Efren Divided

by Ernesto Cisneros

  Efrén couldn’t explain what had happened. When class finally ended, he gathered his things and started walking out, but sure enough Mr. Garrett called him over. Efrén walked back to the teacher’s desk, but Mr. Garrett didn’t say a word, just stood, waiting for the last student to exit.

  “Missed homework. Showing up late. Talking back. This lack of responsibility is so unlike you,” he finally said. “Is everything all right?”

  Efrén didn’t answer. The safest thing for him was to keep his head down and shut his eyes tight enough to keep the tears from escaping.

  Mr. Garrett’s voice softened. “We adults can be pretty nearsighted sometimes. We forget that kids can have problems too. I mean, you normally come to class, ready to learn. And your clothes—I’ve never seen you without perfectly creased lines before.”

  Efrén’s thoughts turned to Amá, and before he could pull his hand out of his pocket and wipe his face, a few tears managed to escape.

  “I know what it’s like to have one’s life turned upside down.” He turned to a frame on his desk, at a picture of his ex-wife and two kids. Then back at Efrén. “You, my friend, have that same look.”

  Efrén brushed his face with the fold of his sleeve and looked up at the photo. Mr. Garrett’s ex-wife had long, wavy hair, a honey-beige complexion, and caramel eyes . . . just like Amá.

  A Latina? He’d married a Latina!

  Did this mean he could now trust Mr. Garrett? After all, the last thing he wanted to do was put Apá in danger too. If he were arrested, the entire family would most likely be uprooted like some uninvited weed and discarded across the border.

  Mr. Garrett’s brow crinkled as he studied Efrén’s face. “Look, Efrén, you don’t have to tell me what’s going on with you, but you might want to consider telling someone you can trust.”

  Efrén’s eyes panned from Mr. Garrett and back to the photo of his ex-wife and two kids. A boy and girl. For Efrén, it was now or never. “My mom . . . she got deported.” The words seemed to escape alongside his rogue tears.

  Mr. Garrett sighed deeply. “I’m so sorry to hear that. What about your father?”

  “He’s trying to figure out how to bring her back.”

  Mr. Garrett took another deep breath. “Listen, I’m not saying it will be easy, but you need to leave this up to your father. You’re just a kid, and this is too much for you to place on your shoulders. Trust your father. Let him handle this, okay?”

  Efrén wanted to accept what his teacher had said, but thoughts of Max and Mía immediately filled his head. Who would protect them while Apá was trying to get Amá back?

  No. Efrén was the oldest. Amá’s being deported was his problem too. He would need to help out every way he could—no matter what.

  “Thank you, sir,” said Efrén.

  Mr. Garrett squeezed his eyes shut and sighed. “I just wish I could do more.”

  Efrén reached for the back of his neck and rubbed it. The worry. The pressure. They were wearing him down so much that he barely made it through math class. After solving Ms. Covey’s latest math brainteaser, he reached for the duct tape wallet Apá had made for him and pulled out the money he had left over from the food truck the night before.

  He patted his pocket, making sure he still had Amá’s laundromat money.

  The bell rang. Efrén joined the student stampede to the lunch line. He wasn’t hungry but knew he couldn’t afford to pass up a free meal, even if it was just a school lunch.

  To be fair, the food the school served wasn’t that bad, but it couldn’t compete with the lunches Amá used to make for him each day. The burrito he picked up, just beans and yellow cheese, was greasy and runny—and yet, the corners of the flour tortilla somehow managed to stay hard and cold.

  Efrén looked around at the side choices—the peanut butter crackers, string cheese packets, and celery sticks—and wondered which items Max and Mía would most likely eat. But what if the food is spoiled? Efrén couldn’t risk it and ended up going with the crackers and juice box.

  Then, instead of joining up with David and the rest of his friends, Efrén took a seat at the far corner of the cafeteria. He spent most of the break staring at the clock overhead and carefully reorganizing the stuff in his backpack.

  At 11:56 a.m., the afternoon supervisors took their positions along the stairway leading to the main floor. Lunch was about to end, and he needed to hurry. He scouted the area and headed toward an empty table.

