Rio Triste

One night, in the pueblo of Tamazula where I lived in Mexico, it was too hot to sleep. I found myself restless and in need of a cooling night walk through the jungle. My footsteps lead me to a small river that lazily made its way through the thick green jungle just over a mile from my small house. Two small logs were thatched together and made a make-shift bridge that connected the well beaten trails that lead to the river. The locals called the small river “Rio Triste” which means “Sad River”. I never understood why they called it the Sad River; it had always been a place I looked forward to passing during my daily tasks. This night I found it dark and peaceful. I sat for hours watching the full moon dance on the slowly passing water, and lost in my thoughts I heard someone approaching. I scrambled to my feet and hid behind a large tree, waiting to see who it was. As I sat, crouched I saw her; it was a young lady, maybe nineteen or twenty years old. The moon shone off her dark hair, and she just stood there, looking across the river, waiting. I sat there, transfixed by her beauty. My gaze was broken when I watched her face turn into a smile followed with a small exclamation of glee. I followed her eyes, to see what had brought her so much joy. I saw a young man crossing the small bridge to her. They met in a very strong embrace followed with a passionate kiss that lasted for some time. When their young lips finally separated they began to talk. Her name was Alma, a daughter of a rich watermelon farmer. And he was Noah, the son of a fisherman from the small town of San Blas. Their conversation moved to topics of love, poetry and promises. Noah became frantic in his promise to marry her, no matter what her father had to say. He promised a life outside of Mexico, a life in the United States. He had walked the entire evening just to see her. He told her his love for her was as strong as the mountain her father’s farm was on. From where I was crouching I could tell she believed him. She wiped her tears away and Noah lead Alma to a quiet place where they could physically express their love for one another. When I was sure they were gone, I got up and began the mile hike home; the whole time smiling, thinking of Noah and Alma. From that day to now, that river, and small bridge means so much to me, and has become a metaphor for my life.