Y o u t h i m m i g r a t i o n c e n t e r
Out of spite—Santiago was sure of it—they k ept him in the waiting room
longer than anyone else. Even another new boy was brought in and called
immediately.
That’s what he got for spending an hour screaming for Alegría after she was
taken away. He stopped only when his throat became so raw, he could no longer
make a sound. He even dared to look through the foreboding window but only
saw a corridor. When he tested the door handle, it turned but didn’t open.
Finally, exhausted, he hugged his knees to his chest and rocked back and forth
on the folding chair, wide eyes staring at the door that took people away but
didn’t bring them back.
Another guard changed places with the awful, burly one. Exc ept this one
smelled of roasted meat and seasoned vegetables. Santiago’s stomach rumbled as
he drank more water to sti e the hunger. Honestly, he didn’t know which guard
he hated more.
It felt like days before Santiago nally heard his name called. He jumped to
his feet and rushed to the door. Alegría must be so worried. But he’d be with her
soon. He’d make sure she never had to worry again.
His escort couldn’t have been much older than himself, with a face full of
pimples and a head of greasy, black hair. He led Santiago down the corridor and
opened a door to a shower room.
“Take o all your clothes and make sure to wash every single part of your
body—hair, armpits, privates, feet. There’s soap on the wall.” His Spanish
sounded Mexican, and Santiago couldn’t help feeling betrayed: This guard was
turning his back on his own people by working in this facility.
A curtain o ered some privacy, but the guard’s looming presence behind it
did nothing to reassure Santiago. Still, he did as he was told, the t epid water
stinging his sunburned esh. Dirt encrusted his scalp, and even with his very
short hair, it took two scrubbing sessions for the water from his head to run
clean. While he washed the rest of his body, the contrast between his arm and his
stomach shocked him—almost black compared to the light brown it should be.
He shut the water o quickly, not wanting to see more.
The guard handed him a towel and a pair of ip- ops. Santiago’s clothes and
shoes had magically disappeared. A sinking feeling suggested he’d never see them
again. The last link to María Dolores, gone.
Still dripping, he was directed into a room with an ominous-looking chair.
Strange machines hummed and blinked as if communicating with the other
occupant of the room: an older white man with white hair and a white mustache
wearing a white coat. But with red eyes, as if he hadn’t sl ept in days.
The man spoke to him in English. When Santiago didn’t move, the man
motioned him to remove the towel. Santiago trembled, not just from the cold
temperature. Fear rattled his bones more than ever since arriving at the facility,
such fear not felt since he’d last been at l a m a l v a d a ’s house. Every time the man
approached him, he cowered; every time he was touched, he inched. No one
had ever examined him before.
But nothing bad really happened. The man placed cold instruments on his
body or in his mouth for a few moments and then removed them. A slight prick
in one arm withdrew blood, and a few di erent pricks in the other arm injected
stu into his body.
Finally the doctor handed him a salve and indicated that Santiago should rub
it on his face, arms, and neck. Instant relief came to his sun-fried skin, and he
liberally rubbed more on. The doctor motioned Santiago to wrap himself in the
towel again and ushered him out the door.
“You get clean clothes three times a week,” said the pimply guard waiting for
him with a fresh pile of clothes. The mound of cotton and polyester weighed
down his arms. Would he stay long enough to need new ones? White underwear
and socks, gray drawstring sweatpants, gray long-sleeve shirt, and gray sweatshirt.
The ip- ops apparently were the only acc epted footwear.
Once Santiago was dressed (the guard had to get him smaller underwear),
they arrived at their nal destination: a packed and partially lit room, where the
temperature felt near freezing. The guard handed him a toothbrush wrapped in
plastic and a large metallic thing that crinkled like aluminum foil. Judging by the
shiny sle eping bodies clumped around the bare oor, the thing was apparently
some kind of blanket. So strange that a sheet like that was expected to provide
warmth. Instead, his eyes searched for two pigtails, or maybe just shoulder-
length dark hair, now clean and splayed across the oor.
Exc ept all of the ninety-some bodies were too big to be Alegría. Even in the
low light, a second glance con rmed that not only were they all teenagers, they
were also all boys.