Land of the Cranes Read online

you are my friend now, Betita.

  ’Cause we’re cranes.

  Promise never to say a word

  to another living soul? ¿Ninguna?

  I promise. Changuitos que sí.

  I cross two fingers in a swear above her.

  She wiggles to the side to whisper near my ear,

  We were taken to a place that looked

  like a hospital but wasn’t with lots of other kids.

  Babies too. There was not one of us

  who didn’t cry and cry for our parents at first.

  I tried to keep at least Jakie with me because

  she was a girl but they wouldn’t let me.

  She went with the babies. I stayed with the older girls.

  Carlos with the boys. They screamed at us

  to do this and that, rules, like here. They gave us shots.

  Right on the arm! Lots of them, though we’d already

  got them in El Salvador. They made my arm swell up

  like a balloon and gave me a fever. But that wasn’t the worst.

  Did they hit you?

  Not me but sometimes they hit the kids

  who tried to run out the doors or cried too loudly.

  They would scream, “Shut up, shut up!”

  But that wasn’t the worst.

  Really?

  Then, Yanela pauses for such a long

  time I think she’s fallen asleep.

  There was a man who cooked our food

  who would lock me in the closet with him.

  He did things.

  He told me it was supposed to feel good

  but it didn’t. It hurt me so so bad, I threw up.

  In the closet?

  Uh-huh. All over him. Then he stopped.

  So I started making myself sick

  each time he trapped me.

  Did you tell the people there?

  He said if I told anyone, he would make it

  so that I never saw my mama again.

  So I didn’t tell the grown-ups

  but I told all of the kids to run

  when he came near them.

  Pobrecita,

  I begin to say, but the sadness I feel

  for her gets all tangled inside my

  voice box with the biggest tears.

  I’m        so        o        soorry   Yan        ela.

  Shshsh, Betita, you said you wouldn’t say anything.

  She covers my mouth with her hand.

  I pull it away and give it a little squeeze

  and nod and let the tears roll down

  for Yanela but also to imagine

  what would happen if I was

  ever taken away from Mami.

  That night

  there are more coughs

  than normal

  more cries

  more sighs

  our fear

  a bear

  roaring            in the                dark.

  I wake to someone talking loudly.

  When I look over, I see it is Marisel

  and I cover my face with my hand.

  I mean, why don’t they turn up

  the heat in here? Because it is a form

  of torture, that’s why. Just like my

  beat-down, that’s a kind of torture too.

  And taking away niños from their

  parents in here, dang, that’s the worst

  kind of torture. It’s straight jacked up.

  You see, they don’t want this to be cool

  like we are at summer camp or something.

  They want it to be as cruel as possible

  so that we want to leave the country.

  She’s speaking in a singsong way

  moves her hands and arms

  like she’s a rapper, and she’s

  talking to a teen and her sister

  who got here a few days ago.

  Pero, what they don’t want to admit

  is that our people have been here

  since before there were borders.

  We are indigenous to this land

  and they, THEY are the illegal immigrants

  who came to this continent without

  an invitation and colonized.

  And here we are, having to wait

  in this freezing freaking cage

  having to put up with all of their mistreatment

  just so that we can get permission

  to live in this damn country.

  The whole cell is awake now

  listening to her say things

  I didn’t know.

  When the teen asks her where she

  is from, her talking gets faster.

  Technically, Mexico but in reality

  I spent most of my life in Southeast LA

  and so have my parents and all of my friends.

  But like I said, these are the Americas

  and I’m indigenous to this place, just like you.

  Something about how she is saying

  what she is saying pulls me and Yanela over

  and we sit to listen to Marisel keep

  spinning her words into our ears.

  Mira, I’m a Dreamer and I had to do all

  sorts of things to get DACA, you know,

  Deferred Action for Childhood Arrivals

  which was supposed to protect me

  but that didn’t stop them from putting

  me in here. I was at a rally at the border

  and made a speech about the abuse

  of the immigrant community by ICE.

  I locked arms with people

  to build a bridge between

  Mexico and here, but because

  I happened to stand on the Mexican

  side of the border they said

  I violated my DACA by crossing

  and threw me in here.

  They’re trying to deport me now.

  I did nothing but speak out. Dang, if I had

  my phone, I’d be posting about this right

  now to my 10K followers. It would go viral.

  I am trying to understand Marisel.

