But then I fill my lungs. And I hear it—my heart. I feel it, thumping furiously in my chest—a raw, bleeding, living thing that pumped so hard, it shattered and broke free of whatever it had cocooned itself in, steel or metal or glass or scar tissue.
From my chest comes a shriek louder than La Bestia, so long, so loud, it scares my tía and she pulls the car over and reaches for me and holds me and tells me it will be okay. I will be okay.
“I promise you, Pulga. Vas a estar bien, I promise.”
That scream travels from my heart and out of the car and, I hope, back to Nene. I hope his heart hears mine. I hope all of them trapped in there hear me, and that they will all scream a scream that will break their hearts free, too. A scream that will wake our ancestors and send their spirits running through that desert to save us. A scream that will reach our parents, across borders and past locks and gates and through cages. A scream loud enough to shatter the walls of that detention center and break everyone free.
One never-ending scream.
My heart thunders in my chest; it shakes and trembles and gasps for air.
It reminds me I am alive.
It reminds me who I am.
It reminds me I want to live.
And that maybe, I will make it.
Author’s Note
I began writing this book in 2015, as news spread of children fleeing their countries and arriving unaccompanied to the United States, many of them making the journey aboard La Bestia—a train so dangerous it is known as the beast, as the death train.
As a mother, and a daughter of immigrants, I could not stop thinking of the children on that train. Of how luck, circumstance, the dirt on which I gave birth were the only difference between them and my children. I could not stop thinking of the danger that had made a journey like this their only option. I could not stop thinking of their fear, or desperation, or the parents who were left behind, sometimes not knowing their children had left. Of the lives and families fractured, before, during, and after the journey.
That is when I saw Pulga, riding on that train. And Pequeña. And Chico. And I started to put their stories to paper.
But this book is an imagining of an unimaginable journey, one that could never portray the brutal reality of it. I strived for accuracy, but this is a trip impossible to truly know, unless one has taken it personally. Until it is over. Each migrant’s story is vastly different. And each migrant’s story is also the same.
The truth is, a trip like this breaks people, even as it delivers them to a new life. It is a journey of incredible trauma—one taken with few things other than faith and hope.
Which makes it even more tragic that migrant children who do make it, who do survive such a treacherous journey, are met with cruelty by the United States government. In response to their pleas for mercy or help, they are held in United States detention camps where they are treated inhumanely and abused, and many even die. That they are likely treated this way because they are poor and brown and desperate, because their parents are poor, brown, and desperate, and our government sees little to no value in their lives is horrifying.
This is the hardest book I have ever written. It is a story I was afraid to write and sometimes that fear was paralyzing. I doubted myself, and asked myself, Why did you think you could do this? Why are you doing this?
And I saw Pulga and Pequeña and Chico standing on that train, yelling at me over its roar. I saw them waving their arms at me. For us, they told me. Write it for us.
So I did. I wrote it for them because they asked me and I could not fail them. And this is their story. But I also wrote it for children like Pulga, Pequeña, and Chico. Whose faces flash for a few seconds on the television, or flicker through a social media timeline. Who have similar stories, stories they may not live to tell or may not want to relive or that the world might turn their backs on.
I’ve tried my best to give their stories a place in this book.
Their stories will not be forgotten.
Research and Select Sources
Open Veins of Latin America by Eduardo Galeano
The Land of Open Graves by Jason De León
Tell Me How It Ends by Valeria Luiselli
The Beast by Óscar Martínez
A History of Violence by Óscar Martínez
For more information about migrants and to support migrants’ rights, please visit:
The Refugee and Immigrant Center for Education and Legal Services (RAICES): raicestexas.org
Young Center for Immigrant Children’s Rights: theyoungcenter.org
Kids in Need of Defense (KIND): supportkind.org
International Rescue Committee (IRC): rescue.org
Asylum Seeker Advocacy Project (ASAP): asylumadvocacy.org
Immigrant Families Together: immigrantfamiliestogether.com
Acknowledgments
Mil gracias to those who have been with me on this journey, especially:
Kerry Sparks for your continued support and belief. For knowing how important it was for me to tell this story and for helping make it happen. Liza Kaplan Montanino for your steadfast belief in my writing and in me. For your patience and understanding as I searched and found and put all the pieces of the heart of this book together.
All the journalists who refuse to let truth die in the dark. Who risk their lives in seeking and reporting what the world must know. Without your work, this book would not have been possible. And all the activists and organizations who do the work—who fight for and support migrants, who sound the alarm. You are an inspiration.
Toda mi familia. Para mí, son todo. Y sin ellos nada es posible. Mami, Papi, ustedes saben el dolor de dejar sus tierras, sus familias, y el miedo de empezar de nuevo—sin dinero, sin saber el idioma, solitos. Sus sacrificios son mi motivo siempre. Ava, Mateo, Francesca, my bright, beautiful beings who remind me the world is not all dark. You pushed me on and gave big hugs and said, You can do it, Mom. I’m so lucky. I love you guys so much. And, Nando, I am forever grateful for you. For your love, your patience, your support always. Te amo.
Y todos los migrantes e inmigrantes, los que han llegado, los que están de viaje, los que vienen mañana, y los que nunca lograron llegar. Que Dios los guarde siempre, y los ponga en las alas de los angelitos y los traiga con bien.
About the Author
Jenny Torres Sanchez (www.jennytorressanchez.com) is a full-time writer and former English teacher. She was born in Brooklyn, New York, but has lived on the border of two worlds her whole life. She is the author of We Are Not From Here; The Fall of Innocence; Because of the Sun; Death, Dickinson, and the Demented Life of Frenchie Garcia; and The Downside of Being Charlie. She lives in Orlando, Florida, with her husband and children. Follow her on Twitter @jetchez and on Instagram @jennytsanchez.
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