Chapter 11

After what seems like days, I finally get called to leave the cell. Whenever someone gets called they don’t come back. Maybe we’re let go. I did sign those stupid papers.

I’m told to walk along the line again, even though it’s just me and a guard. We stop at a window with a small opening at the bottom. I the woman behind the glass my name, and she looks at me hard. My name does not amuse her, which I pick up on right away, because it usually amuses everyone else. She nods slowly, and opens up an envelope with my name on it. I feel like a convicted criminal, even though I haven’t done anything wrong.

She hands me my watch, wallet, jacket, and wedding picture of my parents.

“You think you’re pretty funny, huh?”

“No.”

“Well we got a way of dealing with smart-asses like you.”

“I’m not trying to make trouble, honest.” I get a feeling this isn’t a good time to start telling them I’m an American citizen.

She writes something down on a piece of paper and a buzzer goes off. “I’m done with this one. Have a nice trip. Next!“ A door opens and I am led into yet another cell. How many cells does this place have?

Have a nice trip? What did that mean?

 

 

Finally, after an eternity, a guard comes to let me out.

“Okay, we have something special for you today.”

“What? Special? What does that mean?”

“Special, as in, not ordinary, set apart. You should really learn the language if you’re going to try to live here, amigo. The judge has signed your papers, and your plane is waiting. Lets go.”

“Plane?”

I stand up and he grabs my wrists and spins me around. He puts the plastic handcuffs on me again. I hate them—they cut into my arms.

He walks me down a hallway, then out a door where I’m blinded by the sudden shock of real light—sunlight. I’m led to some kind of wagon or van that’s waiting for me, and without any warning, I’m shoved inside, landing on my face. I see a bunch of little white lights swirling and diving in front of my eyes.

“Hasta la vista, baby!” I look back over at him and see a wicked grin before the door slams shut. Where am I going? I thought they were going to let me go!

Mike J Quinn About Mike J Quinn
%d bloggers like this: