A gentle zephyr galloped down a dusty road, kicking up the red dust that had settled on the brittle crops. A man leaned against the corroded wooden fence, staring miserably at the failed crops— his failed crops. He was tall, strong, and his arms were coated with a glistening layer of sweat. Lifting his head, he saw a small silhouette in the distance, a blurry mirage of brown and dust. The man straightened himself, and waited patiently for the silhouette to reveal the identity of the incoming person.


“Ah, ya made it. How’ya Jerry?”


“Fine. Just fine, Matt. I heard the landlord’s comin’. I say that’s the final straw. Let’s go.” Jerry stared at the rugged land, the place he had called home for his entire life.


“There might be som’ chance yet. Not all is lost.” Nevertheless, Matt thawed none of the winter that stared out of Jerry’s frosty eyes.


“No. Let’s go.” Jerry fished out a crumpled pamphlet from his pants pocket. Their eyes lay riveted on the picture of a dockyard in Oakland, California. Nodding in assent, Matt returned to his house, his eyes watering up. A snake slithered under the fence unnoticed. The sun set in the distance, and Matt gazed longingly at what would most likely be his last Louisiana sunset.

*


Across the grassy plains of Texas, a sleek black locomotive chugged across the land, carrying prospective migrants to the rich valleys of California. Though the progress was slow, the men chatted eagerly, enthused about the mighty prospects awaiting them.


“We’ll get a job, earn som’ money. Soon, we’ll have our own little place. You just wait and see.”?

“I hope ya right. I mighty well could do with a nice beer or two,” Matt responded.


Next came the hilly terrain of New Mexico, every bump in the track another obstacle hurtling in their path. What if there are no jobs? Will they starve?


Then, Arizona rolled by, and the bitter desert cast a murky gloom upon the migrants. They reminded each other to stay strong, but their apprehension remained, stronger.


Finally, at the Oakland train station, the men strolled off the train, stretching their tired, cramped legs. Four steps past the turnstiles everybody was already backed up haunch to paunch for the climb up the ramp and the stairs, a great funnel of flesh, wool, felt, leather, rubber. Matt and Jerry clutched their rucksacks in one hand, and the crumpled remains of the pamphlet in the other. Slowly, they made their way out. Behind them, the train conductor whispered to a cleaner.



“Do you think they know what they’re headed for?”


“Nah. If they knew, they wouldn't be here.”

*


A great dockyard lay in front of Matt and Jerry, a scene illuminated by the warm Californian sun. The wind trotted across the Pacific, leaving a trail of waves behind. Though battered by the waves, the ships moved forward, cutting a path towards the docks.


“This is it! We’re here! Les’ git in there.”


The two men walked toward the main office, their faces confident, but their insides churning with anxiety.


A week later, the two words “you’re hired” still resonated within Matt and Jerry’s minds. Everyday, they would wake up at six, go downstairs to the table and pick up the work card with their name detailing their instructions for the day. Everyday, they would labor away at the shipyard, wiping up the ship’s hulls, fueling ships, fixing up ships, and listening to the clang sound of metal against metal. They were the waves, aiming to wash up on the land and achieve their dreams. The ships depended on them to survive, and they depended on the ships to survive.


Matt and Jerry were lucky; rumor had it that the ones that had not been hired had starved.


Their first paycheck came and went, and Matt and Jerry were contented. They had money. For once, work was a source of satisfaction, not a source of misery. They loved the morning breeze, the Californian sun, and most of all, the satisfaction of yet another day of work.

*


Months later, the overcast sky cast a gloomy shadow over the migrants. Matt and Jerry went downstairs. The room was bustling with more people than ever, and it was noisy. Meandering around the crowd, they arrived at the table with their work cards. Scanning the rows of cards, they saw that their work cards were not on the table.



The cards slowly trickled away, until there were none left on the table. Matt and Jerry stood very still, staring at the apologetic faces nearby. Their ears were filled with the monotonous clang of metal and the sound of waves. They were the waves, except that they were now receding back to the depths of the bleak, dark ocean.