"¿Cómo estás?" I asked kinder Kendrick. "Mal, because my dad wouldn't let me wear my same pants again today".
"He plans to come back in two weeks" Cristian's family informed me. We took them out to dinner, trying to regroup, console them, somehow let them know that we were in this with them, as much as we can be. My brother in-law picked them up; their luck is so bad that we don't want to ask them to drive anywhere. Only the women are left of this family, except for the youngest child, the U.S. citizen. The men are in Mexico, one voluntarily, the other, not. The women are paying and working. His mother. His sister in a wheel chair, the girlfriend, pregnant with his child. The little sister. Working to pay coyotes, polleros, whatever you want to call the pendejos who charge a fortune to run them across the Río Grande and put them in an eighteen wheeler to a large city in the southwest and drop them, left to their own devices in navigating the many checkpoints between there and home. And home is here.
It was early. Really early for a Saturday. I was sitting in a a super seventies style roller skating rink, watching my lovely niece suit up for her roller derby practice. I made her tell me the directions from her phone, mainly because I rarely drive and because I have no earthly idea where the fuck Lilburn is in regard to the outer reaches of the suburbs outside of the city. We made it. There were some parents there. Some like me, who parked it in an orange, Formica booth and pulled out a book and their phone and others, that socialized. Near me, unfortunately.
"She is falling even worse than last week. I tell you, I'm done. All she does is complain".
"It takes her twenty minutes to suit up! I tell her, 'you're pissing your practice time away' but she still takes forever".
A child came up. "Go away," her dad told her, "I'm socializing with my friends. You socialize with yours".
"My elbow pads are too loose. Will you help me?"
"There is a lady that will help you with that. Her, over there. You're too skinny. You need to put some meat on your bones". The child rolled away.
"My shoes hurt. My feet hurt. They're not tough, all they do is whine!" another mom exclaimed.
They tried to talk to me a couple of times during the two and half hours that I was there. They didn't get it that I wasn't insecure or worried about not knowing anyone there. I didn't want to know anyone there. I watched Emma giggle and laugh with her friends. And skate on one foot like a swan. And then I stared at my phone. Or my book.
I laid in the claw foot tub in my new house, staring up at the American Horror Story-style ceiling lighting. I can lay down all the way in that tub and the water rises up almost to my chin. I pretend I am somewhere else, in some other time. I do that in my princess house. Our house.
"We are saving his Christmas presents," his sister told me. "we aren't having Christmas until he comes home". The mood was actually jovial. I was relieved. I watched my brother in-law load four illegal immigrants and a little U.S. citizen into his car. He was laughing and joking, somehow communicating though he doesn't speak a word of Spanish. The illegal immigrant wagon pulled away with folks sitting on each others' laps. I had a renewed admiration and appreciation for the strangely nonplussed and helpful person that my brother in-law is.
The moon was hanging really low. It was lit from below, a crescent, yet the top almost looked like an eclipse. I hoped for them. I hoped really hard.
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