“Even if you’re proven innocent, if you’re deported the judge will give you a time that needs to expire before you can reapply. That could be five, ten or twenty years.”
Five years at the minimum?
Tears start to run down my face. She notices. “Ms De Souza, listen. I know some human rights activists. I’ll enlist them on your case. It might mean you spend months, years in detention, but at least you’ll be safe.”
“I did nothing wrong,” I repeat, aimlessly.
Her sympathetic glance doesn’t help. Nothing can help. Not unless someone can magically change my birth certificate for me.
ICE officers come the next morning, uninterested in anything I have to say. They waste no time. Soon I find myself handcuffed in the back of a prison truck and being driven away. I have no idea where they’re taking me, but do get an answer when I spy a sign on arrival. It appears my new home is to be the Service Processing Centre in Florence. I try to take comfort that I’m still in the same state.
Processing Centre. I’m processed alright. My personal possessions taken by the police are handed over to the people in charge, as are the clothes I had been wearing. I’m given a number and an orange prison jumpsuit. No belt, nothing that I could use to harm myself.
I’m allowed to shower before going to my new home, a windowless room with a bunk bed I’m sharing with a woman who knows no English.
I soon come to learn that while I’ve been convicted of no crime, being an immigrant is enough of an offence for them to treat me just like a prisoner. I might have lived in a tiny trailer but that doesn’t stop me becoming claustrophobic shut up in that bleak cell, longing for daylight. But for that, it seems one hour a day will have to suffice, when we’re allowed to go outside to stand around in a steel cage.
While there are many people who’ve been arrested at the border, and who haven’t had a chance to learn the language, I soon find there are a few others like me. People raised from ayoung age in America. One woman who swears she was born here, and that she is an American citizen, but no one believes her. Although she’ll tell anyone and everyone at every opportunity she was born and bred here, they are swayed by her Hispanic features and the colour of her skin. I gravitate toward her at meal times, both of us American down to the bone. But having heard her story, and having no reason to doubt her, I’m once again frightened for Drew. What if he were picked up, and no one believed him? Thought his birth certificate was fake? That’s the thought that really scares me.
From the time my mother died I’ve been all I could for Drew, raised him like my child rather than my brother. Used to give him the last morsel of food off my plate, even if it meant I would go hungry. Bringing him up as an all-American boy, giving him every chance he could have. It’s him I worry about more than myself.
“De Souza.”
I turn around at my name, grateful they haven’t called me by a number.
“You’ve got visitors,” the guard says.
Oh, to see a familiar face. Expecting my lawyer, I nod, but ask to confirm, “Who?”
She consults a piece of paper. “Tse Williamson and Drew De Souza.”
Drew can’t be here. What if they lock him up? How will it affect him to see his sister in a prison uniform?I start to shake my head.He’s got to get away from here.
“You can refuse to see them.”
I’ve the option, but as I open my mouth to say the words, I can’t get any refusal out. I know I’m weak, just wanting to see a familiar face. Wanting to see with my own eyes that Drew’s okay.Has he been eating? Who’s feeding him? I left him no money…
Oh God, it’s just like on TV. I wait, shuffling my feet along with the other detainees who have visitors, until at last a buzzer sounds, the doors unlock, and then it’s my turn to walk in to a room full of tables, one chair on one side, two on the other.
Drew stands as I walk toward him. Tse’s hand shoots out and his eyes lock on his, and I hear his whispered word, “Sit.”
A brief creasing of his eyes as though in pain, then the boy I wish I could put my arms around sits down, nodding at Tse. Tse’s obviously tutored him. It makes me wonder whether he’s visited his brothers in prison before. He’s in a criminal gang after all, even though he denied it. His cut, I notice, isn’t being worn today.
My eyes drink in Drew. He looks healthy, a little pale, but who wouldn’t in this situation? His clothes are clean, and he’s shaved those few skimpy whiskers I tease him about. But seeing him isn’t enough. I need contact. Taking my seat, I reach my hand across the table. Drew grabs it and holds it fast. Until a guard walks by and coughs loudly, and reluctantly I pull mine back.
I don’t know what to say. We’ve such a short time every moment is precious, every word spoken mustn’t be wasted. There’s too much I want to ask; I don’t know what’s most important. My mouth opens and shuts but there’s a disconnect with my brain.
“I’m working to prove you are innocent.” It’s Tse who breaks the torturous silence. “Know where this Todd asshole lives, but I haven’t caught him at home yet.”
“Tse. It’s useless. Even if you get him to retract his story, it won’t help.”
“How are you, Ma?” Drew suddenly finds his voice. “How are they treating you?” His voice breaks.
It kills me to know how much this is hurting him. I force a smile to my face. “Three meals a day. A bed. Yeah, a bed, Drew.Better than sleeping on the sofa.” I try to sound light-hearted, making the most of what I have here. The last thing I want is him worrying about me.
“I can’t stay with Drew indefinitely,” Tse says looking concerned.
“Of course you can’t,” I interrupt, trying to give Drew a confident look while wondering what the hell is going to happen to him. How can I arrange anything from here? Should I ask Tse to call social services? Is that me giving up? Risking losing Drew…
