Ring! Ring! Ring! Ughh! That dumb alarm again! Its 4 am in the morning, my eyes are red, and my body is still half asleep due to the lack of sleep I got last night. I feel as if I had to race time every morning to get dressed for school because the first pesera, a retired American school bus used for public transportation in Mexico, passes in a few, which the stop is still several minutes from my house. I could wake up earlier to have more time for myself, but sleep is more important to me than my overall attire. I sprint out the door, forgetting to eat breakfast, to reach the bus stop on time.
As I begin to walk to the bus stop, which is many blocks away from me, I begin to recognize the same old faded graffiti on the walls of abandon houses. Most of the artworks had significance towards gang-related explicit stuff, so explicit that if I told you I am pretty sure you would have to be legally required to report it to the authorities. However, not every street had gang-related activity going on, but it still was not safe to be walking in the dark alone.
Most of the streets I walk through have only had two dim light post positioned at the corners of the block, so there was always stress on me to walk through the dark, pitched roads as fast as possible. The closer I would get to the bus stop, the shadier the scenery would get, from difunctional lights to the constant smell of weed at every house I passed by. The street where the bus passes by is a gloomy long dirt road with barely any sign of civilization as if it were a scene from a horror movie. I arrive at the stop, and there is no actual physical stop sign so I must make sure I am as visible as possible so that the chauffeur sees me.
In the far distance of the dirt road, I see the two beams of light of the pesera. The old bus is painted all in white with the name of the route called “Independencia” in a vibrant red color. This bus seems a bit suspicious to be a pesera, but its already late and this bus is my only option to get to the bridge on time. Since I was the first stop of the route, entering the bus was even scarier because I would walk on, pay my fee of 6 pesos, which is about half a dollar, and there would be nobody present but the driver and me.
The ride was never the smoothest due to the generous amount of potholes on main roads the bus went through. The bus lacked maintenance shown through the holes on the roof caused by rust and cracks on the metal floor big enough to see the mechanics under the vehicle. I cannot believe that I have to bear with all of these unsafe conditions. The way the driver drove caused me to doubt if he was licensed to drive the vehicle because as soon as you pay your fare, he steps on the pedal.
After an hour passed, the bus reached its destination and halfway of my overall journey, the border bridge. The bridge is a 5-minute walking distance from where the bus dropped me off. I use this walk to prepare my crossing fare of one dollar and fifty cents before reaching the tax booth. As I approach the bridge, I begin to see how heavily patrolled the border is by agents, and the fact that the tax booth does not look welcoming makes it feel if I was visiting a prison.
Once crossing the bridge is where the real challenge began. I had to walk a total of 4 miles in less than an hour. I had to physically challenge myself by speed walking at a constant speed to arrive at my school before my first-period bell rang. To keep myself t a constant pace, I created a goal of reaching the next stoplight before a minute. After five minutes, I start to feel my body temperature to increase and sweat coming out of my pores.
Arriving at my school with five minutes before the bell rings, I start to book it to my class, which is at the furthest most building on the entire campus. The pressure of arriving to class on time causes the jog to be a little fun. As I dodge all the group of students still out in the hallways, I check the time left on my watch before it hits 7:40, causing every minute that passes by to improve my reflexes and increase my speed. It is 7:39 and I can see the door of my class at the very end of the last hallway. I sprint towards it, making the loudest sounds with my backpack as if I had metal objects in it. At this point, all I am thinking about is the first ten minutes I will need to get my body back to normal after my nonstop cardio workout. The bell rings seconds before I reach the entrance. While my teacher begins giving directions for our in-class essay, I reflect on what I went through to arrive in class unprepared for an in-class essay. The fun fact was that I had to go through almost the same thing again to get home.