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Guillermo grumbles as the bus shudders once again, gripping his satchel tighter as he watches the landscape outside change. It’s cloudy today, much to the young man’s dismay, and as he lets out a huff to push a stray few strands of hair out of his eyes, he laments. Such is the way of youth, he figures. Maybe a part of him dreamed that his odyssey to the “Land of Opportunity” would be laden with golden rays of sunshine, a scene fit for the beginning of any great novel. Maybe this is the universe’s way of grounding him, of reminding him why exactly he sits on this rickety bus, why he must endure the grunts and groans of other opportunistic workers-to-be.
As home grew further away, as silly as it was, a small part of Guillermo expected a shift. A change. To feel something when they crossed the border. Something that wasn’t anxiety despite the fact that he, his father, and every other person in this bus are allowed to cross over. They have due reason to. With all the stories surrounding the border, Guillermo expected something that would uphold its dramatics. But it just…happened. A stop and they crossed. Was it always that simple? Was it supposed to be…?
He glances at his father. Somehow, some way, the man is fast asleep. The contracting bundle of nerves in Guillermo’s torso must not be an affliction his father shares. He envies that a bit. What he wouldn’t give to feel a bit calmer, a bit more sure of the decision they’re making.
His eyes drift back to the world outside. He wonders, briefly, if his mother is proud of them for carrying on. If she watches over them, God bless her soul, and will continue to watch over them as they try to not only survive, but live without her. A fresh start. He knows as well as his father does that parting is hard, but so is stagnation. They’re both ready for this, for progress. So quietly, Guillermo sends up a prayer. He hopes she’s resting in peace. He hopes he makes her and his father proud.
The bus soon rolls to a stop next to a farm. They’ve arrived. Opportunity spans before them in the form of acres upon acres of green, ready to be attended to. Guillermo lets out a gentle, nervous sigh, turning to his father as he hears the man rouse from slumber. Their eyes meet, and without saying a word, they know what the other is thinking.
It’s time to begin anew.
—
The campfire crackles to life, fueled by community and celebration. Six successful months on the farm have brought about community. They say there’s no place like home, and Guillermo supposes that statement still holds. But home, community, they’re synonymous. Where there are few, there is plenty. So despite being in a different country, some things have not changed.
Guillermo smiles to himself as he hears his coworkers–more friends than fellow laborers–laugh and sing after an exhausting day of work. Even his father is smiling, and that alone is enough to satisfy Guillermo for the night. He deserves to be happy after their mother passed. He deserves to be happy.
Life on the farm has, of course, not been easy. There are an innumerable number of policies that, if so many of them didn’t need this employment, Guillermo is sure they would happily address. It’s not like any of them are blind to it, the overworking, the meager pay, the jabs and sneers from their employers, the verbal abuse. But they endure. To reap the opportunities as they do the soil of the farm, they endure. And it isn’t all terrible, at least. They have nights like this. They have each other. And that, for now, will suffice.
The topic of love eventually worms its way into the conversation. Some lament the wife or girlfriend they left behind. Some dream of finding love here. Guillermo feels warmer and warmer as the seconds go by, and it’s certainly not because of the fire. It’s not that he wouldn’t like to participate in this conversation, but…he doesn’t feel as if he’s fit to. Not in the way the others are.
It would seem, though, that fate doesn’t care about his discomfort.
“Guillermo!”
He jumps, startled from his thoughts by one of the older guys shouting his name. Nodding to signify that he’s listening, Guillermo listens as the man continues.
“Any pretty ladies waiting for you?”
Now, being one of the younger workers here, Guillermo knows he’s prone to being teased. Usually, he takes it in stride, but tonight, he finds himself a blushing mess. No, he does not have any pretty ladies waiting for him. And no, he would not like a pretty lady waiting for him. That doesn’t mean he doesn’t want someone to hold, though, but he tucks that into the back of his mind, letting whatever jumble of excuses that were going to spill out of him die on his tongue.
The man groans, as do a few others. No juicy love drama from Guillermo. No new reason to tease the young man. Of course, they lament the lack of an opportunity.
Guillermo glances at his father. It seems the man sensed his discomfort. He pats his son on the shoulder. His father knows, as did his mother. And it took some coming around to, but they…they grew to understand him. And he is forever grateful for that.