  Efrén’s heart beat like a jackhammer. He knew that Amá’s laundromat money wouldn’t last long and needed to do something about it. Stealing food from school wasn’t only wrong—it was embarrassing!

  If any kids caught him, they’d never let him live it down. Regardless, Efrén knew what he needed to do. He unzipped his backpack and headed to the table closest to the main office. Kids didn’t like to hang out around there. He leaned up against the closest trash bin and grabbed some of the unopened bags of celery and crackers students had thoughtlessly tossed away. Quickly, he zipped his bag shut.

  “Hey, Efrén!” David called out as he ran over.

  Efrén almost leaped out of his pants as he hid his backpack behind him.

  “Where were you?” said David, as he walked over to him and extended his hand. Efrén reached over to him and the two did their usual dap, ending in a quick thumb-wrestling match.

  Efrén hoped David wouldn’t notice the trembling of his hands and voice. “Oh, just trying to come up with some new poster ideas . . . for your campaign.”

  “Yeah. I can’t believe Jennifer stole my ideas. Anyway, come check this out. Some dude online actually drank a glass of milk through his nose. I swear!”

  “Yeah, sure.”

  David grinned and rushed back to his table.

  Efrén dropped his head and sighed. How did things get this bad?

  Eight

  Later that night, the twins were busy turning over the mattresses and setting up a fortress while Efrén reheated the pizza over the comal, like Amá used to do. Only unlike her, Efrén used a pair of wooden tongs to turn each slice on the griddle. Because they were cold, the cheese did not stick.

  “You two better clean up the mess you make. Got it?”

  But Max and Mía were on their mattress, busy wrapping themselves inside the bedsheets.

  Efrén scooped up the last slices and placed them each on a plate. He licked a dribble of red sauce off his finger and turned to watch the little ones twisting around in their fort—happy and worry free.

  How much longer could he really keep them in the dark?

  “All right, little burritos,” he called, “go wash your hands and come eat.”

  Mía spun herself free and headed over to the counter. She stood on her tiptoes and peeked over. “What’s for dinner?”

  Efrén shrugged. “Grasshoppers and pasta, what else?”

  Mía shot him a clear “yeah, right” look.

  “Pizza. We’re having pepperoni and pineapple pizza. So go wash up!”

  Mía smiled and ran off, cheering.

  Efrén opened the top cupboards and reached for Amá’s favorite (and only) food platter. He then lined up the crackers and celery sticks he’d collected from school. “See, guys,” Efrén said, “it’s like a Sizzler buffet.”

  He’d have to pick up more supplies from school the next day or be forced to dig into the laundromat money for sure. Efrén looked down at the arrangement of food and felt shame over what he’d done. He tried pushing the feeling aside, tried reminding himself that taking food from the trash bin wasn’t really stealing.

  Oh, Amá. If only you—

  The phone rang. A cold chill replaced the shame. What if it was someone from ICE looking for Apá? What would he say? What if it was Apá? What if he was already in trouble?

  Efrén reached for the phone. “Hello?”

  A voice recording spoke: “Good evening, you have a collect phone call from”—Amá’s voice then slipped in—“María Elena Nava”—then cut b
ack to the recording. “Would you like to accept the charges?”

  Efrén’s heart raced. “YES. YES!”

  “You are now connected.”

  It was strange, Efrén thought, Amá always managed to be there when he needed her. “Amá?”

  “Sí, mijo. ¡Ay, cómo te extraño!”

  “I miss you too,” said Efrén.

  “¿Cómo están los gemelos?”

  “Max and Mía are both good.”

  “Is that Amá?” asked Max. Efrén turned around to discover the twins next to him, smiling from ear to ear.

  “Yes,” Efrén said, nodding. “Here, let me hit the speaker button.”

  “¡Hola, Amá!” hollered Max. “When are you coming home?”

  “Pronto, mijo. Te lo juro.”

  That was a promise Efrén wished she could keep.

  “¿Y tú, Mía?” asked Amá. “¿Estás ahí?”

  Only Mía didn’t answer when Amá asked for her.

  Efrén covered the phone. “It’s Amá. Say hi to her.”

