The Book in Room 316

by ReShonda Tate Billingsley

  “What about Alejandro’s asthma?” I asked.

  “It’s under control. Thank God for Miguel. He got him calmed down and taken care of.”

  That gave me a small sense of relief.

  “Tell them I love them.”

  “They know that,” she replied. “So what’s going on? Where are you?”

  I glanced around the room. With the dirty brown walls, steel tables, and raggedy wooden desks, it looked like an old school that had been renovated to house criminals. My God, I was a criminal.

  I noticed a sign on the wall and rattled the information off for Rosa. “It says I’m at the Smith Detention Center.”

  “I know where that is,” she replied.

  “Do you think you can come see me?”

  “Of course. I will come as soon as I can.”

  + + +

  Back in the cell, I mumbled the Lord’s Prayer until I dozed off. I was awakened by the sound of someone shouting my name.

  “Anna Rodríguez?” an officer called out.

  “Yes, yes.” I jumped up. I don’t know why, but I was praying that some miracle had happened and they were telling me I was going home. Unfortunately, all the deputy said was, “Someone is here to see you.”

  I sighed as I made my way to the door. As I waited for the bars to open, I looked back over my shoulder and desperately wished that I would never see these people again.

  The third-timer had told me that from here, we would go before an immigration judge who would decide our fate. I was dreading the thought of being sent back to my native land.

  My children were American citizens, but what did that mean if I wasn’t here with them? They couldn’t stay because no one could take care of them. Paco wouldn’t go back, so I would be forced to leave him alone and take my children back to a country where they didn’t know the language, didn’t know a soul, and would be subjected to a life of destitution and crime.

  “Oh, my God,” Rosa said as I slid into the seat across from her. “Are you okay?”

  I was grateful that Rosa was legal—she’d gotten her papers nine years ago. Otherwise I probably would’ve been unable to see her.

  “No, I’m not all right,” I cried. “This place . . . it’s just so horrible.”

  “What happened?” she said.

  I took a deep breath. Rosa had no idea I wasn’t legal. She had no idea about the illegal Social Security number that I’d been using for years because no one knew outside of Julio. He’d just come home with the cards one day—announced we were unofficially official and I didn’t ask any questions. We’d gone out to celebrate that night and had been working ever since.

  “I . . . I’m not supposed to be working in the U.S.”

  “What do you mean? You told me you had papers when you asked for this job,” she said, confused.

  I looked down, ashamed of the lie I had told my friend. “I do have papers, but they don’t belong to me.”

  Her hand went to her mouth. “Oh, my God. You were working under a fake Social Security number?” she said.

  I could only nod. “I was desperate. I never meant to deceive you, I just . . .”

  She leaned forward and immediately shhh’d me. “Okay, we’re not going to have this conversation here.” She lowered her voice. “You never know who could be recording.”

  “I don’t think it matters anymore,” I said. “They obviously know. That’s why I’m here. Did Sergio set me up?” I asked.

  “No. I don’t think so,” Rosa replied. “He was absolutely dumbfounded and he kept talking about losing his best worker, and then he threatened the rest of us that we all better be on the up-and-up because of how this was going to reflect on the hotel. Rumor is that Valencia called INS.”

  So my guess was probably true. I sighed, then dabbed at my eyes.

  “I’m so sorry,” I said. “I didn’t mean to make things so difficult for you.” My heart sank at the thought that no matter what happened, my job was as good as gone.

  “What are you going to do?” she asked.

  “I don’t know.” I would definitely have to figure out my job situation. But right now, my focus was on something more important. “Be honest. How are my children?”

  She hesitated, like she wasn’t sure how much she should tell me. Finally, she said, “Not good. Alejandro won’t stop crying. Miguel is in a state of shock. The good news is that Paco was still at your house so he knows what is going on. He’s with the children now.”

  “Thank you so much.” Paco gave me grief, but he loved his siblings. I could take comfort in knowing that he and Rosa would make sure they were taken care of. Plus, the kids always enjoyed being around Rosa’s two children. “Please tell them all that I love them. And . . . and I’ll be home soon.” Even as the words left my mouth, they felt like a lie.

  “Will you?” she asked. Her eyes told me she already knew the answer to that.

  “I honestly don’t know,” I said, a tear trickling down my face.

  “Be strong, mi hija,” she said. “We’ll figure something out. My neighbor’s cousin went through this. She said you need to get an attorney right away.” She sighed. “The problem is, I don’t have any money for an attorney. And I know you don’t, either.”

  “I don’t.”

  “Do we know anyone that can help?” she said. “My neighbor is trying to raise awareness about her cousin’s case. She’s doing a lot of stuff on social media. She’s even been trying to maybe get the case on the news.”

  The news.

  “That’s it,” I said, recalling the lady in Room 316. My hand went to my apron.

  “What are you doing?” Rosa asked.

  I frantically dug down in my apron pocket and pulled out the business card.

  “What’s that?” Rosa asked.

  “The lady. The lady that was staying in the room. She gave me her card. She is one of those TV newspeople.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “Savannah Graham,” I said, reading the card before turning it to face Rosa. “She’s a reporter for Channel 26. She was staying in the room the other day when I went to clean it. She was super nice to me. Maybe . . .” I was too scared to even think of the possibilities.

