THE POWER OF FRIENDSHIP

It was a smoldering hot, summer afternoon in the year 1565, my Father, Pedro Menendez, had just spotted the land that our country of Spain had claimed fifty-two years ago. I can still hear the sounds of relief and excitement that echoed from all around the ship when we first spotted the land. I remember my younger sister, Ana, clinging onto me as the ship pulled into the Matanzas bay, in the spot where the lush, green vegetation met the deep, blue ocean. She dragged me to the front of the ship with her, where she stared at the foreign land ahead in awe. My Father undoubtedly felt a lot of pressure, after all, the King and Queen were depending on him to establish this place as a strong point for Spain’s expeditions to and from the new land. As an eleven year old child, I don’t think I fully understood what sort of responsibility fell onto my Father’s shoulders.

My Mother cried tears of joy when we first stepped foot onto the sandy shore of what we would shortly after call, St. Augustine. I didn’t quite share that same sentiment of excitement when she looked at me and exclaimed, “Juan, my boy! What an incredible place this is for a young, adventurous child like yourself!” I looked up at her with my sunburnt cheeks and frowned, “I want to go home. This place smells weird.” My Father wasn’t content with my response, “Now Juan, this is our new home and you best get used to it. It may not seem like much now, but I promise you, this city will be magnificent.” He said as he stared hopefully at the miles and miles of unexplored territory before him. My Father was a man of his word, he planned to make the city into exactly what he promised the King and Queen it would be.

Those next few months of summer were brutal, the heat was almost suffocating until we eased into the autumn months. Slowly, day by day, the St. Augustine was beginning to take shape. Land that was once nothing more than a forest of vegetation was now the home to seven hundred men and their families. The imprint of civilization was beginning to form. As beautiful and extraordinary as it was, I still longed for the familiarity of Spain, this place was not yet home to me.

I’ll never forget the day that began to turn that feeling of nostalgia around for me. It was a typical afternoon for Ana and me, playing in the thick underbrush just outside of the city walls. We were busy getting lost in our own imaginary world, fighting off dragons with our sticks turned into swords, when the heat of the late summer got to me. “Ana I need water, let’s call a truce.” I said, dropping my stick to the ground and slumping against the tall pine tree in the shade. “Ok, let’s walk back home then. Besides, Papa should be wondering where we are...” Ana murmured as she began walking back down the dirt path into town. “Ana! Wait up! We can just walk to the stream, it’s closer. Besides, what are we going to do at home? Play with cards again...I don’t think so.” I said with an irritated tone. She turned, flipping her long, dark brown braid, “ Juan! It’s getting late, I’m walking back. Suit yourself!”

I did just that, I continued to follow the path deeper into the woods, listening to the sound of pine straw crackling underneath me the whole way there. Finally, I reached the edge of the creek bank, where the crystal clear water peacefully ran through the towering Florida trees. I bent down and cupped the cold, clear water into my mouth. When I tilted my head up I was shocked by what I saw. A strange boy with eyes darker than the pitch black, night sky and nothing but a cloth tied around his waist, was staring back at me. In an instant, a startled shriek came out of my mouth. I frantically tried to back away, stumbling into a bed of fire ants instead. In a crazed panic I began swatting the ants off me before he appeared right in front of me with an outstretched hand.

Confused by the act of kindness, having had mistook him to be someone dangerous, I reached for his hand and brought myself up to my feet. “Thank you.” I said hesitantly, as I uncontrollably itched at the welts on my forearms. “My name is Juan.” He smiled, with a warmth and friendliness that I will never forget. He pointed to himself, “I am Awenasa. I mean you no harm, this is where I come to gather medicine for my tribe.” I looked at him in confusion, still digging my nails into the bites on my skin, “Tribe? Are you an Indian?” He laughed and nodded. Awenasa’s eyes trailed down to the large, swollen welts on my arms, “Follow me.” With an odd sense of trust in this stranger, I did. He led me to a tall spiked plant on the other side of the creek. In a swift motion he sliced a leaf off, revealing a gooey inside. He grabbed my arm and began smearing the goo onto the welts. I had no idea what this unfamiliar plant was, but it instantly alleviated the burning sensation. “Wow” I murmured under my breath. “This plant is called aloe. We use it to treat burns. Take some with you.”

Awenasa handed over the thorny leaf. I smiled and thanked him, realizing that he would be both a great resource and friend to have in this exotic land. That afternoon sparked the beginning of a deep friendship between Awenasa and I. From that day forward, we met every single day, in the same spot behind the creek. We would venture down to the bay and fish for whiting until his net was overflowing, while mine was scarce. Some days we would build forts out of sticks, deep in the forest thicket, and hurl stones at each other’s to see whose would collapse first. It was always mine. Other afternoons we would wander down the river banks, collecting different herbs and medicines to bring back in handwoven baskets to his people. His people that I was never allowed to meet. St. Augustine began to feel like home the moment it didn’t feel so strange and lonely anymore.