Under the chatter of overlapping conversations and the crackle of fire, his father smiles gently and speaks.
“You’ll find him one day, mi hijo,” he mutters.
Guillermo nods, ducking his head a bit as a soft sigh leaves his lips.
“I hope so…”
—
Five months later, and the world tilts on its axis. The reason?
A boy.
Guillermo furrows his brow as he’s summoned from the fields, wiping the sweat from his brow as he heads towards the edge of the property. A new bus. New arrivals. More help. More community. He’s always open to new people, though he doesn’t know why he’s been summoned to greet them.
Before he can question why he’s here and not still pulling weeds, he sees him. A boy–young man, really, around his age. Maybe a little younger. He has hair even shorter than Guillermo’s, dark and brown. A loose button-up, top button undone, sits on his relatively thin frame. He has a hat on, which Guillermo envies a bit, and peeking out of his shirt collar, Guillermo notices something like a birthmark, red and striking against warm brown skin.
“You’ll be showing this young man the ropes,” the man who brought Guillermo over says. Guillermo frowns, looking up at his superior. Not that he’s one to complain, and this isn’t necessarily an inconvenience, but…why him?
Of course, he doesn’t voice this, opting instead to hold his hand out to a new coworker.
“Guillermo,” he says. “Nice to meet you.”
The young man greets Guillermo with a smile, a smile as dazzling as the sun, and for a moment, Guillermo feels his heart stop.
The man takes his hand, shaking it firmly.
“Felipe. Thanks for helping me.”
Guillermo forgets himself for a second. His hand is surprisingly strong. “I have yet to actually help you…”
“But you will! So thank you in advance, you know?”
Guillermo fights off a smile and fails miserably. He’s endearing, this one.
“Then, in advance, you’re welcome.”
—
Guillermo forgets a time before Felipe. He begins to wonder if it ever existed. They’ve been joined at the hip for the last three, four months. “Inseparable,” his father always says with a teasing smile, to which Guillermo is quick to blush, even quicker to defend himself.
“He’s still new.”
“He’s been here long enough. You’re not just showing him around anymore, mi chiquito.”
Guillermo’s blush deepens at the nickname his parents used to use when he was a little boy. “Papá.”
The chuckle he’s met with is even more frustrating.
Guillermo is trying not to let his father win here, but the more time he spends with Felipe, the more time he begins to realize that something…odd is happening to him.
It hits him now, for instance, as they play in a nearby river.
“We’re grown,” Guillermo lamented as Felipe revealed his “special spot.” “We don’t play in rivers anymore.”
“You and your serious ways! Come on!”
Felipe, as he always does, jumped in first with that dazzling grin on his face. Guillermo rolled his eyes, though he found himself unable to hide his smile. Felipe, of course, noticed this.
“You wanna jump in, dude.”
“I do not!”
“You do~!”
“I do–ack!”
A splash of water. Guillermo was now, unfortunately, wet. And Felipe, this guy, he had the audacity to laugh at him! Guillermo scowled, rolling up his pants.
And that’s where they find themselves now, drenched and sitting on the riverbanks as the sun begins to set. A moment of respite, a moment away from their grueling jobs.
Guillermo notices too late how close they’re sitting. Shoulder to shoulder, thigh to thigh. The contact is frightening, though not in a bad way. He finds himself liking it much more than he thinks he should.
“...Thank you,” Felipe mutters first, his eyes focused on the river.
Guillermo turns to him, eyebrow raised. Too late does he realize how close they really are when Felipe turns to him, too. For a second, words leave him. For a second, everything stops. It’s just the two of them, the sunset, and the glittering river.
And then, by some miracle, Guillermo finds himself again.
“For?” he asks quietly, his voice weaker than he means for it to be.
“This. Moments like this. You’ve been a very good…friend. To me.”
Hesitation on the word “friend” doesn’t escape Guillermo’s observations. It’s hungry. It demands more, he can feel it. Or maybe he hopes that it demands more. But he doesn’t comment. Not on that, at least.
“I…so have you. To me.”
Felipe stares at him for a moment, a moment too long, and Guillermo feels the sudden urge to dive into the river to cool off. God above, it’s warm right now.
The other laughs softly, nudging his friend playfully. It’s enough to knock Guillermo out of his thoughts. Not enough to quell the warmth, though. That, it seems, refuses to go away.
