Eloísa Pérez-Lozano

"Hands up, don't move!" the agents bark, startling the owner as they burst inside. They surround him like a pack of wolves in dark blue. Bodies taut with tension, fangs bared, guns raised. Hector holds his breath, a broom handle in his hands, shaking and hiding in the closet. They're hunting him; the 7-11 on Broadway was targeted last week and a classmate of his was deported back to Honduras, a country he last saw when he was two years old. It was only a matter of time.

He pictures his mother, her eyes drifting shut as she sits on the sofa, tired from working two shifts. His sister's gap-toothed smile flashes through his mind, thrilled by the Tooth Fairy’s visit just last night. He reaches for a memory of his dad, but all he sees is a brown face looking back from the driver’s side of a discolored, rusting Ford F150, driving out of his life.

He nudges the door open and bolts to the beckoning back door, but freedom fades away as he trips headfirst into the pavement. He feels a hand grip each shoulder from behind as he falls into darkness.

***

He wakes up in a hospital bed, head pounding with his wrists and ankles in handcuffs, shackled to the rails. An ICE agent stands guard right beside the door. When he flicks his wristwatch up to read its face, another agent walks in as if on cue, closing the door behind him. They briefly exchange whispers before switching shifts and the departing agent throws a smug glance at Hector before disappearing into the hallway, knowing the future that awaits him outside the U.S. 

Hector winces, squeezing his eyes shut as another wave of pain pulses through his head. The new agent cocks his ear towards the door, listening to make sure the footsteps have faded. Once they are alone, he rushes towards Hector and kneels beside him, his body taught with tension. “A new life for you, hermano,” he urges as he opens a small vial and offers it to him. Like a hummingbird hovering over honey, Hector hesitates before snatching and swallowing the green elixir.

Hope glides down his throat and his eyelids flutter closed as the monitors attached to him emit a final, unending note.

***

His eyes snap open and he sits up sharply from a smooth black table, looking around at an empty room. A lone fluorescent light shines down on him from above as a crackly voice breaks the silence.

"Your name is Daniel Ramos. Hector Salinas is no more. Walk through the door and pick up your new documents."

The disembodied baritone timber triggers childhood memories of hearty laughter and Spanish lullabies sung before bed.

Suddenly, he gasps, a lone tear escaping down his cheek as he remembers brown eyes crinkling, a smile that quelled all fears.

"Gracias, Papá," Daniel whispers as he turns the doorknob. Silence. A long sigh. 

"De nada, m’ijo." The voice cracks as Daniel walks through to a new future of his own making.