Happy Thanksgiving!

Border People: Sheltered by the man I would have become.

We ask that "What if?" question of ourselves all the time. I sure do.

This piece was initially inspired by the story of the sound coming from the boy's grave, which I posted several months back. Here's what I wrote at the time--

Maybe it is my affection for 1950s science fiction movies, but Van Horn has always inspired imaginings of giant spiders created by scientists at the spaceport, crawling over the mountains to devour Van Hornians. I cast myself, of course, as the girl scientist or the girl reporter in the story. It is just a fun way to entertain myself, these thoughts.

Yesterday was a weird day. My back was a little sore so I stopped to walk during my morning run in the cemetery. As I passed a grave, I noticed a strange radio transmission-like sound coming from the ground. I've been going by this spot 4-5 times a week for months and had never heard anything like it before but it was definitely coming from the grave itself. Not wanting to move the memorial objects, including piles of toys-it was the grave of a 14 year old boy-and artificial and real flowers, I didn't want to poke around. I came back to the grave a couple of times, just to make sure I wasn't crazy, and everytime the strange sound still came up from the ground.

So I left a sheepish-sounding voicemail with an acquaintance, a state trooper whom I trust. I couldn't wrap my head around what I was hearing, and I thought Bruce could at least tell me if he thought there was something criminal in nature going on at the cemetery. And I put it out of my mind.

Then a tiny older lady wandered into my office asking for "the person who could tell me about this town." She said she wanted information about things to do, and vacant lots because she was thinking of moving either to Van Horn or San Antonio. Okay, a little strange. I gave her some brochures, and then I noticed her feet. Bare feet. Calloused bare feet. She was perfectly normally dressed, and then I looked down and thought, "I've got a weird one here." I told her if she was looking for property she should check the Convention Center, and I'd be happy to walk her there. On the way to see Brenda and Andrea next door, she stopped for a full minute to rub her styrofoam cup all over the holly bush by the front door. "Holly isn't a good friend," she said.

Later Bruce called me back. He was patient with my crazy story and immediately assured me he didn't think the sound was related to something criminal. If it had been a drop point for contraband he said, the criminals would have done everything they could to make it unobtrusive and not call attention to the spot. He was stymied too, and I'm sure thought I was a little nuts, until he asked who's grave was making the sound. When I told him he said, "Oh, this makes more sense." Bruce's theory is that the family buried an electronic device, like a radio in the casket or above the casket sometime since the boy died in April 2005. With all the rain we've been having, water seeping into the ground might have affected the radio causing it to turn on. The boy had had leukemia for a long time, and the death was very hard on the family and the community. Knowing that families here feel a very strong connection to the departed, and knowing they still consider them as a living part of the family, this made perfect sense to me.And this morning the grave was silent again.

It struck me that for his family, that boy will always be 13, but they undoubtably wonder who he might have become had he not gotten sick.

I stitched a suggestion of a male form in yellow blossoms, who is holding or sheltering or gently swinging the boy in his hands. He is out of clear view, obscured by the vines and the blossoms and petals. But the boy remains a boy.