“What’s going on in that head of yours, man?”
If only Felipe knew. If only Guillermo had the courage to tell him.
“That we should probably head back before it gets too dark to see our hands in front of our faces.”
Felipe rolls his eyes. But Guillermo…maybe he imagines it, but is that…disappointment?
“So serious all the time,” Felipe grumbles, hopping up and holding out a hand to Guillermo.
“One of us has to be,” he mutters as Felipe pulls him up.
And neither lets go. Despite not needing to hold on to each other anymore, neither lets go. And Guillermo…Guillermo is starting to think that neither of them want to.
—
No one comments on the fact that Felipe and Guillermo are always together.
No one comments. But a part of Guillermo wonders if they think. If they assume. If they know. His father would never tell another soul unless Guillermo told him it was okay, and he knows this. But even then…
“You’re thinking again,” Felipe comments. “And not about the book.”
Too perceptive for his own good. Guillermo sighs. “Not thinking isn’t necessarily possible.”
“To you, maybe.”
“So you’re telling me you don’t think? Makes sense.”
The other shoves him teasingly. And as his body seems to do these days, heat blossoms from where they meet.
“You know what I mean!” Felipe laments. “Maybe it’s because the sun is getting into your eyes all the time while you work.”
“What…how in the world does that make any sense?”
Felipe shrugs, but he removes his hat anyway, confidently placing it on Guillermo’s head.
“You need this more than I do, man.”
Guillermo pauses. His heart races as Felipe fixes it so that it looks better, he assumes.
“It’s yours now,” Felipe mumbles as he continues. Guillermo is sure this time. He’s blushing.
“What? Felipe, no, I–”
“Think of it as another thank you,” Felipe says quietly, his hands falling from Guillermo’s head and resting atop the book in Guillermo’s hands. “A gift. From me to you.”
“But…But I don’t even have anything to give you…” Guillermo laments weakly.
Felipe grins, perfect and bright. “All I need is you, Guillermo. All I need here is you.”
Something shifts in Guillermo’s chest, in Felipe’s eyes, in the world. The earth tilts on its axis as it always does when their eyes meet, and in the seconds-long eternity of their shared gaze, a conversation happens.
…Felipe knows. And Guillermo knows. And neither of them say anything, of course, because what are you supposed to say when you realize you’ve fallen for the other?
But they know. In their little microcosm, in this world of two, they know. And that is all the other needs.
—
The hat is perfect on Guillermo. He wears it everywhere. All the time. It’s his now. A gift from Felipe that he’ll cherish forever.
He wants to be by Felipe’s side for that same forever, for the rest of whatever they have. And yet, in the back of his mind, in his gut, something eats away at him.
All good things must come to an end. Everyone knows this. Everyone knows loss, that inevitable thing. Guillermo knows it well himself. That one day, one horrible day, this may all come crashing down.
Tonight, though, he tries to push those worries from his mind as the two of them stumble into the barn, giggling and whispering together like they’re kids again.
Felipe jumps into a pile of hay, laughing as Guillermo mirrors him. Guillermo laments the moment he can’t see Felipe’s face as his hat falls onto his own face.
His smile softens as Felipe pulls his hat away from his face, smiling down at him. Both a bit tipsy, they burst into laughter once again. Nothing matters except the two of them. And Guillermo doesn’t want to forget this feeling, doesn’t want to let it go.
They lie side by side, staring at the shadows the torches cast across the barn. Shadows, dreams, love, the two of them. All formless tonight. All shapeless. All free.
Love…though they both know, they still have yet to really breach the topic. It seems that the one thing both god and man can agree on is their love. Their "type" of love. Its queerness sits within that broad, finalizing damnation of "sin."
But this is the Land of Opportunities, of the Free, or so they keep pedaling. And Felipe looks so unfairly beautiful in the gentle flames cast down by candles above them, stars in their own stolen patch of night.
"Man of little words," Felipe mutters, trying for humor. Only a sliver of the teasing smile he seems to wear at any and all times is on his face. The moment has him enraptured, too. Two men, two boys, two dreamers on the cusp of a dream made tangible, a dream made to be remembered, a dream made to...
"I don't need words for this."
