Page 56 of Mouse Trapped

“Your lawyer’s here.”

Without enthusiasm, I get up from the table where I was sitting wallowing in misery, and follow the guard. I can’t get excited, having resigned myself to months of staying here, then a one-way ticket to a place I don’t want to go.

“Mariana.”

Today Carissa’s there before me. She stands as I go to the chair opposite hers, then sits and pulls a folder toward her. Opening it, she peruses a document, while I’m getting myself settled.

“I’ve got some news.” She takes off her glasses. “Your immigration hearing will be happening soon.”

Is that good news?I hold out little hope that a judge would be sympathetic. For an answer, I shrug. But curiosity does push me to ask, “When?”

“Your initial hearing will take place in a couple of days. That will only take a quarter of an hour. It’s just a formality. Your individual hearing is scheduled for next week. They’ll firm up the date nearer the time. Most immigration hearings are completed in under three hours, unless people have lawyers speaking on their behalf. This far out, it’s still too early to give an exact time and day. If the judge gets a lengthy case, it could be pushed back.”

The judge probably hears so many sob stories, mine will barely register. Even if I’m luckier than most, having someone to represent me. At least I speak the language. Like a native. What a joke. I speak US English, I can barely introduce myself in Spanish.How will I cope when I’m deported? Do they speak any English there? Where am I supposed to go? Or do?The thought of getting off the plane in a foreign country, alone with no money, no idea of the culture or customs, terrifies me.

“Have you spoken to Tse?” I suddenly find myself asking. “Does he know?”Whether he does or doesn’t, there’s probably little he can do.

“I have updated him, yes.” She seems to want to say more, but as she removes her glasses once again, and looks at me searchingly, she shuts her mouth, shuffles papers, then brightens. “Well, I’ll be working on your case and the submission I’ll be making on your behalf.”

I bite my lip. “If they decide to deport me, how long…”

Her mouth purses. “Let’s hope it doesn’t come to that.”

“How long?” I insist, making my voice firmer.

“As soon as they can arrange a charter plane,” she gives in and tells me. “Tse will be bringing a bag you can take with you. But only as a last resort. I’ll be doing everything I can for you to be permitted to stay.” I stare down at my hands as she continues, “Your fiancé will be arranging to cover the cost of your flight. That you’ve paid for your own deportation will count for you if you ever return legally to the States. Otherwise the outstanding bill will be just one more obstacle to get over.”

She’s holding out a glimmer of hope for a time in the future when I’ll be free to come back.

“Is that a possibility?” I perk up. “Could I return?”

She sighs. “The judge will determine how long before you can apply for a green card. I’m assuming if you get married, Tse will be able to sponsor you, otherwise your brother once he’s turned twenty-one.”

Though it will be almost six years before Drew can help, and I don’t want to force Tse into a relationship that however much he says he wants, I think is crazy.A wonderful dream. But impractical. “I won’t be able to return for five years in any event.”Five years.My eyes close. That seems like a lifetime.

“That’s the minimum. It could be ten or twenty. Depends on the judge.”

I’m only twenty. I could live the same number of years in exile, I think, as she reminds me how long I could be gone. There’s no guarantee I could ever come back.

Carissa gives me a moment, then stands. “I’ll be with you when your case is heard. I’ll be doing everything I can to persuade the judge to allow you to stay. You’re not facing this alone, Mariana. Tse will be there, of course.”

“It’s a public hearing?”

A nod. Then a spoken, “Yes.”

It’s no better knowing that my time in the immigration processing centre is coming to an end. If I was more hopeful of the outcome, I’d be ecstatic. As it is, each time I feel the slight optimism that I might be going home with Drew, I tamp that notion straight down, knowing if I build myself up, the disappointment would crush me.

Trying to keep any thought in my head is like trying to catch a particular fish from a shoal with my bare hands. As soon as I think of something I need to decide on, another idea enters and pushes it away. Until finally, exhausted, I give up thinking at all, and end up staring at the ceiling, my brain numb. Then the worrying starts all over again as I’ve made no plans, have no clue what to do after I arrive, as I expect is inevitable, in Colombia.

What happens?Do they just point you in the direction of the airport and leave you to get on with your new life? Is there any support mechanism at all?

It won’t come to that. I won’t be deported. I most likely will be.

As Carissa has pre-warned me, a short initial hearing takes place after a couple of days. Then nothing more until I get my time in front of the judge.

It’s a bit like waiting for the guillotine to fall. You get to the point where you know it’s coming, can’t evade it, Christ, you can’t ignore it, but there’s part of you that wants to get out of the way. When a guard comes to get me one morning, I know there’s something different. I’m given the clothes that so long ago I arrived in. They hang off me now as I’ve lost so much weight.Detention centre for dieting, must recommend it.It doesn’t have anything else going for it.

There’s a truck waiting, I step inside, once again handcuffed and chained to the floor. Windows again high so I can’t see out of them. There’s half a dozen people with me. They speak Spanish, I don’t understand it.

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