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Sunday, January 31, 2010

The Crossing I

They came to the states “illegally” again in 1984. I was born in Orange County less than a decade before, but circumstances (i.e., the threat of “la migra”) forced my father to send us back to “el Tambor” in 1979. So five years later, my mother threatened to leave him if he didn’t bring us back, which forced his hand, I suppose. We left in a red pick-up truck in the early morning hours sometime in the fall. When we got to Tijuana my mother hugged and me said goodbye, which was strange because I thought we were all crossing together. But since I was a citizen, I could just walk across the crossing--alone. They had to find other means to cross. My father paid a woman to hold my hand and walk me through inspection; I was supposed to smile to the guard and say “si” if they asked if the woman was my aunt. I don’t think the guard bought it, but since I wasn’t screaming or resisting or appearing to be kidnapped, he let us through. The woman took me to a cheap hotel in San Ysidro and led me to a room with a few people sitting on a couch—she left soon after that and I never saw her again. Another woman, who had been in the room already, talked to me and told me that my parents would soon join us. This made me nervous, since the idea that my parents would not join us at some point hadn’t crossed my mind. Now I waited. I waited like never before.

At night, the San Ysidro sky became noisy and bright. Helicopters circled above and they shinned lights on the hotel windows. I couldn’t sleep. I was 9 years old. This is the first time I remember feeling that sense of loss that I’ve come to familiarize myself with over the years. It was as if waiting for nothing, which is worse than waiting for something. I felt alone, nervous, afraid, but most of all criminal. Without fully understanding what that meant, I knew I was hiding from the lights and noises outside, that I was an accomplice to something, that all those people there with me were implicated—that I was guilty by association. I fell asleep on the woman’s lap.

1 comment:

  1. Here via Dr. Isis. I grew up in San Ysidro, and I remember the sounds and lights of the helicopters well.

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