I felt the sweat pouring down my neck as I waited in line. The baby was getting fussy. “Acaba de celebrar en unos minutos.” I whispered to her, as she squirmed in her tiny undershirt and diaper.
My mother and brother were waiting for us in Yuma, just a few miles up the road. Two weeks, I had traveled, walked, dared to hitch a ride with a truck driver, all to get back to the place I had been born. I had just wanted to see my grandmother one more time before she died.
The door of the bus open, cool air rushed on us. I was going home!