His past and his future

H sat on the stone ledge of the fireplace in my living room laughing at the dog jumping up and down in front of him. He always has a smile on his face.

It was a week before Christmas. To his right, the Christmas tree emitted a soft glow, adorned with ornaments and twinkle lights. Presents lay neatly stacked underneath. To his left, my parents sat on the couch. I sat in my grandmother’s antique rocking chair facing him. He began to tell us what was going on in his life, mindlessly petting the top of the dog’s head.

We sipped eggnog and listened.

***

When H turned 21 on November 15, 2006, his world flipped topsy-turvy.

“After my 21st birthday, I became illegal. They make it complicated when it’s something very simple,” he said.

He was born in Mexico, and came to the states when he was a child. As a minor, his future was protected. But becoming an illegal adult got in the way of that future.

H attended Greensboro College in Greensboro, N.C. for 1 year. It was the only college he applied to. He received two small scholarships, one from the college and one from the Hispanic league, and a state grant.

But after the first year, it was apparent that H would not be able to afford tuition for the next three years, and so he was forced to leave school because of his expenses.

“It covered a third of my tuition, but since I didn’t have my paperwork for my green card in place I had to pay the rest out of pocket-- $8,000 more or less. I can only go to private schools because they don’t have to deal with immigration, but they don’t give a lot of financial aid,” he said.

In 1996, a federal law was passed barring illegal aliens from receiving in-state tuition rates at public institutions of higher education according to FinAid.

The law states, “Notwithstanding any other provision of law, an alien who is not lawfully present in the United States shall not be eligible on the basis of residence within a State (or a political subdivision) for any postsecondary education benefit unless a citizen or national of the United States is eligible for such a benefit (in no less an amount, duration, and scope) without regard to whether the citizen or national is such a resident.”



North Carolina is one of the most restrictive states when it comes to immigration laws.

According to USA Today, in May, 2008, “North Carolina's community colleges ordered its 58 campuses to stop enrolling undocumented students after the state attorney general said admitting them may violate federal law.”

***

H stood at the taped line three feet in front of the red, white and green dart board on the dingy bar wall in the upstairs room of the bar. He shuffled his feet for a more comfortable stance.

He casually lifted his right arm and lined the dart level with his eyes. He squinted, pursed his mouth, aimed, and threw it. It landed on the board with a thud. H sauntered over to the chalk board to tally up his points.

He walked back to the table where his beer was sitting, picked the frosted glass up, and took a swig while I walked up to the line with my set of darts. He started to tell me the story of how he came to the states.

***

H was born in Michoacan, Mexico in a town called Buena Vista on November 15, 1985. He lived in a four-room house. His family owned a plot of land around the house where his mother had three rose gardens. They had guava trees, lime trees, papaya trees, and a mango tree in the yard. They owned cattle and horses. A maid took him to school.

H went to Catholic school in Mexico. “I got in trouble for talking a lot in school. The punishment was a pair of donkey ears—which meant the wearer was a dumbass. I had to wear them sometimes.”

H’s father was in North Carolina working for a year to make some extra money because private school was very expensive and public school was not safe.

“Kids in the public schools were getting kidnapped, so my mom decided to bring us to the states,” he said.

***

We moved downstairs to the pool table. I stood at the corner with my beer in one hand and the pool stick in the other. H circled the table, focusing on his next move. He called it, “Eight ball. Corner pocket.” He leaned over, aimed the wooden stick at the cue ball, and struck. The eight ball sunk into the pocket with a resounding thud. He looked up at me, winked, smiled, took a sip of his beer, and continued his story.

***

H, his mother, sisters and brother drove from the southern pacific coast of Mexico up to Tijuana. His uncle, who lives in California, drove his sisters and brother across the border.

“My brother and sisters crossed the border in a car with my uncle because the border police thought they were white and let them through,” H said.

H has a fair complexion, but his hair is jet black, and his mother worried he would be in more danger of getting caught. So she took him with her to cross the desert on foot.

“We call the guys who take us across the border coyotes. You pay them $3,000. You have to do it at night or you’ll get caught. We walked at least 8 hours the first night,” he said, “You trust the coyotes with your life because that’s the only way to do it.”

H said that when they heard planes over head the coyotes told them to hide in the bushes, but when he heard the drone of the engine, he stood in shock looking up. He got them caught.