  Mía crossed her arms and pursed her lips.

  Efrén removed his hand from the phone. “I’m sorry, Mía’s acting weird. You know how she gets.”

  “I’m mad at Amá!” she cried out. “For leaving us for so long.”

  “Mía!” Efrén shouted back.

  “No. Está bien.” Amá tried hiding her hurt. “Déjala. Es demasiado pequeña para entender.”

  She was right. Mía was too young to understand.

  “Mira, Efrén,” Amá added, “tell your Apá that I found a room. It’s not much, but the owner is willing to wait for payment. Tell him that I will need some money soon. Okay?”

  “Yes, Amá. I will.”

  “I have to go. I saw a help wanted poster at a drugstore nearby. My English didn’t help me much in the US. Maybe here in Mexico, things will be different. Adiós, mijos. ¡Los quiero mucho!”

  “We love you too. Right, guys?”

  Max held his arms wide to show just how much.

  “Adiós.”

  Efrén hadn’t even set the phone down when he felt a kick at his shin. He looked over at Mía, who was winding up for a second attack.

  “Why does Amá need to get a job? And why is she in Mexico?”

  Mía’s kick paled in comparison to the sting of her questions.

  Efrén sighed. This was more of an Apá question. However, with him away working all night . . . it became one more thing Efrén would have to do. “Okay, okay. I’ll tell you—the truth.”

  The meal was filled with firsts. It was the first time a warm slice of pizza ever sat untouched on Max’s plate.

  “So?” Mía asked, her eyes slightly squinted at her big brother.

  Efrén’s stomach cried out for a slice of pizza, but Mía was right. They needed to talk. “Okay. I’m sorry I didn’t tell you two the truth before. Twice. I was just trying to keep you from worrying.”

  “Why?” asked Mía. “Did something bad happen?”

  “Well, yeah. Amá got arrested.”

  Max’s eyes went wide. “Arrested? What did she do?”

  “No,” Efrén clarified, “not really arrested, deported.”

  Max turned to Mía. “What’s deported?”

  Efrén took a breath. “It means that she was taken away.”

  “Why?” Mía demanded. “Who took her?”

  “Immigration. ICE.”

  Mía shrugged.

  “La migra,” Efrén clarified. Finally, Mía seemed to understand.

  Max wasn’t so clear. “Did she do something wrong?”

  “No, she didn’t do anything wrong.”

  “Then why did they take her?”

  “Because . . . she doesn’t have permission to be here,” said Efrén.

  “Well, I give her permission.”

  “Yeah, me too,” added Mía.

  “No, not that kind of permission. She’s not in this country legally.”

  “Wait,” asked Mía, “so Amá did break a law?”

  “No. Well, kind of, I guess. I don’t know.”

  Max was more lost than ever. “So Amá’s a criminal. Is she a spy?”

  “No! Oh, geez.” Efrén took a moment to gather himself. He looked around the room and caught a glimpse of the Dr. Seuss book on the floor. “It’s kind of like that Sneetches story,” he explained. “Think of it this way: people in the United States have stars.”

  “‘Upon thars’?” Max added.

  “Yes, Maxie, ‘upon thars.’ And Amá, well, she doesn’t have any.”

  Mía slammed her fist on the table. “But that doesn’t matter. At the end of the book, nobody cares who has a star and who doesn’t.”

  “I know,” said Efrén. “I guess the world hasn’t gotten that far yet.”

  The rest of the meal was spent in silence. No one ate. Not even Max. Efrén collected the untouched slices and saved them in the fridge. He turned on the TV and searched for their favorite shows. But even then, no one spoke a word.

  Bedtime came a bit later than usual. Efrén’s attempt to read from The Sneetches and Other Stories simply fueled more questions and, of course, more tantrums. Efrén offered Mía her naked plush doll, but she tossed it to the side. “No,” she screamed. “I want Amá!”

  Efrén searched the book bin for anything that didn’t involve a mom character. In no time at all, he found an old favorite: Clifford the Big Red Dog.

  Max and Mía each tugged at the book. “Careful or you’ll tear it,” warned Efrén, taking the book and raising it high above his head. “I’ll read it to you . . . after you two get ready for bed.”