  “Oh, wow. You think she could help?” Rosa asked.

  “I don’t know but maybe she knows an attorney who can help me.”

  “Well, I say it’s worth a try. You have nothing to lose and everything to gain.”

  “Here.” I slid Rosa the card. “Call her, please. Tell her I’m the housekeeper from the hotel. Explain my situation. Let her know I’m law-abiding, remind her about my kids. Tell her everything. She was nice. Maybe she can help.”

  Rosa took the card. “I’ll call her the minute I step out.”

  For the first time since I had arrived at the detention center, I felt a glimmer of hope.

  chapter

  * * *

  30

  Rosa had delivered.

  I couldn’t believe that Savannah Graham was sitting across from me, ready to hear my story.

  I don’t know what kind of strings Rosa had pulled, but Savannah was here in her official capacity not twenty-four hours after we’d come up with the idea to call her.

  “How are you?” she asked, once she was settled across from me.

  I shrugged. “No use lying. Horrible,” I replied. “I just want to get home to my kids.”

  “That’s understandable,” she said, giving me a warm smile.

  “You look . . .” I finally smiled as I took in her appearance, “happy.”

  This professional woman in her tailored suit, with her hair perfectly curled and makeup flawless, was a far cry from the disheveled woman who I met in Room 316.

  Savannah was pensive for a moment, then said, “I wouldn’t say that I’m happy. But I’m healing. I think that’s the word for it. Healing and on my way to happy. Thanks to your wisdom, I sat still and listened.” The gratitude in her eyes was sincere.

  “Goo
d,” I said. “I know I can be a chatterbox, but when I feel led to talk to people, I can’t help but speak up.”

  “Well, I’m glad you did. And now it’s my turn to return the favor. You may not know it, but I do a lot of immigration stories at the station. So I’m well versed on the subject. What I would like to do is get your story out to the public. Having public support can help bolster your case.”

  “I want whatever you think will help,” I said. “I can’t thank you enough for coming. I don’t know if this can help, but if there’s a chance . . .”

  My words trailed off as a wild-haired blonde entered the room. She wore a gray, baggy sweater, white tee, and jeans that looked two sizes too big.

  “Oh, this is Jerri Tapper,” Savannah said as the woman entered. “She is with the Freedom Coalition, an immigration rights organization. I hope you don’t mind that I asked her to sit in with us.”

  I nodded. “That’s fine.” If they could help me, I would gladly have her and anyone else sit in. I no longer cared about being private. If I needed an army to get me home to my kids, then bring on the troops.

  “Hello,” Jerri said, leaning in and shaking my hand.

  “Hi.” I turned to Savannah as Jerri took a seat in the corner; then I took a deep breath and told myself I didn’t have time to beat around the bush. “Am I going to be deported?” I asked.

  “I don’t know much about your case yet, but not if we can help it,” Savannah said. “First things first, are your children okay?”

  The fact that she had asked about my children warmed my heart and let me know I was doing the right thing by talking with her.

  “As well as can be expected,” I replied. “I mean, I guess they are. I haven’t seen them and I know they’re terrified, but they’re with my friend Rosa, the one who called you. I know she’s taking good care of them.”

  Savannah continued, “Well, we’re going to do everything we can to help. We’ve gotten clearance to film because we think that’s the best way to get your story out. It will air tomorrow on the nine o’clock news. Are you okay with that?”

  Instinct made me tense up. Anytime I’d seen a camera over the last two decades, I’d gone in the opposite direction. But now I knew that to have any type of chance, this was my only option.

  “Yes, it’s fine.”

  She looked back at her cameraman. “Rodney, are you ready?”

  “Gimme a minute,” he said, fumbling with one of the lights.

  Rodney continued setting up his equipment and tripod as Savannah turned back to me and made small talk.

  “I’m ready,” he finally said.

  Savannah flashed a reassuring smile. “I want you to relax and talk directly to me. Pretend the camera isn’t there.”

  I patted down my hair, thinking about what a mess I must look, but she stopped me. “No, we want you to be yourself.”

  “I’m rolling,” Rodney said.

  “Let’s start,” Savannah began, her tone turning professional. “Anna, tell us, how did you arrive in the United States, and why are you in this situation?”

  I tried to keep my composure as I traveled back to one of the most terrifying times in my life.

  “I came when I was just eighteen,” I began. “I’ve been here ever since. My husband—God rest his soul—and I just wanted a better life than what existed in our home of Hidalgo, Mexico. Unfortunately, the only way I could work was by obtaining a false Social Security number.” I didn’t bother to hide the shame I felt about breaking the law. I simply wanted to lay everything on the table. “But I’m a good citizen. I pay taxes. I’m not a threat. But now they’re about to tear me away from my family.”

  “Tell me about the journey here,” Savannah said.