He said, “They took us to jail. We stayed there for a day. They let me stay with my mom in the women’s jail because I was too young to go to the men’s.”

The next day, they tried a second time. This time they crossed a bridge over a river.

“We were supposed to wait until no cars were around and then run across the bridge to the other side and hide. My mom jumped over, sprained her ankle and rolled down the bank almost into the river. I started yelling. It was just scary,” he said.

After walking all night, they stopped under some pine trees where they found sodas hidden in the branches. They were told at this point to wait on a grey car to come pick them up. When they got in the car they laid down flat in the backseat so that the police couldn’t see all of their heads.

They were dropped off at an abandoned house where a tractor trailer picked them up and the group of twelve was forced to pack into the cab. H, being the smallest, was on the bottom.

“It was hot, and I felt like my legs were going to fall off from all the weight. We were then moved to the back of the truck and it stunk. A lady splashed my face with water. I had a major headache after the truck ride,” he said.

The truck dropped them off at a ranch where an American family was waiting to help the immigrants out. “When we got out of the truck, I ran to the kitchen because I was dying of hunger. I hadn’t had anything all day except soda and grape fruit,” he said.

A few days later, they met H’s uncle and siblings. They drove to Washington, and then to Chicago, where his uncle dropped them off without any papers at the bus station. From there, they took the greyhound to North Carolina. The whole process took a month and a half.

When they arrived in North Carolina, they got a hotel room. They stayed there for a week and then got a two bedroom apartment for six people, where they lived for two years. After that they rented a larger apartment for a year, and then moved into the small house they have lived in since.

“I was actually well off in Mexico, compared to here where we started at zero,” he said, “We just dealt with. You adjust to it. We were little. When you are a young person you just sort of deal.”

***

He’s always talkative and friendly. He’s a smooth dance partner; the kind that leads strongly and knows all the tricks to twirling a girl across the floor. He always pays the tab when he’s quick enough to grab it before I do. He always calls back if he doesn’t answer the phone at first. He says he never forgets a face, and when he walks into a place, he usually knows someone there.

***

When H first moved to North Carolina, he was very shy.

“I would not say anything. I would watch cartoons. I didn’t know anybody when I got to school,” he said.

But the more he learned how to speak English, the more outgoing he became. Eventually, he was fluent. This did not help him fit in with the other Spanish kids in school, though.

“My freshman year the Hispanic kids didn’t really want to talk to me because they thought I was stuck up. Normally if you are light skinned you are well off. In Mexico we weren’t rich but we had money. They thought I was white for the longest time.”

But a year later he became involved in the Hispanic club at his high school. He said, “Some of my close friends now didn’t like me at first, but sophomore year I joined the Hispanic international club and started to make Hispanic friends.”

***

H’s resonant voice sounded tired over the phone. He was watching his brothers while his mother was cooking dinner. It was his day off. While the twins were screaming two-year-old gibberish in the background, his voice became strained as he was telling me what he wanted to do with his life. I heard clicking and rustling as he balanced the phone on his shoulder and separated his brothers. His voice immediately became soft and gentle when he spoke to them.

After calming them down, things were quiet in the background. He was talking to me again. “Where were we?” he said. “Where you were headed,” I replied.

***

After he stopped making payments to Greensboro College, they sent his bill to collections. In order to get school credit and to be able to go back to school, he needs to pay off his debt first. But since he left GC, his mother has had twins whom he helps support. He also has a car payment, so he hasn’t been able to make payments until recently.

H works in a Mexican restaurant in the Triad area.

“That’s the reason I’m working—to pay off the first year of college,” he said.

Paying off his debt will take another year and a half.

His next step is to go back to school, but, in addition to paying his debt, he has to wait on one of two things. He is either waiting for his papers to finally be processed or on the DREAM Act, which, if passed, will give him the opportunity to earn conditional permanent residency. If neither of these happens, than he plans on seeking an education in Canada.

“It’s easier for me to become a Canadian citizen. It would be faster. I’ve looked at New Brunswick College, which would only cost me $2000 per semester. I can afford that. It’s still an option. I’m going to give it one more year, but if nothing happens, then Canada it is,” he said.

And so, at least for another year, H’s future lies in the hands of the United States government.