It's not the first time Guillermo catches Felipe off guard, but it remains his favorite. The small noise of surprise that leaves him as Guillermo swallows the last flickers of light between them, the tensing and subsequent relaxing of muscles, the soft exhale that brushes against Guillermo's cheek.
Dreams made real. Stars swallowed and shared in "sinful" sacrament. But to hell with gods. To hell with any man or divine creature who sees something tangible and would dare to cast it back into the abstract, the unknown. Guillermo knows Felipe. The flickering, waxy stars his witness, he will always know Felipe. Like this. Like that. In ways that they dream of now, in ways they will make tangible in whatever future ends with "us."
“Mi sol,” Guillermo mutters between kisses. “Center of my universe.”
And the smile that Guillermo feels against his lips could light up the night all by itself.
—
No one comments on how inseparable they continue to be.
No one comments on how Guillermo refuses to ever take the hat off.
No one comments on how they always seem too close and yet never close enough.
But people smile. And that…that is more than enough.
—
All dreams are destined to end once you open your eyes. Guillermo knows this. Dreams of his mother’s miraculous recovery always ended when he opened her eyes to a too-quiet house. Dreams of being “normal,” of loving the way people think he “should” ended when he would open his eyes to a world where his own gender was still his preference. Dreams. Intangible, fleeting dreams.
The Land of Opportunity is no different.
It rains that day, the day the dream ends. The war is over. He, his father, Felipe, everyone. They’re no longer “necessary.” Their usefulness has expired. The United States do not need them anymore. And when you have something you no longer need…
You rid yourself of it.
When a deportation officer’s eyes land on the two of them, hand in hand, Guillermo knows the dream has ended. When his hand slips from Felipe’s, he knows the dream has ended. But he wants to close his eyes again, to slip back into that wonderful, wonderful world where it was just him, Felipe, and their community.
Fate, however, does not shine kindly on them.
He blinks, and Felipe is being dragged away, handcuffs. Guillermo screams. He pursues. He’s shoved to the muddy, wet ground. He screams again. He stands there, watching helplessly as they cage the sun. His son. Mi sol.
It isn’t fair. They’re being separated and Guillermo can’t do anything about it. The sun is leaving, taking his warmth with it. Guillermo feels cold, too cold as Felipe disappears into one bus.
And Guillermo is taken to another.
—
Hope is a dangerous thing.
Hope is what has Guillermo saying goodbye to his father a year later. He reads the letter to himself one more time. Felipe has snuck back into the U.S., resuming work on that same farm. Their oasis. Their microcosm. If Guillermo can just make it back there…
“Mi hijo, are you sure? The desert, it’s dangerous,” his father says, brows creased with worry.
Guillermo hates to leave him like this, but he’s so desperate. Nothing has been the same since he was separated from Felipe. Nothing will ever be the same. He hardly remembers a time before Felipe. And this year, this cold, long year of after…
“I am, Papá. I’ll be safe, I promise. I’ll write to you when I get there.”
“Guillermo…” his father sighs. “That look in your eyes. It was the same look I had when I realized how much I loved your mother.”
Guillermo pauses. He’s silent. Words refuse to form.
“...Go. Tell him I say hi.”
The last thing Guillermo gives his father is a weak smile. And the last thing he ever tells him is:
“I will.”
—
Guillermo is going to die.
No water. Not a drop left.
He’s so, so tired.
The sun is so hot. So cruel. So unforgiving. Not like his sun. Not like him.
Just another step further, another step closer to him, another step…
It hurts to breathe. It hurts to think. It hurts to walk.
He isn’t aware he’s collapsed until he feels rocks digging into his hands.
He swallows thickly. No saliva left. Dehydration eats away at his body, a silent killer.
“Come on,” he croaks, “get it together. Felipe is waiting for me. Felipe, Felipe, Fe…”
In and out. Dream and reality. Guillermo sinks onto the ground, staring up at the brilliant blue sky between the leaves of the tree he sits under. Shaded. A bit of respite before the end.
The end of the dream.
Dehydration continues its trek. Shutting down. Quieting. Stopping. Everything is stopping. Everything is stopping. Everything is stopping.
Felipe. His father. His mother. Felipe. Felipe. Felipe.
Are there dreams on the other side? Will he see him there? Will he…?
“I’m so sorry, my love…”
Guillermo closes his eyes.
And there is no dream waiting for him this time.