Santiago lay staring at the industrial gray ceiling with his metallic blanket over
his body and his arms tucked behind his head for a pillow. The concrete oor
pressed hard and cold against his back. The lights overhead dimmed but were
still bright enough to illuminate the sle eping gures around him. Pinocchio and
Mosca whispered on the other side of Guanaco. Some boys curled up in the fetal
position, clutching tight to the collar of their sweatshirts while trying to hide the
fact that they were crying. Others shifted every few seconds, the rustle of their
metallic blankets giving away their desperation to nd that one spot that was
slightly less uncomfortable than the others.
The lack of a bed didn’t bother him—th at was how he’d sl ept most nights of
his life. Sometimes with a ratty blanket, sometimes not even that. Even the lights
weren’t what k ept him awake. He could sle ep through anything, and had:
shouting, bangs, res. No, the physical discomforts were hardly noticeable
compared to the thoughts running through his mind. Too drained to join the
undercover fetal we epers, he just stared straight up at the lights.
Guanaco, he noticed, lay perfectly still next to him. Too still to be asle ep. The
four of them had secured a corner, prime real estate compared to camping out in
the middle of the room. The secret, Guanaco had explained, was to get there
rst. Despite what they called this place, a temporary immigration holding
facility or whatever, Santiago felt sentenced to jail.
And he’d allowed Alegría to be sentenced here too. No wonder he couldn’t
sle ep.
He shifted to his side with a loud rustle, almost hugging the wall with an arm
horizontal against the concrete. He remembered that last day in the desert (was
that only yesterday?) with Alegría’s weight against his back. Even in his tired and
dehydrated state, just feeling her presence had brought comfort. With some
imagination, he could feel her warmth and pulse as if she were next to him now,
just on the other side of the wall.
The fantasy relaxed his mind. Maybe he’d eventually fall asle ep. Even with the
hard oor, illuminated room, and continual twittering of almost a hundred
teenagers.
Exc ept someone let out a loud fart ampli ed by the high ceiling. Silence fell
for a few seconds before a suppressed giggle echoed through the room. Then
another, and another, before full-blown laughter erupted from all sides. A
snicker es caped Santiago’s own lips. He couldn’t help it.
“Shh,” one of the night guards r eprimanded.
The silence lasted less than a second before someone forced a huge burp,
which led to an even louder burst of laughter. Another person burped, and
someone else responded with an armpit noise.
“ ¡ C á l l e n s e ! ” the guard shouted.
A chorus of bodily noises continued whenever silence lasted for more than a
second. Santiago turned to his stomach and hid his head under the metallic
blanket and under his arms. Still, he could hear the guards going around,
shushing and kicking people to be quiet.
“Don’t the guards know they’ll stop if they’re ignored?” Santiago mumbled
to himself. His little cousins had always misbehaved more when they had an
audience.
“At least they’re not barking,” Guanaco muttered back. “The night that
happened, they even got the coyotes outside to howl back.”
“Is falling asle ep ever easy here?” Santiago lifted his head from the oor and
turned to face the wall.
A slight rustling indicated Guanaco shaking his head. “Not as long as I’ve
been here.”