  Her loud singsong raps despite her two growing

  black eyes and swollen lip, how is it that

  she has more followers than Tina, the things

  she knows about our history

  that is sort of like Papi but angrier

  and she’s teaching us like Mami but wilder.

  I’ve never met a crane like her before.

  The next day doesn’t come fast enough.

  Fernanda should be here soon.

  The hours        lean        against

  a            long    breath                of waiting.

  We are as eager to see Fernanda

  as we are for a drink of pure water

  unchlorinated water

  not from the shower or toilet tank.

  We learn from Marisel

  that Fernanda is also hers!

  Mami says it is the best

  kind of coincidence.

  She asks Mami to please

  tell Fernanda she is here too

  because we figure she doesn’t know.

  I don’t mind helping Marisel

  anymore because she reminds me

  of a music star, thick with fire.

  Everything really is “jacked up” in here.

  I sway and bop my head

  to every one of Marisel’s words

  sprouting truths

  so true            I can feel

  my wings regrowing

  in real time.

  When Fernanda finally comes

  Yellow Hair calls Mami

  from the gate three times

  in a voice that sounds

  like screeching tires,

&nb
sp; Gabriela                        Quintero,

  Gabriela                        Quintero,

                                      Gabriela                      Quintero.

  We scramble to the gate.

  Mami holds my hand firmly

  as we begin to move, but

  Yellow Hair stops me

  with her baton.

  Not the kid. I didn’t call her.

  But we are seeing the same attorney.

  I don’t care.

  If you don’t let me bring her

  I will tell my attorney once I see her

  and you’ll have to let her through anyway.

  With a sideways grimace, Yellow Hair lifts

  her icy baton and

  lets me

  pass.

  When we come into

  the room where Fernanda

  is waiting, she has no crowbar.

  There is only a small table

  between us and a small stack

  of papers and folders.

  She wears a bubbly smile that makes

  me so happy at first but makes Mami

  burst into tears, which then makes me

  dig my face into Mami’s side and cry too.

  Fernanda doesn’t say anything but

  puts her hand on my hand

  makes a curvy so sorry look.

  I feel like she understands.

  After she has given us a moment

  to come back to ourselves

  she begins to explain

  and I try hard to follow.

  Entry into the United States without permission

  is a misdemeanor. The lowest kind of infraction

  in the US. The government in power has created

  stricter laws now and is punishing these misdemeanors

  with indefinite detention until the cases are resolved.

  But, another way to get out is to post a bail bond

  of twenty thousand dollars.

  Mami’s eyes grow wide, fill back up

  with tears, which she wipes away

  with the back of her hand.

  Sí, I understand.

  But we don’t have twenty thousand?

  I say, trying not to be whiny.

  Fernanda doesn’t hesitate,

  I know, Betita. Most migrants seeking asylum don’t.

  The only good news is I have a court date for you

  in a month, before the baby is born.

  I asked to expedite it due to special circumstances.

  We don’t want the baby to be born inside detention.

  They don’t have the necessary personnel

  or the right facility for it to be safe.

  I hadn’t thought of that

  and I feel like an hija mala suddenly.

  I’d been thinking about Tía Raquel

  Mami and me getting out

  about seeing Papi again

  about flying.

  I never thought what would happen

  to Mami if the egg hatches in here.

  Now I’m thinking

  what would happen to me

  if it does hatch?

  Have you talked to Beto? Mami asks suddenly.

  Yes, he wants to speak to you

  but the facility only allows calls from attorneys.

  He said he loves you very much and

  seeking asylum is the right thing

  to do, to please hold on.

  A warm sweet heat fills

  my head.

  I miss Papi so much.

  Betita, I brought you a notebook and crayons.

  Your mom did such a good job collecting

  all of those documents for me, but

  we need to collect some from you.

  I saw your gallery of drawings hanging

  in the kitchen when I visited your house.

  I think you’d be able to tell us a little about

  what has happened to you, to show the judge.

  She hands the guard standing next to her

  the crayons and notebook, and he takes them

  to inspection off to the side.

  But I made those for Papi.

  Not for a judge.

  I can mail them to him in Mexico

  once we get a copy.

  Fernanda. What day is it?

  It’s March fifth. Why do you ask, Betita?

  My picture poems need to know.

  Then Mami whispers hard,

  It is a nightmare in here, Fernanda.

