Deporting the silence

Chapter 1

       She gripped her mom's hand harder as they walked through the doors of the imposing gray building. Her mom had promised her they'd never have to come here again, but she had to. Camila wasn't scared when she walked inside, she was irritated. She hated how well she remembered this place. The guards making small talk, the angry relatives demanding to see their loved ones, the beep of the metal detector, the tap of shoe heels, screams you never knew what direction they were coming from, and her mother's same speech rang into her ears. "Remember, no physical touch," She repeated. Camila could recite that speech 1,000 times. She had every "no" down. There was no touch, no whispering, no screaming, no disrespect to the officers, no food, no talking to anyone but him, and no doing anything. She sat down at the green table, unlucky enough to get the one with a busted wheel that squeaked at every tiny move. Then she saw him. She thought she knew his appearance well, but this time she barely did. The once big, muscular man she knew had turned into a tall, scrawny prisoner. His tough face had become small. His confidence had been drowned and then replaced with a panicky, sweaty mess. He was nothing but skin, bones, and fear. His nails had been bitten to a bud, his cuticles bleeding. His already natural eyebags had sunk into black holes, and his pale skin reflected off the bright lights. Camila stared in disbelief. What happened to the man she'd know all her life? "Hi dad," she smiled, hoping to cease the loud silence. He sat down, gave her a faint smile, and rubbed his neck, looking around at the families at other tables. She sniffled, waiting for him to say something back "Hello Ramon," her mother said, and that time he did respond.
        "It's nice to see you Maria," He rubbed his neck again, "You too Camila." The voices of the families around her suddenly shrunk into nothing. All Camila could hear was 6 years ago.   

"You know they had to take daddy away, right?" Her mom stood beside the dining table, dishing out butter noodles, and patted her head. At the time everything was loud to Camila, too loud. The raccoons outside in the trash, the neighbors' loud music upstairs, her uncle snoring on the couch, the sizzle of the pan on the stove, and the squeak of the table. Then everything went quiet. No raccoons, no neighbors, no uncle, no sizzle, and no squeak. But worse of all, no dad. He wasn't sitting across from her, making his stupid jokes that she always giggled at. Instead was in prison, maybe sleeping, or maybe getting into a fight. Camila didn't cry when the judge said her dad was a murderer, she refused to hear him. She refused to hear anything. She made everything go quiet. Afterall, what else can an eight year old do? Throw a tantrum and beg for them to let her have her daddy? No, all they can do is stay quiet and hear quiet. So that's what she did.

"So, Camila," Her dad began, bringing all the noise back to her, "How have you been doing, what's new?" "I'm okay," she replied back, "I have a cat now." "Well that's nice," Her dad looked over at her mom, giving her an angry look. He knew Camila was allergic to cats, and he knew that her mom knew, too. No wonder Camila had been sniffling, cat hair had been attacking her immune system for who knows how long.  Maria looked at her shoes, scratching her neck. "Why are you so skinny?" Maria changed the subject. She'd already been wondering since she walked in, and even so she hated confrontation. "I haven't eaten in a while," he confessed, rubbing his neck again. When he put his hand down, Camila spotted a large, dark brown spot on his neck. "What's that from?" She nervously pointed at the spot.
"I was burned," he replied. "How?" she was worried "I-" He began speaking but the door opened, and a tall, creepy man walked out.
"I need the Ontiveros family to come with me," he called out. Camila and her mom walked out, while a guard led her father behind them.
       
         They walked into a conference room, and inside was only them, the guard, and a man in an ugly brown corduroy suit that sat at the opposite side of them. Camila was disgusted. She knew it wasn't the time for it, but she couldn't help but judge this man. She hated everything about him. She hated his suit, his bulky glasses, his hairy arms, his ragged tooth, the way his voice sounded, and she especially hated what he had to say.
"Nice to meet you, my name is Travis Leo," he explained, "I'll just tell all of you straight." Camila shifted in her seat. If he's going to tell her straight, then why is he taking so long to say it?
"Mr. Ontiveros is being deported," he finally spitted out.
"What?" Camila yelled. She wanted to argue, but the look her mother shot her made her shut up quickly. Camila already hated not being allowed to see her dad everyday, but the idea of him being gone permanently made her stomach start to rumble. "Why did you have to announce this infront of my daughter?" Her dad was furious.
"I thought it would have been best for me to tell both your wife and daughter at once," he explained. Normally, people in Travis's situation would be scared of her father, growing nervous, anxiously trying to keep him calm. But his new look didn't scare anyone, it just made him small. Camila was very conflicted. She didn't know what to think. "Well," her mother interrupted awkward silence, "I believe it's time to go home now. You have to get started on your big project for next week." Camila didn't care about some stupid project. She didn't have time to care. All she wanted to do was figure out what happened to her father in this prison, and how she could keep him from leaving the country.