Page 58 of Something in Between

“I saved the best for last. Royce has no idea I’m undocumented.” I don’t like the termillegal; it feels too much like a brand, like a pejorative, like a sneer, whereasundocumentedjust states the fact of our situation without prejudice.

She gets up from the table. For a second, I’m afraid she doesn’t want to talk to me anymore.

“Where’re you going?” I say. “Don’t leave.”

“I’m not leaving,” she says. “I’m buying more doughnuts.”

18

You can waste your lives drawing lines. Or you can live your life crossing them.

—SHONDA RHIMES

KAYLA TOLD MEyesterday that I shouldn’t be embarrassed by our legal situation, that I should tell more people what’s going on with me. There’s no shame in what happened, it wasn’t my fault, and I should let people know so that they can support me, at least. She says I owe Royce the truth as well. I know she’s right about everything, but I’m not ready to deal with him just yet.

But being with her reminds me that I do have friends who care about me, and that I haven’t asked for any help, even from those who’ve offered it.

I pick up my phone and scroll through my contacts.

Because there is someone I can call. Someone who might be able to help with one thing.

I dial Millie’s number. After a few rings, she answers the phone. She’s excited to hear from me. “Jasmine! I was starting to think you weren’t going to call.” I can hear Millie shake ice in a glass and picture her sitting there, drinking her scotch.

I feel a burst of happiness at hearing her raspy voice again. I’ve missed my friend and I tell her so. “I’m sorry. Things here—”

Before I can finish my sentence, Isko flings open my door and runs inside the room, then slams the door behind him. Panting, he attempts to hold it shut while Danny pushes on the other side.

I pull the phone away from my mouth. “Ack!Get out of here! I’m on the phone...”

Danny finally succeeds in pushing the door open and pulling Isko out into the hallway. As they wrestle with each other, I get up and slam the door.

“I’m so sorry, Millie. My little brothers are being super annoying.”

Millie laughs.

I tell her about my trip to D.C., and I thank her for encouraging me to go. We talk about the defeat of the immigration reform bill. She tells me she’s so sorry it didn’t pass—she knows how much I was counting on it.

“I can’t even turn on Facebook,” I say. “I hate seeing all the political rants and people hating on families like mine. If people only knew that people they talk to every day are probably illegal immigrants...” I pause, considering my sentence. “Maybe they would be nicer. Or maybe not. Maybe they really think we don’t belong here.”

“Maybe you should tell them the truth of your situation,” she says. “Don’t be afraid. Maybe when they see it happening to someone they know, they’ll have a change of heart.”

I shake my head. “I don’t know.”

“What about your friends at least? Have you told them? I think you should. If you give them a chance, I think people will surprise you with their kindness.”

How can Millie believe in the goodness of people when so many spend so much time hating on each other? She comes from a different time. The news used to be more balanced. People couldn’t just get on social media and say whatever’s on their mind without looking people in the face. Although it’s an easy way of telling where people stand, I guess.

“I’m just not ready to tell everyone about it,” I say. “I know my family isn’t. My little brothers don’t even understand what’s going on. They’re in denial most of all. All of their identity is as Americans. To think of themselves as anything else is alien to them.”

“Your brothers may not understand for years,” she says. “Listen, your story is incredibly moving. It will inspire others if you share it. I was listening to a report last night on the News Hour about the difference between those who have been undocumented immigrants and those who have not. Who’s more compassionate on average? Those who have been undocumented, they said. Who experiences more joy in life? The undocumented. Who is better at establishing community? The undocumented. They band together. They support each other.”

“You know that, Millie, but other people don’t—they think undocumented immigrants are criminals and liars. That they’re the leeches of the American economy.”

I hear the clink of Millie setting down her glass. “Show them, then,” she says defiantly. “Show them the truth of who you—and your family—really are. Shine light on their ignorance.”

I think about Millie’s words. How can I get the word out? Identifying ourselves could put us at risk.

“I just feel like I’m in a kind of limbo,” I say. “Mom is contacting immigration lawyers to see what our options are, but more and more it looks like we’re going to either have to hide our status, which will change our whole lives and limit what we can and can’t do. Or we have to risk being deported to try to get documentation.”

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