property.” The man in the T-shirt responds.
“Then you’re lucky. Now get off my land!” the man in the suit yells.
He points toward the woods behind us. “Go back where you came from, both of you. Don’t come back here again or I’ll shoot you!”
They both turn around and walk back the way they came. I watch them leave, wondering if they plan to return. Will they kill me if they do? I can’t let that happen. I have to fight back. I have to protect myself.
I grab my gun and walk out the front door. I aim it at the man in the suit. “Get down on the ground,” I shout.
He drops to his knees and puts his hands in the air. Then I hear another gunshot. I look over my shoulder. The guy in the T-shirt is lying on the ground, bleeding profusely. Blood pools beneath his body. My heart races. I don’t know what to do.
“Run!” the man in the suit shouts.
Before I can move, I feel something hit my chest. I collapse onto the floor. Everything goes black.
When I open my eyes, I’m laying in bed. I glance over at the clock on the nightstand. It reads 7:00 p.m. I was sleeping so deeply, I never noticed the time passing. For a moment, I think about getting up, going downstairs, and making dinner.
But then I remember what happened last night. I shudder involuntarily as I recall how close I came to being killed. Or worse. If only I had known that the guys outside my house were members of a rival gang. I could have stayed inside and waited until they left. Instead, I went out to confront them. What was I thinking? Wasn’t I worried enough already?
As I lie there, listening to the rain falling outside, I start to cry. Why did I ever leave home? Did I really need to lose everything?
I miss Mom and Dad more than anything else in the world. They’re gone, and I’ll never see either one of them again. Ever. I wish I could talk to them right now. Tell them how sorry I am for leaving them. Ask their forgiveness. I thought I knew exactly what I wanted, but I didn’t realize just how hard things would be without them.
Maybe I should have stayed in Texas after all. There was nothing holding me back there anymore. No one. Just a few memories and a lifetime of regrets.
My thoughts drift back to the past. To happier times before everything fell apart. Back when I was a little girl growing up in Austin, Texas. Life seemed simpler back then. A lot less complicated.
***
It wasn’t easy adjusting to life in a new city. Especially since I barely spoke English. At first, I kept to myself. I spent most days sitting on the porch of our apartment building, watching people pass by. I learned to recognize every face.
Every person walking down the street. Some of them used to wave at me, but I couldn’t understand what they said, so we never talked. Eventually, I stopped waving back. I figured it wouldn’t matter much anyway. People would still ignore me even if I tried to speak to them. How could they not? I was an outsider—a stranger who didn’t belong.
One day, someone knocked on my door. I opened it to find a young woman standing there. She looked familiar somehow. Maybe she lived in the same building.
She smiled when she saw me. “Hi! Are you Ana?”
“Yes, I’m Ana.”
“Can I come in? I’d like to introduce myself.”
“Okay. Please do. I’m glad to meet you.”
After she entered, I closed the door. We sat across from each other at the kitchen table. I watched her while she fidgeted with the strap of her purse. Her eyes darted nervously from side to side.
“Are you okay?” I asked.
“No. Not really.”
“Why’s that?”
“Well, I’ve been living here for almost two months, and no one has spoken to me yet. So, I guess I’m starting to wonder why that is. Do you know what I mean?”
“Yeah, I kind of do.”
“Do you have any idea what I could possibly have done wrong?”
“Not really. You haven’t hurt anyone, have you?”
“Of course not. That’s not it at all. I just… Well, I don’t want to make friends with the wrong people.”
“What are ‘wrong’ people?”
“People who aren’t nice. Who might try to take advantage of me or harm me.”
“That doesn’t sound very fair.”
“I suppose not. But that’s how it is sometimes. When you live in a place where everyone looks different, acts differently, and talks differently, it becomes difficult to trust anyone. And that makes it harder to connect with others. Sometimes, you just have to stick to yourself and keep your distance.”
The waitress brings us our food. As soon as she leaves, I ask, “Do you mind telling me what country you’re originally from?”
“I grew up in Mexico City. My parents owned a restaurant called El Rancho Grande. It was quite popular among locals. Everyone loved coming there.”
“Wow! I bet it must have been fun growing up in such an exciting city.”
“Oh, yes. Very. I especially enjoyed meeting new people. Learning about their cultures. Trying new foods. Going to museums. Visiting parks and zoos. I visited many interesting places while I was there.”
“Would you ever go back someday?”
“Someday, I hope to visit my hometown again. But only if I can bring my whole family along. I want them to experience the beauty of the city I once called home. If I ever get the chance to return, I will definitely let you know. Would that be alright?”
“Sure. Of course. In fact, I’d love to hear more about your old neighborhood.”
We chat for a long time after that. About her favorite restaurants, trips to the zoo, and the beautiful buildings around town. Before she left, I promised to write her a letter if I ever got the opportunity to travel to Mexico City. I also told her I hoped to meet her again someday.
Two weeks later, I received a postcard from her. The picture showed the interior of the restaurant. It looked exactly like I remembered. With its bright colors, tall ceilings, and cheerful décor, it reminded me of a Mexican carnival. I had forgotten how colorful the city was until I saw this photo.
A few days passed, and another postcard arrived. This one depicted the outside of the building. Even though it was dark out, I could tell the weather hadn’t changed much since the last card. There were still palm trees lining the street. The same cars drove by. And the same people walked down the sidewalk. Everything seemed the same. Except for the missing sign.
Soon, the waitress returned with the check. After paying our bill, we thanked her and headed toward the exit. Outside, I noticed a man sitting on a bench. He stared at us suspiciously. His eyes narrowed as he peered at us through his sunglasses. I didn’t think anything of it at first. Then, before I knew it, he stood up and started walking toward us.
My heart began racing. I grabbed Ana’s arm. She turned to look at him. A shiver ran down my spine. What should I do? Should I run away? Or stay put and see what happens next?
Before I could decide, the man reached us.
He stopped right in front of us. “Howdy! Haven’t seen you in a while,” he said.
Ana glanced at me. Slowly, she raised her eyebrows.
“You remember me!” the stranger exclaimed.
“Uh… No, actually. I don’t.”
“But you do now. You’re Ana! From El Rancho Grande. Right?”
“Um…”
His smile widened. “Don’t worry. I won’t tell anyone. I promise.”
“Okay… Thanks.”
As the man sat back down, I took a deep breath and tried to calm myself. This wasn’t good. I needed to leave. Now.
“Hey, wait a minute!” the man yelled.
I spun around. “Yes?”
“You forgot something.”
“Excuse me?”
“Your name tag.”
I felt a chill run up my body. “It’s gone.”
For several seconds, the man remained silent. Finally, he asked, “Are you sure?”
“Yeah. I mean, no. Actually, I’m not really certain.”
“Maybe someone stole it.”
“No way. Not possible.”
The man pursed his lips. “Hmm… Maybe we should call the police.”
“I’ll go get it if you want.”
“Nah. I don’t need it anymore anyway. I’ve found something better.”
With that, the man pulled off his shirt and tossed it into the trash bin. I gasped. That couldn’t be real. How did he lose his shirt so quickly?
“What are you doing?” I whispered.
“Shh! We don’t want to attract attention.”
“Why would anyone care?”
“Because they might find out who I am.”
“Who are you?”
“Someone very important.”
“And why is that?”
“That’s none of your business.”
I frowned. “Well, maybe it’s mine.”
“Not really. Anyway, I’m leaving now.”
“Wait, where are you going?”
“To have a little fun with an innocent young lady. Just like I used to when I lived here.”
The End