Minutemen

This was very difficult for me to write, as it took me pretty far out of my comfort zone. I'm not sure how well it works as a piece, but hopefully some you find it interesting.

    I bounced around on the faded leather bench in my pickup as we drove along the border. My son sat next to me and kept a lookout with a shotgun sitting on his lap. I turned the wheel a bit to the right and sent us traveling slightly north. My son turned towards me and said, “Why you goin’ that way?”
    “Let me do the driving.”
    “But--”
    “What’d I just say?”
    He looked out the window and apologized as I pointed us further north. All I could think about were those goofy dreams I’d been having lately, and all I wanted was an answer. Nothing made sense anymore.
    They were so real; I could have sworn it really happened. I remembered everything about them for days and even weeks later, unlike regular dreams which faded away before you made it to breakfast. But the strangest thing was that the dreams all had the exact same people. I knew their names...hell I knew my name. “Marco Garcia.” I whispered.
    “Who’s that?” my son asked.
    I put out my cigarette on the dash. “Just some spic.”
    “What’d he do?”
    “Never mind.”
    “Is that where we’re goin’? We gonna get em?”
    “I said never mind.”
    I laid off the gas a little and let my truck coast to a stop on the rutted back-country road. This was a good a place as any to figure this out. I turned off the engine, leaned back in my seat, and closed my eyes. My son started asking if I was fine, but I shook him off.
    After a couple minutes, I found myself in a small shack with Cielo cooking up some chili relleno on a crude wooden stove. I scuffed my feet on the dirt floor, looked up, and said, “Smells good.” I knew I said it in Spanish with how it came out of my mouth. Weird thing was, I didn’t know a lick of that language.
    “You always say that, trying to sneak an early taste. But you’ll just have to wait.” she said. Again it was Spanish, but I had no trouble understanding.
    I got up to take a look at the meal. The one thing I didn’t mind about these dreams was the food. The moment you put it in your mouth, it made a man sit up straight. Shit, it was better than anything I could have gotten at the best steakhouse in Texas. From outside, I heard an older car roar up the road, and I turned back to take a look at what was going on.
    A man got out of a beat up old Chevy. He walked up to me as I stood in the doorway. Guy was one of those punk spics that always made me laugh with his cheap suit jacket and stupid little moustache with just enough hair to darken his upper lip. “Marco, get the hell out of my way.”
    I bobbed my head, spit into the dry dirt, and firmed up my position. “What you here for?”
    “You know damn well.”
    I turned towards Cielo, who stood in the back with a tear running down her cheek. “Not today.” I said.
    Cielo ran up behind me and grabbed my shoulders. “Marco, don’t do this, please. Just let me go with him. It’s not worth it.”
    I tried to remember why she had to go, but the reason eluded me. “Don’t worry about it. I’ll take care of this.” I said.
    “Like hell you will.” said the punk.
    I reached towards my right hip where I usually carried my gun, but it wasn’t there. I forgot, Marco didn’t have anything to protect himself. When I looked up, that punk spic’s fist flew towards my face, and I didn’t have time to react. I fell to the ground and watched him push Cielo out of the way as he kicked at my head with his cheap boots.
    I was relegated to watching out of my one good eye as Cielo, my wife...by God she was my wife. Perhaps not back home, but here she was and I loved her. I reached out my hand to touch the bottom of her dress as that fucking punk walked her to his car.
    He drove away in a cloud of dust as I lay there, helpless.
    When I woke, my son was tugging at my arm. “I think I see a couple there.” He pointed off into the distance where I could see a small group of illegals hiding in the brush. “Let’s go get em!”
    I reached up to where that punk punched Marco, and even my jaw felt stiff. After shaking my head, I turned the key in the ignition and started driving off.
    “You’re gonna let them get away.”
    “I know.”
    “Why? They’re right there.” my son pleaded.
    “I’ve got my reasons.”
    “We can’t let them just get away like that. I wanna shoot me some--”
    “Shut up!” My son slid over towards the door and folded his arms over his chest. “We’re not shooting anybody.”
    “You’ve got a duty to your race.”
    “I know. That’s what I’m doing.”