Something Inbetween. Melissa de La Cruz
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considers this. “I suppose you’re right. This is a dangerous time to be an immigrant. Still, being brave, following through, and meeting the highest politicians in the land might not be a bad idea.”
“You really think so?”
“I know so. You should get on that plane. You won that award fair and square.”
I did. Millie’s right. I deserve to go. I worked so hard for it. “Okay.” I feel hopeful for the first time in days. I’m going to make this happen.
Millie smiles and holds up her hand. I’m about to slap her a high five when she looks over at the doorway. Concern passes over her face. I turn around in my seat to see Mom standing in the hallway, quietly sobbing.
Oh no! I run to my mom.
“Neneng,” she says, barely getting the words out. “We have to go.”
I put my arms around her. “Are you hurt? Do I need to call Daddy?”
“I’ve been fired. We have to leave before they call security.”
“Fired?” I say, frozen suddenly. “What happened?”
Mom glances at Millie. “I shouldn’t have even said that much. I’m so embarrassed.” She wipes mascara streaks from her cheeks.
“Please don’t worry, Pilar,” Millie says, sitting up in her bed. “You’re one of the best staff around here. I don’t know what I’d do without you. Is there anything I can do or say to help?”
“No, Ms. Millie. It’s already done. Thank you,” Mom says. She turns to leave and I’m following her, not knowing what I’m going to say, thinking all of my problems mean nothing in comparison to hers, when Millie calls to me.
Mom stops and looks back. “Jas, say goodbye to Millie—you can’t come back either,” she says.
“I can’t?” I ask, a pit forming in my stomach.
“No.”
“But what about the project?”
“They’ll find someone else to interview the patients for the study.”
I’m stunned. “I really can’t come back here?” I guess I could still put the book together. I’d been meaning to gift it to the patients at the end of the year, but how will I get it to them if I can’t come back?
Mom shakes her head.
Millie is alarmed. “Oh my goodness, that is terrible news. Keep in touch, will you, Jasmine?” she says, writing her number on a napkin next to her bed. “I want to finish our...interview. I feel like we were just getting to the important part of our talk. I’ll be out of here next week, but you can always call me. And let me see what I can do. Maybe I can help you and your mother. I’ve been known to pull a few strings.”
“You would do that?” I say, taking her information, not quite believing I’ve been kicked out of the hospital as well.
“I can’t make promises. I’ll do my best. Call me, okay?”
* * *
In the car, Mom’s silence is deafening. She doesn’t start the engine. She’s no longer crying, but she’s shaking like she’ll lose it any second. I’m afraid to ask why she was fired, because I think I already know.
I’m scared and numb. Until now, I never worried about my family. We never had much money, but we’re better off than most. Happy. My parents love each other. Mom makes Dad a heart-shaped meat loaf every Valentine’s Day. I’m not worried there. But lately I keep thinking we’ll soon be living somewhere on the outskirts of Manila, and I’ll be stuck refereeing seven-legged spider fights between my brothers.
I won’t be a student anymore. I’ll probably end up working for some resort hotel, or become a waitress or underpaid secretary like many of my cousins. I’ll fade away in a country that I don’t really understand. Not like America, which is my home, my life. Though I’m also starting to think I don’t really understand America either.
“What happened?” I finally ask.
Mom sits for a long time before answering. “They found out I’m a liability.”
“A liability?” I say. “What do you mean? Did someone die or get hurt during one of your shifts? You’re always so safe, so thorough.”
“They found out I don’t have documentation,” she whispers.
We’re still sitting in the parking lot. A woman passes by the car and gives us a concerned look. “How? Why would they even check? You’ve been working at the hospital for years,” I say.
I grip my seat. This is exactly what I was scared of, and now it’s happened. How could my parents be so stupid?
“My supervisor called me into her office,” Mom says, taking a deep, heaving breath. “She told me I’m a good worker but that she can’t ignore the paperwork this time. Not in this ‘political climate.’ Something about one of their big donors asking to make sure all their workers are legal.”
It gets worse. It turns out my mom’s papers were flagged, and some so-called expert claimed they’re forgeries. They told my mother she could be legally deported and the hospital fined for hiring her.
“I’m sorry, Mommy.” I hug her, which makes her start crying again.
“I tried to reason with them. I told them this was a mistake, and I could fix it. But they didn’t want to hear it. They just wanted me out—but that wasn’t the worst, Jas.”
I can feel myself getting angrier. How could they humiliate my mother, a woman who works twice as hard as anyone else, for not having the papers they were apparently willing to overlook for years?
Mom continues her story. “‘Go get your daughter,’ my boss said. ‘We don’t want two illegals in here.’ After all you were doing for them, neneng. After you’ve been working so hard on their project. After all you’ve done for the patients. I’m so sorry.”
I’ve never felt so ashamed. And now I’m terrified for our entire family.
What happens to illegals in this country?
I’m afraid we’re about to find out.
Still, there are times I am bewildered by each mile I have traveled, each meal I have eaten, each person I have known, each room in which I have slept. As ordinary as it all appears, there are times when it is beyond my imagination.
—JHUMPA LAHIRI, INTERPRETER OF MALADIES
YOU KNOW HOW people say “life goes on”? Well, life does go on. I take my midterms, I go to cheer practice, I become a bit of a robot, keep my head down and try not to think about the future and what it will or won’t bring. I don’t know what to do about the National Scholarship. When Mrs. Garcia sees me in the hallway, she reminds me that I have to turn in the acceptance form so the foundation can make my travel arrangements. I tell her I will soon.
Kayla and Dylan are hot and heavy and I rarely see her outside of practice. Royce and I have sent a few more texts back and forth, and he mentioned he’s been busy with school, which is why he wasn’t able to visit me at the hospital. But that he was there last Monday, and was looking for me but didn’t see me. I didn’t want to tell him I’m not allowed there anymore—it’s too painful. So I lied and told him my project is over and I won’t be at the hospital again anytime soon. Which is sort of the truth.
He sends me a Snapchat of himself falling off a kiddie scooter, to show that he’s bummed about that, but I don’t send him one back.
It’s like Kayla said—I do sort of believe he lives on another planet. One with no problems.
I