I’ve met so many people in my life, too many people to count. I’ve met young people, middle-aged people, and people that kept me up at night wondering just how much longer they had. I’ve met tall people, super tall people, short people, and even people as short as me. The point is, I’ve met a lot of people, and out of the thousands of faces that I’ve seen and the millions of stories that I’ve heard, I’ve never met anyone with a story like mine.

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Growing up, I always felt different. Yes I know, what a cliche thing to say, but it’s true. My life felt close to perfect. You see, the thing about my childhood was that there was absolutely nothing superficial about it. I was raised on the outskirts of town, technically I didn’t even live in El Paso at all. You would have to pass a sign on the highway that read “Leaving city limits” and enter a new land called Homestead Meadows. Here, everything was quiet. We didn’t have a neighborhood lined with cherry blossoms, lamp posts, or even pavement. We had dirt, lots and lots of dirt. Rolling hills of red dirt, but I’m pretty sure the correct term is dunes. The front yard had a perfect view of the Hueco Mountains and there were no other houses for miles, not until you hit Zaragoza a couple miles down. The land was painted with weeds, but not the pretty weeds that produce flowers. No of course we didn’t have those. We had the sticker bushes, the bushes with thick thorns that had a line of red ants going up and down their branches. We had cacti that learned how to weather the desert sun. As a child, I was always tempted to touch the cactus in the front yard, but my mother always warned me of the consequences. You see, it’s not the weeds, or the dirt, or the desert air that made my childhood different from yours, it was the fact that my entire family was able to share it together.

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My house sits in the middle of our 8-acre property, with my grandma's house to the left and my aunts house to the right. Red Sands Elementary was the only other building that dared be built out here, and by out here, I guess we refer to that now as the Far East. I have these flashes of memories that pop up every now and then when I need them, like the little emotions in my head know exactly what memory to play. I remember my older brother and my two older cousins, all of us giggling, playing outside with the water hose making our mud castles and rubbing our muddied hands onto our clothes. There was always a mother or a grandma nearby, keeping an eye on us from a distance, but allowing us to grow and make messy mistakes. In the backyard of my aunt's house was a dirt bike track, but to me it looked like a maze. The fleeting memories remind me of the sound of a dirt bike engine and the smell of methanol. I can still feel the sun beating down on me as I watched my older cousin make sharp turns. I knew that at a young age we were all different. I had labels for everyone. The oldest cousin Jeremy was the daredevil. The second born, my brother, Anthony was the mastermind, the planner. The third born, my older cousin Desirae, was the drummer, the rebellious one. And then there was me, Sarah, the dreamer.

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Every day, we would walk to each other's houses, play tag outside, race our bikes across the land, make up scenarios in our head, create a whole dance routine that felt like an hour long but in reality it was a whooping 7 minute performance. On rainy days, we’d grab our coats and look for toads, jump in puddles with our new tennis shoes our moms had just bought us. We would always laugh when we’d see their red hot faces yelling at us from the kitchen window. That was the beauty of it, the togetherness of everything, the promise that everyday, I would wake up and see them all over again. We went to the same school, shared the same uniform, and would walk past our classes just to wave at each other through the glass. We’d come home and the boys would play their video games while me and Dez would do puzzles and play My Littlest Pet Shop. God, we’d spend hours setting everything up, creating the perfect story line, and making sure every figure was used. The moms would be in the kitchen discussing their new haircuts or how they couldn’t believe why the city would allow Mervyns to shut down. The dads would be in the shop working on sprint cars, covered in grease and metal fragments. For a couple of years, everything was just as it should be. Just imagine, every birthday, every Christmas, every Thanksgiving, every Sunday night football game, and every Easter egg hunt with the same people, year after year. That was my life. But then, that thing we call growing up happened. That thing we all fear. Change.

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You see, to a lot of people, El Paso is this boring city with a military base and a couple of malls spread out. To them, it’s just a place where they once lived, a place that borders Mexico, a place where nothing really happens. To them, El Paso is just dirt. But to me, it’s everything. That’s where I knew I was different, the dirt reminded me that I was home. Soon, the oldest, the daredevil, took on a new challenge. College. At the time, it was a new concept to me. You mean there’s more school after high school? It was absurd. But I was ok, I thought there’s three of us left. Time started to fly, everyone started to grow up, make their own path in life, but somewhere along the way I forgot I was growing up too.

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Before I knew it, the planner and the rebel were off to college, but unlike the daredevil, they decided to stay here in El Paso for school. It gave me a breath of relief, I didn’t have to say goodbye just yet. Time passed and soon enough I had finally caught up, we were all at the same school again. By this time, rowdy neighbors had moved close by, the dirtbike track had deteriorated into nothing more than just lumpy bits of sand with ruts here and there. Speedway Park, the race track right across the street, was torn down. The place where we would spend our weekends, where our dads would wrench on cars, where our moms would put protective coverings over our ears, it was just gone. But I was laser focused on only seeing what I had, what was in front of me, because thinking of everything that was different hurt too much. Eventually, the rebel graduated and the planner moved in with his girlfriend across town. One by one, I saw them go, I saw them through their growing pains, learned from their mistakes, and I watched them pack. I helped zip up their suitcases, and I said goodbye. Now of course, it’s not as dramatic as it seems. There’s cellphones and facetime and the lovely Instagram app, but it’s so uniquely different.

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In this town, I’ve lost my loved ones, I’ve seen my loved ones grow up and grow old. I’ve had pets that I loved for years end up with special burials in the backyard. I’ve had plenty of heartbreaks here and there, but I was always able to retreat to my home where my mom would cook my favorite meal and tell me boys are a waste of time, and that waiting for the right one is worth it. I learned how to drive here, how to get feral animals to trust me, how to keep a garden alive and even how to sew, but I forgot how to do the latter. No matter where I end up, how far away I move, I will always be connected to this place, connected to the red sand. I will always be grateful for being able to recall memories that ring of sweetness and nostalgia. I always felt different because I know not everyone can speak the same way I can about childhood. Now, in the present day, as I’m surrounded by change and loss and grief, I am able to overcome everything because I remember the near perfectness of my life long ago, and I tell myself to keep going, that maybe, just maybe, life will feel that way again.