  Another deep sigh as I dug up that awful memory. “It was about thirty-five of us. We paid this guy fifteen thousand dollars. Julio and I had saved some money. His father was in agriculture, and when he died, he left a little money and that’s how we got the rest. A gringo got us across the border, and then we were in a truck for what seemed like days. It was hot, and two of the people didn’t make it.” I bit my bottom lip. For years I’d blocked the memory of that journey out of my mind. One of the people who didn’t survive was the only person I knew, a childhood friend named Autoro. Watching him die had been one of the worst ordeals I had ever endured. “Paco had just been born, and Julio said there was no way we’d let him grow up in crime-ravaged Hidalgo. We both had lost countless relatives to the drug cartel and the violence of the area. We were determined to come to America to give our children a better life. The journey was the worst experience of our lives. But we had heard the stories of this being the land of prosperity, and anything was better than where we were.”

  She scribbled on a notepad and turned the page as the cameraman continued filming.

  When I was done, I felt like I had purged years’ worth of secrets, since I had never talked about my journey to America.

  “I know I was wrong. But I had tried to come to America the right way. I finished school early. I tried to get a student visa, but I was denied. There was no work in Hidalgo. There was no opportunity. That was our driving force.”

  “And you were eighteen at the time?”

  I nodded.

  “And you’re how old now?”

  “Thirty-seven.”

  “Wow. So, you’ve been here for nineteen years?”

  “Yes,” I answered. “All I have tried to do is be a law-abiding citizen. I pay my taxes with the Social Security number because I didn’t want to feel like I was cheating the government. I’ve never had government benefits. I volunteer at my church.”

  “So, you’re the ideal candidate when we talk about welcoming people into our country,” Savannah said.

  “One would think so, but it seems all that matters is that I came in the wrong way.” My voice cracked at the harsh reality.

  She scribbled some more. “If you don’t mind”—she pointed to Rodney, who had picked his camera up with the tripod and moved behind us—“our photographer is going to get a couple of shots from other angles.”

  I nodded again and continued talking. Savannah spent another ten minutes talking to me and finally ended with, “Anna, what do you want?”

  I thought long and hard about that question. And the answer was the same as it had always been.

  “I want to come out the shadows. I want my own Social Security number. I want to be an American citizen. But now”—I lowered my head—“I don’t think that will ever be possible.” I swallowed the lump that built in my throat whenever I thought about this. “At least my children are American citizens, but my two youngest are seven and nine. The idea of being separated from them tears at my soul. But I’d do it. I’d give them up so that they can enjoy life in America,” I said with conviction.

  A slight mist covered both Savannah’s and Jerri’s eyes. “Well, we’re going to do what we can,” Savannah said with a catch in her voice. “I hate to have to ask you this,” she added, “but do you think we could talk with your children? That would add a whole element to personalizing your story.”

  “Yes, that will be fine,” I said. “You can call Rosa and she’ll arrange things.”

  “Great, we’ll do that as soon as we leave. I still have Rosa’s number.”

  “Thank you,” I told her, squeezing her hand. “You have no idea how much this means.”

  As the cameraman began wrapping up his equipment, Jerri moved closer to me.

  “Mrs. Rodríguez,” she said, “I am here today because at the Freedom Coalition, we are committed to helping immigration cases like yours.” She smiled. “We firmly live by the creed: when a foreigner resides in your land, do not mistreat them.”

  I returned her smile. “One of my favorites.”

  “With your blessing, I want to make several legislators and elected officials aware of your situation. Nothing would give me greater joy than to make yours one of our success stories. Nothing would give me greater joy than
to set your path straight.”

  He will make your paths straight.

  I hugged her as my answer.

  chapter

  * * *

  31

  I was a faithful woman, but right about now that faith was truly being tested. Forty-eight hours had passed and I was still in jail, or a detention center, or whatever you called this place. I didn’t care what the name was. All I knew was that I wasn’t at home. I knew my children had to be losing their minds. Thank God for Paco because despite all the grief that he had given me over the past few years, Alejandro, Maria, and Miguel loved him something crazy. So I was sure he was keeping them entertained and, hopefully, keeping their minds off my absence. Though that gave me some comfort, I was still ready to get out of here. Last night a fight had broken out between two women over a blanket, and after the officers separated them, I’d been unable to go back to sleep.

  Because I was so tired, I’d been dozing off and on. In fact, I had just dozed off when I heard someone yell, “Hey, isn’t that her?” My eyes opened to see several people staring at me, and then at the screen.

  “Hey, J.Lo, you’re on TV,” the three-timer said to me.

  We all jumped up, including me, and raced to the bars and peered through to the forty-two-inch screen mounted on the wall of the ICE office.

  All of the officers were tuned to the TV, where Savannah Graham had just finished saying something.

  “Turn it up,” somebody from the cell yelled.

  “Sit down and shut up,” one of the guards replied.

  “Come on, man,” the three-timer said. “That’s her.” She pointed at me. “Let her see herself.”

  The female officer who had let me use the phone walked over, picked up the remote, and turned the volume up.

  “. . . And so, Anna Rodríguez said all she wants is to build a better life than the one she was born into,” Savannah said.

  Then my face popped up on the screen again, and I couldn’t hear what words I said because the people in the cell started yelling.

  “Shut up so we can hear the TV,” someone standing next to me said.