  Max leaped across the mattress and ducked under the sheets. Not Mía. She took her time.

  “¿Listos? asked Efrén.

  Both twins nodded.

  Page after page, Max and Mía followed along.

  “Again,” called Max after Efrén closed the book.

  Efrén pressed on his temples and rubbed his eyes. “Okay. One more time,” he said before starting over.

  “It wasn’t until Max’s head rested against Efrén—and Mía rested hers on him—that Efrén finally shut off the portable night-light.

  Carefully, he slipped out from under Max’s weight. He looked up at the clock, 9:35 p.m. Apá should have been home already. Efrén couldn’t remember ever worrying about him like this. Apá was strong and always took care of the family.

  Any time there was a strange noise outside, or the wail of sirens nearby, it was Apá who would get up to investigate. In Mexico, Apá had just made lieutenant in the police force before coming to the US, and often told Efrén stories about how he and his men took down some of the country’s most powerful criminals, real drug traficantes. So having Apá around was like having a superhero watching over the neighborhood, protecting it from hoodlums who might cause problems. Even in nothing but boxers and black socks, Apá looked tough and fearless. Efrén couldn’t imagine anyone wanting to mess with him.

  Until now.

  Standing up for his family in the neighborhood was one thing. Standing up against an entire country who wanted him gone was another.

  Efrén went over to the window and peeked in between two of the broken blind slats. There, under a flickering streetlight stood Rafa and his crew, tailgating behind a souped-up Honda Civic.

  Rafa wasn’t a big guy. But he was as cool as he was skinny—bony, really. He had a huge smile and plenty of friends, especially little ones. That’s because last summer, when the power went out and nobody had AC, he flagged over a paletero truck and bought every kid in the block ice cream.

  Still, Amá didn’t like him hanging out right outside their apartment.

  Apá didn’t like him at all. Said he attracted trouble.

  And that’s what Efrén feared when a black pickup truck approached with its high beams on. A few of Rafa’s guys stepped forward with their hands reaching behind them.

  Worried about what might happen next, Efrén held his breath. Fortunately, the shiny truck p
ulled alongside the guys and the driver lowered the windows, extending his hand to greet everyone. No doubt, he was part of the crew, there to show off his new ride. Efrén let out a breath and bent the slats back in place.

  One thing he’d learned from helping Amá in the laundromat was that raids were sometimes announced online. He might be able to find some answers there. He reached for his school Chromebook. The house Wi-Fi signal was slow and unreliable, but at least it was theirs. Other kids at school had figured out an app to override passwords and get free access from the neighborhood, but Amá had always insisted on paying for their own account. It was just the way she was wired.

  Not wanting to wake the twins up, Efrén took his internet browsing to the empty bathtub and did a search for ICE checkpoints in the area. Normally, reading in the tub was relaxing and fun. Not this time.

  Search after search, he found “official” sites swearing that ICE did not conduct random checkpoints. Yet, he also found cell phone footage of ICE pulling people out of their cars and homes too.

  Efrén chewed down on his fingernails. Any one of these men could easily be Apá. He clicked on another link. The screen immediately filled with headlines across the country. Images, articles, blogs, stories about undocumented immigrants—some positive, most not.

  He clicked on articles—sometimes videos—of people being taken from the workplace, hospitals, even homes. Talk of a giant new wall came up repeatedly.

  He could feel his insides begin to quake as his fear for Apá grew. Even with the extra hours, he shouldn’t be this late.

  Efrén was too tired, too unmotivated to do homework. He shut the computer and went back to bed, but instead of sleeping, he stared up at the textured ceiling. He followed the patterns until images began to form. At first, the images were simple, a set of eyes here, a smile there, but eventually the shapes became more elaborate.

  His eyes followed a curved line beside an old water stain. A picture of a continent soon emerged: it was North America, broken in half. He looked away for a second, but the image refused to disappear. Talk of “the wall” haunted him. He’d read a petition asking that the government strip citizenship from children of “illegal” immigrants, like Amá and Apá. His stomach twisted as he looked over at the front door, unsure if the police would one day come barging in to take them all away.