One late October afternoon, after I said my goodbyes to Awenasa and promised to meet him in the infamous spot the next day, I headed back into town. The walk in was as normal as ever, I said hello to the people that passed by me on the street. I stared in amazement at the daily progress of construction. Everything seemed fine, until I walked past a group of chattering men outside the tavern. I kept my head down, kicking the pebbles in front of me, when I heard them panicking over the continually diminishing supply of food and medicine. “If we don’t get another shipment over soon the death rate will continue to rise.” An older, burly man exclaimed to the five other men. Alarmed by his statement I hurried home, I can still remember the sense of panic I felt in that moment.

I burst through the wooden doors into our small, stucco home. My Mama looked at me with widened, hazel eyes. Before I opened my mouth to speak, my Father appeared from behind her, “Juan what are you doing getting home at this hour? The sun is already down, my boy. There are wild people lurking around this land, you best be careful!” He said in a worried tone. I looked up and felt angry at his comment, “What do you mean there are wild people, Papa?” I stepped closer to him on the creaky, maple floors. “I know you have heard stories, and you are old enough to know that they are true. You are to stay away from any sign of Indian people. They are an untamed kind.” He said sternly. His harsh words felt like a dagger to me, “What do you know Papa?! What separates them from you? They are people too!” I said loudly, scrunching in my eyebrows.

My Mother stood there in disdain at my abnormally aggressive tone, while my Father looked both stunned and confused. “Wait a second Juan, what do you know about the Indian people? Have you had an encounter with them?” I stomped my foot into the floor and shouted, “Yes Papa! I finally have a friend here and he is the best friend I have ever had! He knows so much about this land and could help us if you wouldn’t be so hateful. I know about the problems our people are having, you couldn’t hide that from me forever!” My Father turned an angry shade of red and leaned over me with his large, demanding figure and said, “Do not ever speak to or go near an Indian person ever again. You have no business in the affairs of adults, you child. Do I make myself clear?” Shaking from both anger and fear, I nodded as tears ran down my cheeks. I turned the corner out of the kitchen and headed towards the stairway where I found my sister sitting, her eyes wide from the conversation she had just overheard.

I ignored her tug on my shirt and headed straight for my bedroom. I thought a long time, I wasn’t about to let go of the one friend I had here. I wasn’t about to let my people die of starvation, either. The next morning rolled around and I was determined to convince Papa that the native people could be our allies, I would have to do this secretly though. I would have to prove it, Papa was not an easily persuaded man. I left early in the afternoon to find Awenasa in the woods, today would be the day I convinced him to let me meet his tribe. The two of us together could convince them to help us, at least I optimistically hoped. A matter of things could go wrong, but it was best not to focus on that. My mind buzzed with ideas the whole walk to the woods. I would need to be discrete, Papa would be livid if he knew I was here.

“Awenasa! Boy am I glad to see you!” I cheerfully said. It was not Awenasa who turned around though. This boy was about fifteen, and certainly not the friendly faced twelve year old I called my best friend. In fact, he didn’t look friendly at all. When he saw me he looked unusually angry and leapt forward, holding me in a chokehold while covering my mouth to muffle my terrified screams. He drug me for what must have been a mile or so before we reached the cleared out land full of immaculate, pine straw huts. My eyes darted all over the scene, in a desperate search for Awenasa. If he did not show up soon, I was unsure of what my fate might be. The boy shoved me in front of the chief, sitting with a jeweled headpiece at the front of a huge, roaring fire.

I looked to the left of him, seated there with his hands tied behind his back was my Papa! He looked angry and disheveled, I wondered how he had wound up here too. What were they going to do with him? Would they hurt him? Would they hurt me? Where is Awenasa!? As my mind roared with fear and a million and one questions, the older boy began speaking with the Chief in the same language I have heard Awenasa use. I looked at my Father with desperate eyes, quietly begging for his forgiveness, and also his protection. He looked at me with a sad sense of helplessness, I had never seen him like that before. It was frightening.

As the chief and the boy remained conversing, my heart remained anxiously pounding. Everything changed though when I saw Awenasa sprinting up behind the chief, my eyes grew wide with relief. Finally, there he was! Awenasa shook the chief’s shoulder from behind, prompting a quick and fervent exchange between the two of them. After an agonizing few minutes the chief finally addressed my Father and me. “My son tells me that this is your child. He says that he is a loyal and good friend to him. For that, I will allow your people to share the land with us. So long as you are willing to let us remain here peacefully, we will live among you and help you.” the chief roared in a loud, commanding tone.

My father looked beyond joyous, when the chief went to untie his hands he shook his hand with immense gratitude. The boy containing me released me and I immediately ran up to my father and embraced him. “Papa! I am sorry I disobeyed you! Please forgive me!” Papa wrapped me in a hug and assured me, “There is no need to say you’re sorry. Your friendship with this young boy is what saved us. It us what will save our people.”

Summertime awaits.

Memories are to be made.

Come, let’s get away.

You can visit the fort or the oldest home

Or even relax on the beach

There are endless places to rome

There is no place like St. Augustine

A child enjoys his ice cream cone

As you feel the sunshine and cool ocean breeze

Even if you take this trip alone

There is no place like St. Augustine