Page 52 of Mouse Trapped

Preparing myself for more stuff I don’t want to hear, I take a deep breath. “Is there anything new? Do you know why I was moved?”

“To answer your second question, no, Mariana. But it’s possible the judge’s workload isn’t so heavy here.”

“I thought I was going to be deported.” The memory of how I felt makes me shudder.

“You shouldn’t be deported until you’ve been in front of the judge,” she reassures me. “But I’m here today to tell you something positive at least.”

My ears prick up.Am I going to be released? What’s her version of good news?

Still smiling, she at last enlightens me, “The charges against you have been dropped. A credible witness came forward and corroborated your version of the story.”

It takes me a moment. Then I’m smiling as broadly as her, my facial muscles feeling awkward for being unused to that expression for so long. “Then they can’t hold me. Am I free?”

Her head tilts to one side and her lips narrow. “I’m afraid not, Mariana. You’re in the system now. But the fact the charges have been dropped and there’s no longer a suspicion you’ve committed a felony, will go in your favour.”

Anger rushes through me. Leaning forward, I hiss, “I’ve done nothing wrong. I’m missing college. My brother needs me. How the hell can they hold me?” I wipe my hands over my leaking eyes, feeling my cheeks burning red. “I was brought to the US because my mother’s life was in danger, and she thought mine was too. I’ve never known anything else. Colombia isn’t my country, the US is. I’m training to be a nurse…”

“Whoa.” Carissa holds up her hand. “I know that, and that’s what we’ll tell the judge when you’re brought before him. You’re in the DACA program, that should count for something.”

I notice she uses the word ‘should’ a lot. It doesn’t fill me with confidence. “Have you any idea of when my hearing will be? Is there no way of getting me released in the meantime?”

She clasps her hands on the table and looks down at them, sighs, then meets my eyes. “The immigration system is a mess. Too many people to process, too few judges. You’re one of the lucky ones in that your fiancé is paying me to represent you. But there’s no way of telling how long it will be before your case is heard. I’m sorry, Mariana. Sorry you’ve been caught up in the system for no fault of your own.”

“It was only a matter of time,” I mumble.

“What’s that?”

I stand. “I’ve lived here for sixteen years; I contribute by paying my taxes. I’m working to become a nurse. I live in a nation of immigrants. I’m taking nothing, never had anything given to me, but because I wasn’t like my brother, born in the US, everyone wants to get rid of me. Why should the country of my birth want me? I don’t even speak the language. The only thing I have to offer is the benefit of the education I gained in the US.”

“And that’s what we can explain to the judge.”

When I eventually get a hearing. Something I both look forward to and dread. But from the conversations I’ve had with other inmates, it could be weeks, months or even years.

I’m taken back to my cell where I lower my head into my hands and once again give into tears. I’m in utter despair. It’s even worse now my name’s been cleared and everyone knows I’m not guilty of a crime. The fact seems to be that it makes no difference; I’ve been caught up in a net. I don’t even hold out hope it might sway the judge. He’ll be following his instructionsto process people as fast as he can and deport them. With such a heavy workload, what time can he spare on each case?

Oh, I suspect,hope,some judges are fair. But being human, some will just go through the motions. Who’s going to criticise them? Public opinion is against illegal immigrants, and like it or not, that description applies to me.

My days are regimented. Lights on, lights off at set times. In between I eat mechanically, only the thought of how much Drew needs me, making me fuel my body. I don’t mingle, there’s no point talking with people in the same position as me, it just re-emphasises my position. I spend my days lying on my bunk, wishing things could be different. At night, I don’t sleep. I don’t dare hope I’ll ever be walking the streets of Arizona again, ever feel like a free US citizen. Although I might not have the papers to show it, how can I regard myself as anything else? I’m as much American as anyone. It’s all I’ve ever known.

When Tse visits next, he brings Drew with him. While I’m happy for Drew, his delight in the Honda Civic Tse bought him, his joy at driving to school—albeit someone has to be with him—and being on the path to having his independence only depresses me more.Ishould be with him.Ishould be the one helping him learn to drive, helping him with his homework. That myfiancéis his legal guardian now hits me hard. Oh, I can’t fault Tse for anything he’s doing. If he wasn’t looking after Drew, my brother might already have been kicked out of the trailer and be living on the streets, or in a foster family who might mistreat him.

That man and boy have developed a good relationship is easy to see. Drew looks up to Tse, admires him. Tse’s fond of him too, ruffling his hair,touchinghim, when I can’t.

As Drew prattles on about everything he’s been doing, talking to fill the silence when I’ve got nothing to say, I see Tse’s eyesexamining me. Dark depths staring into mine, making me shift uncomfortably, knowing I’m hiding nothing from him.

The next visit, Tse comes alone.

“Where’s Drew?”

He inhales deeply, then says slowly, “It’s not good for him seeing you like this, Mariana. He hides it well, but the last visit upset him.”

“You’re keeping my brother from me?” The first emotion that’s not despair hits me for the first time in weeks. “You can’t do that. He’s my brother, not yours.”

“He’s a fifteen-year-old kid, Mariana. It’s killing him that you’re not there. But last week you couldn’t even speak to him. He’s got to go on with his life. Who the fuck knows how long you’ll be here?” He sweeps his hair back from his face. “Look, darlin’, I hate seeing you like this. You look like you’re giving up, when you’ve just got to keep fighting. I’m doing everything I can to get you out, but I can’t influence the timetable. Just hang on in there, okay?”

I shouldn’t take my misery out on him, he’s done everything he can for me, and more. I know he was behind clearing my name. But I snap. “Giving up? You have no idea what it’s like in here. It’s like waiting on death row for the sentence to be carried out.” I puff air into my cheeks, then blow it out. “Don’t bother coming any more, Tse. I won’t see you. And you can forget this relationship you’ve been talking about. I don’t want a fiancé, and even if I get out, I won’t marry you. Got it?”

My heart speeds up with every hateful word I’m snarling across the table. “I don’t want to be hitched to a criminal. I don’t want to commit to living with you. I don’t even like you.I hate you!”

---