  They treat us worse than animals.

  We are sleeping on a concrete floor

  twenty or thirty of us to a cage

  it is so cold the children are sick

  their lips and hands are blue

  they have lice and rashes

  some hardly want to talk

  some children don’t even want to play.

  They beat a girl here yesterday

  who says she is your client too.

  Marisel Doming —

  Marisel Dominguez? The Dreamer?

  Yes, she was arrested a couple of days ago

  and brought here. She asked us to tell you

  she is here.

  Is she okay?

  She’s got two black eyes

  and her lip is swollen a bit

  but she is still pretty feisty.

  Thank you. I will request to see her next.

  Marisel is one of our most important leaders.

  I knew there was something about her.

  I just knew it.

  Before we leave Fernanda

  she tells us she will bring up

  the conditions with her colleagues.

  Hopefully they’ll find a way to sue them

  since this is a private prison

  not the government’s and our complaints

  aren’t the only ones

  but until then, she is sorry.

  This is

  all

  she can do.

  After seeing Fernanda

  Marisel is hush quiet.

  She isn’t pointing out how

  jacked up everything is

  or trying to inhale

  everyone’s arrival story.

  She is looking at us

  with extinguished eyes

  I’ve seen before

  in Mami.

  She must be understanding

  for the first time

  how badly her wings

  have been cut.

  I curl my hands around

  my very own crayons

  take a deep breath of their

  salty sweet smell

  feel a pulsing tingle

  to hold my brand-new

  two-hundred-page spiral notebook

  and fill it with

  my very own words.

  Though it might be weird

  I can’t wait to spell again.

  Yes, spell out my favorites

  that tumble and rumble

  sulk and hulk

  twirl and swirl

  inside my head.

  But then, Carlos is lurking.

  I can feel he wants to take them.

  I squint my eyes at him

  while I sit on my supplies

  I will NOT be sharing.

  The next day Marisel

  awakes spitting out ways

  she is going to get

  out of here.

  Marisel gave

  Fernanda permission

  to post for her

  on social media.

  She is going to get

  Marisel’s girlfriend,

  Erika, involved too.

  Marisel says Erika

  has 12K followers on

  her Gram page alone.

  They are starting

  a hashtag campaign
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  to bring attention

  to how they are

  caging cranes.

  I jump in,

  My cousin Tina has a thousand followers too!

  But Marisel shrugs her shoulders

  and keeps talking.

  She tosses out some

  ideas for us to hear,

  #FreeMarisel

  #IAmADreamerDetained

  #MigrantsHoldUpTheWorld

  #AsylumIsLegal

  #StopMigrantDetention

  #NoHumanIsIllegal

  I offer up

  #FreeTheCranes

  but Marisel twists

  her eyebrows at me

  and swats at the air

  in front of her with

  her hand, erasing my hashtag.

  We need to start

  a revolution for us, Betita,

  not for some birds!

  I guess only

  Mami and Yanela

  really believe.

  Too many days have passed to keep count.

  A raspy wet cough sits in my lungs

  and barks itself up each time

  I try to talk.

  Mami lies down more now

  when she isn’t singing

  and teaching us.

  She is having trouble

  keeping any food down

  when she does eat.

  Sometimes I pick out

  the best part of my food

  to see if the better parts will help her

  keep something in her belly

  but nothing helps.

  I’m having trouble remembering the sound of Beto’s voice,

  she says. Maybe it is my nervios.

  I feel a tearing inside.

  No, Mami, he’s here. Right here.

  I pull out my papi square

  put it to her nose

  but now it only smells like

  me.

  I sit near

  my resting mami

  and keep scribbling onto paper

  how much my heart hurts.

  I’ve given my notebook a name.

  Tagged it right on the

  cover—“Alas.”

  I flip through Alas to see what I’ve done:

  I drew a picture of Papi as a flying crane.

  You are the sound of

  crane trumpets that

  sing their love into the sky.

  Betita-March 5

  I drew what the monster looks like from the outside.

  We’ve been swallowed

  by a monster

  so cold it turns

  our hopes frozen.

  Betita-March 7

  I drew a maze of cages and crying cranes.

  Across from us there is another cage

  with more cranes and their kids

  and almost solitas kept from flying.

  Betita-March 8

  I drew a picture of Papi in his construction hat with tears on his cheeks.

  I know you miss us, Papi, like we miss you.