Once, when I was a kid, I looked up into the night sky. I don't remember how old I was — maybe 10 or 11 — and I don't remember exactly where I was; sometimes I think it was at my Grandma Adela's in Albuquerque, other times I think it must have been during a camping trip. Sometimes in my mind I simply see my family's front yard, at a time when the neighborhood was still dotted with cotton fields and dim pools of streetlight. The border, less than a half-mile away, wasn't yet flooded with a harsh white light throughout the night. I could look up and see stars and stars and stars.