OFF THE RECORD (First Person)

9. Rock bottom

January 2004
Omar
It was twelve at night, with the wind blowing heavily, and yet, I was sweating on my way back home. It was the latest I had been out in the streets. I was sure my younger sister would be worried. I tried to fasten my steps, but at the same time I didn't want to call any attention. If just the fact that I was out so late was suspicious.

I swore to myself I wouldn't do this type of jobs once and for all. They were not worth it. I was already risking being kicked out of the country any day. I wasn't going to give them more reasons to take me away from my sister.

"Why are you so late? I thought something had happened to you!" Scolded me Erica as she opened the front door before I could pull out my keys.

"I worked extra hours. There was a ton of stuff to do." I lied, convincingly.

"Well, can you call me next time? I was about to go to the laundromat to look for you!" She insisted.

I shook my head. "I know, I'm sorry."

I took off my shoes outside. I sent Erica to sleep. It was late, and we had school the next day. I did the daily rundown around the house, making sure our father wouldn't appear out of nowhere. I locked the doors and windows.

I went to shower, thinking about what I had just done.

A couple of days ago, some guy had stopped me on my walk home. I had seen him a few times, in the lot next to the laundromat, with a white grand marquis car, exploding of rap music to the top of the bass.

That day, he reached me, offering a job. It was something simple, just dropping off a couple of packages on my daily commute. I would earn the same amount I did on a day of washing and folding clothes in the laundromat where I had been working for a month now.

The good thing was I had made the month's rent. On the other hand, I didn't think I would be able to handle the pressure of watching my back even more now. I didn't know the people who had received their orders from me, but now I was even more wary of our neighborhood. Besides, the neighbors would recognize me as a little dealer.

No.

If I was to do that kind of job, it was best to return to Monterrey, where me and Erica had been born and raised. We did not have to go back to our mother's house, but at least I wouldn't worry about leaving my sister by herself in an unknown country with no help to get by. I had thought about returning, more times than I had shared it with her. But Erica refused entirely. Our mother had broken her heart. She didn't want to have anything to do with her past.

Our father had received us, with open arms, after swearing he had recovered from his addiction for the last couple of months. On the fact that our mother had brought us here with just a luggage full of clothes, explaining to us that she couldn't be responsible for too many kids, and that it was our father's turn to take care of us, this was our new reality.

At first, it was hard to be away from our mother and our two small half-brothers, especially for Erica. She didn't think she was a bother. On the contrary, she tried to help our mother as much as she could with the babies.

But then, Mr. Alvarez enrolled us to the nearby elementary school, and he taught us how to get food when he was working. He taught us how to move around without calling attention because if the wrong people found out we were not in the country legally, they could lock us up or return us to Mexico, separately.

Everything was different from our old home, but there were so many good things on this side of the river that we didn't mind adapting.

One day, two months after we had arrived, Mr. Alvarez didn't come back home. Three days went by, and I decided to look for him around the neighborhood. Before I gave up, I found him in a bar, drunk out of his mind. Mr. Alvarez was about to introduce me to the men around, when I bolted out of there, furious.