Cruzando El Puente

Cuando era chiquita I’d say I was going to the U.S. to visit my grandparents. Cuando cruce El Puente holding the hands of los niños de la amiga de mi mom, I said I was just picking up my primos from our grandma’s house y que íbamos pa’ la casa. Last month, August 28th, 2022, I said I was headed to school in Vermont. I remember the times when my mom would make us practice what we had to say cuando nos hacían preguntas about our going to the U.S. I was always nervous, without cause of course, no nos podían hacer nada; yet, the fear stayed, and to this day, I’m afraid that if I say the wrong thing, I’ll never see my family again. What I actually wanted to say cuando cruzaba al otro lado era que we were headed home to my mom; this, of course, would lead to a bottomless pit of questions and the scary d-word.

The Interrogation

1. ¿de donde vienen? Where did you come from?

After being in line for an hour and a half surrounded by other Texas cars y vendedores selling things that range from the trendiest toys and songs to la comida mas rica del mundo mundial, we finally arrive at the first point of the security boxes. We stop around a car’s distance waiting for the car in front of us to finish its questioning, and as we wait we pull out our ID cards to a blind camera, que nunca sirve para nada.

As we pull up, my heart begins to pound and I begin to take deep breaths, not too deep otherwise the officers may ask que que tengo. I guess there's not much to be nervous about except the possibility of being searched, questioned for hours on the hot Mexican weather which doesn’t go lower than 80 degrees and hasn’t reached 150 because the only thing that is allowed to be hot is our salsas, and why should I be nervous about the possibility of my family being hunted down and dragged across the border for living in a country that was built on stolen land; and so, there’s nothing to be nervous about. I lied about the first question directed to me when I arrive at the officer’s box, a booth so tiny it’s no wonder why I find them in such a bad mood sometimes; once we arrive, we are asked to show any form of identification, a seemingly innocent question that’s used to determine the kind of questions you’ll get asked. My answer has always been that I came from Nuevo Laredo, literally the city I’m standing on. There really isn’t some sort of hidden answer I’m trying to avoid, still, two teenage gringos driving two hours to a city filled with cartels trying to get their business abroad may not be something these officers are going to dismiss too soon.

2. What was the reason for your visit?

Here’s when things get a little tricky. My brother has tried to calm me down about the officers’ questions, “They’re just buying time as they check on our IDs, bruh, they don’t care about our answers too much”. His attempts to comfort me are no use, because nothing can take away the fear of being caught in a lie.

– A ver, cuando lleguen al puente y les pregunten qué hacían aquí, ¿que van a decir?

We just came from visiting my grandma, is the rehearsed answer that I’ve told countless times, to countless officers asking the same outdated question. I hated saying this. Not only was I lying to someone who had the authority to put me in jail, I was also erasing my dad. I died a little inside every time I had to answer because I so badly wanted to say that I had a father. I wasn’t an addition to the 15.6 million children without fathers; he was in Mexico, alive and part of my life. I never had the chance to say any of this, all I did was repeat the sentence that my mom had taught for years and made me repeat over and over: I was in Mexico just visiting my grandma.

3. Where are you headed?

The follow up question to this one would usually be: any family there? This one, however, did not always get asked. In order to not trip over your words or say something you might regret, for example ‘I’m going with my mom’, I was taught to answer as follows: I am going to San Antonio with my grandma, with whom I live. Before 2008 I would go to Texas to visit my grandparents and spend the holidays with them. Afterwards, when we moved permanently to Texas, this answer became a lie. Similarly to my dad’s case, everytime I lied about why I was returning to the U.S. I felt a little part of me die when I would cover up my mom’s existence. I was burying my parents alive and erasing them from my life, I became a part of the 3.08 million children living with their grandparents. I made myself an orphan in order to protect my mom from getting in trouble.

This is what happens when you tell the truth

This is what happens when I tell the truth: I drove two hours to Mexico in order to spend with my dad who I only get to see 5 hours once a month if I’m lucky, then I drive another 2 hours in an extremely dark highway helping my sleep deprived brother see the lines that have eroded with the years. Why is my dad in Mexico? Because he has a business that keeps a roof over my head and provides the money I need when my school asks me to pay for something I am not able to afford. Where is my mom? She is living her best life surviving in a country that wants to get rid of her because she doesn’t have the correct skin color nor the right documents to live there, without taking into account that the business she’s opened is helping the government thrive off her hard work.

I then get asked to take the other lane, the one that leads to the officers with their camouniforms and their dogs ready to sniff out any dangerous object we might be carrying with us. I will then be asked to step out of the vehicle and enter the windowless building where an ICE officer will be waiting to ask about my mother’s legal status in the United States of America, a country with its nose so high it forget the hard work immigrants of all colors put in to make everything work. I will then be questioned about the rest of my family, and there will be no need for me to tell them where I live because they have my State Issued Identification Card where my address is given. After this, my family and I will have two weeks left to spend together and find a lawyer before they get removed from their homes and taken back to their country, where their chances of survival will decline. My brother and I will be left alone, I’d have to leave school to take care of us, maybe my little cousins who were born in this country, and the chances of fixing my mom will be much lower.

When someone like me turns 21, we celebrate by asking the government permission to make our parents U.S. Residents and one day, Citizens; so I don’t tell the truth, I rehearse my answers, I take deep breaths, and I smile, keeping in mind that soon I’ll be able to tell the truth about where I came from and where I’m headed.

Artist Statement— I wrote this piece during my 5th semester describing my experience coming from Mexico. I wanted to portray the difficulty and ease I as an American citizen have while crossing the border, but also the struggles of having immigrant family members. My goal is to portray the vulnerability and insecurity of immigrant children when we are face-to-face with law enforcement.

Hazel—a junior at Bennington studies Translation and Interpretation of languages.