Page 104 of Something in Between

“Several years ago, there was a young man from Uganda who had birth defects to his heart that had never been repaired,” Congressman Blakely says. “He was a walking time bomb. Doctors said he could die anytime. How he lived to sixteen, no one knew. But there was nothing they could do. They didn’t have the expertise to treat him. The boy was in an orphanage and had no money to travel for health care. He was discovered by Doctors Without Borders. They referred him to one of the programs in the US that was training medical students at a university here. And so they treated him. He recovered.”

Mr. Blakely returns to his desk chair and motions for Royce and I to move to the chairs before him. He continues with his story. “Then guess what happened? Over the next few years, he took a bunch of college classes. He wanted to study medicine. Only, he needed to have residency in the US to enter the program. So, Representative Bill Turner from Wisconsin drafted a private bill. Included in that were letters from high-ranking officials from the university and the US government. The bill passed the House and the Senate. No problems. Then the president signed off on it. Just like that, the young man became a green-card holder and then a US citizen. In his case, the private bill only encompassed one man.”

I feel light-headed with hope. “So you’re saying one of these bills could work for my entire family? You would do that for us?” It’s mind-boggling to think it could be this easy, that just because I know Royce, my family could find ourselves moved to the front of the immigration line, the VIP pass to citizenship.

Mr. Blakely nods. “Exactly, Jasmine. We’d center the bill around you—an accomplished young student and her support system. What do you think?”

“I think it’s amazing,” I say. Wow. This is more than I expected. A private bill. Just for us. For my family. I exchange a hopeful glance with Royce. So this is what he meant when he said he could help me. He could make this happen, because of who his father is.

“It’s definitely worth a shot,” Royce says with a broad smile.

“I have to say, it sounds good on paper. But it will be tricky,” Mr. Blakely says. “First I have to talk to the judge who presided over the case, see if I can get him to have a change of heart and grant some kind of temporary visa for you all. We don’t want you to be deported while we’re trying to make this happen. That might simply result in another hearing, which means waiting all over again. It could be a lengthy process.”

“So she would have to wait for two things?” Royce says. “A hearing to see if she could stay temporarily, and then to see if the private bill passes?”

“Yes,” Congressman Blakely says. “In the meantime, there will be a lot of information to gather. I’ll have to call the judge. Letters have to be written. Then the bill will have to be drafted. We can try to fast-track this, but that might not work. It could still take six months to a year, and there are no guarantees it will pass. It’s an exceptional case. Then again, you and your family, Jasmine, are exceptional. We have to find a way to tug on the heartstrings of my fellow congressmen, senators, and the president. I’d say you have a good chance, but you’ve probably heard that before.”

“Thank you, Mr. Blakely,” I say. I can’t call him Colin, just like I can’t call his wife Debra. Not yet. Maybe one day. I’m floored that he’s helping us. I know it’s not for me, that he’s doing this for his son and because his wife asked him to help. He’s doing it for his family, and maybe that means Royce’s family really isn’t that different from mine.

“Wait a minute. Before you go...” Congressman Blakely lifts his hand to stop Royce and I from leaving the room. “I’d appreciate if you kept what I’m doing quiet, Jasmine. It is very much against my party line. If certain people find out, they could take advantage of your situation to hurt me. And that would do neither of us any favors.”

* * *

“Wow, your dad is a superhero. Your mom too,” I say to Royce as we walk hand in hand on the Santa Monica Pier after meeting with his father. The pier is one of Royce’s favorite places in LA. He says it reminds him of his childhood, so we go there often. We’re next to the balloon-popping game at the carnival.

This is the closest I’ve ever felt to him. Not only because he’s helping me but because his family knows me, the real me. They know me and want to help me.

“I told you they could help,” he says simply.

“Thank you,” I say. “I’ll never be able to thank you guys enough.”

“There’s no need to thank me. I’m doing it for myself, you know. I’m very selfish,” he jokes. “And you know I don’t have any other friends.”

I still can’t believe it. Just one meeting with his father and all our problems have vanished. It’s magic.

“Look at you lovers,” one of the carnies says. He holds up a black teddy bear cradling a heart. “Why don’t you do the girl a favor and win her something she’ll never forget?”

Royce looks at me. “Think I have good enough aim?”

“I don’t know,” I say. “I kind of want to go tell my parents the good news.”

“Live a little,” the carnie says. “No one has all the time in the world. Your time for winning is now.”

“He’s a good salesman, don’t you think?” Royce says.

“Not good enough,” I say. I don’t feel like playing games right now.

“Sorry, buddy,” Royce says to the man.

We continue walking down the boardwalk. The breeze is cool and soft on my skin. Everywhere there are kids chasing each other around, laughing at the games. Several seagulls hover overhead. One lands on a railing. The Ferris wheel turns close by. A few kids scream from their seats as the ride rotates.

Royce had offered to help with my situation from the beginning, and I kept turning away his help. I thought I was being practical, that I didn’t want to burden him with my problems when really I was too proud to accept his help. Too self-absorbed to accept his love, because love means letting other people love you too.

While I’m happy for myself, I think about the many millions of people in my situation who don’t have the same resources, the same connections, and don’t have a voice in the system.There, but for the grace of God go I. I’d never really understood what that meant before, but I do now. What if we were locked away in a detention center for years? How would my brothers grow up? What would I be like when I got out? Would my parents’ hair be gray?

I’d been thinking about what I want to do with my life, in case everything worked out, and now I think I know. I want to help these people in some way, to be an advocate for those who don’t have one.

“You okay?” he asks, putting an arm around my shoulder.

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