There's No Due

Process Down Here

by Frank Stier

Sitting there starring blankly at the rutted concrete floor, he felt his breathe, focusing on himself. What am I doing? How could this happen? The thoughts reflected his understanding of himself. The cold and bare bordering walls were filled with the same emptiness. He had never felt as accepted in his entire life.

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Knock, Knock.

“Come in” Eric yelled.

“Honey, you want dinner? It’s your favorite.”

“How would you even know what my favorite is anymore?”

“Honey, please. It’s our only night that we can have dinner as a family”

“I’m not part of your family”

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The metallic sound of the baton’s repeated clinking with the steel bars brought Eric up from his uneasy daydream.

“Donde esta mi dinero? Gringo?” the guard jeered.

“What do you want from me.’ Eric sobbed.

“Dinero amigo, dinero.” The guard flatly replied.

‘What, you want money? I don’t have any money!” Eric yelled. Eric’s words were hollow, this was not his country, he had no rights, and he had committed a crime he felt far to comfortable and familiar with. He was stripped of familiarity, and it infuriated him.

“You should take it easy. Prison guards will hold you as long as they like, and they know a bargain when they see one, gringo.” A young man said

“You’ll see what happens when they find out.” Eric said ignorantly

“Uh-huh, and who is they?” the young man replied.

Eric was speechless. Who are they? He didn’t even know the answer. well he did, but he knew that nothing would be done. His guilt was his only barrier.

“Who are they? Who are you?” Eric demanded

“My name is Carlos, I was born in Honduras, but I lived most my life in the U.S. Two years ago I was picking up my daughter from her kindergarten class back in Ottumwa, where I worked at a meatpaking plant. I was walking down the street to the school a van pulled alongside the curb, and three men grabbed me and held me in the back with a few other immigrant parents. A few days later I was back in Honduras.” Carlos replied.

Eric was unprepared for such a response. He rubbed his bloodless face to fully awaken himself.

“So that’s why you speak such good english?” Eric asked

“Yes” Carlos replied

“How have you managed to end up here?” Eric asked

“I have been trying to get back to my family in America for the past two years, I’ve been deported eight different times, once from Texas and the rest from Mexico. This is the farthest south I have ever run into trouble. When I was passing through Antigua, Guatemala three police officers held me up and some other immigrants. They had us on our knees in a small cobblestone alleyway. They took out all our possessions and filled our packs with a few ounces of cocaine.”

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“Do you have anything you can give for your crimes, my friends?’ the police officer said.

Instantly one of the mangy men reached into his mouth, jerked his hand and pulled out a bloody tooth that contained a gold crown, another reached into his pocket and pulled out ten U.S. dollars he found earlier and handed it to the policeman. ‘What about you? What do you have for me?’ the policeman asked me as he pulled out the cocaine from the two other’s packs and put them in his own. I reached into my pocket and pulled out the 10 Lempira I had to my name. The policeman laughed and me put in the car only after taking the cocaine out of my pack and leaving a few grams as “evidence”. I have been here for two weeks.”

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It was after hearing what Carlos had to say that frightened Eric. He was not aware that things like this occur in other countries, that the government in some places are as corrupt as criminals, or are criminals. His stomach dropped and he felt sick, as if he hadn’t had anything for days but coffee.

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Ting, ting, ting, ting. “I have an announcement to make. Joe and me are proud to announce that the last few months have been absolutely fabulous, and we have enjoyed every second of it. We would also now like all of you to know that we will be expecting a baby girl!” Eric’s mother announced to the table.

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“ What’s your name?” Carlos asked

“ Eric”

“ Don’t you have a family, Eric?” asked Carlos

“ I used to have a family but…not anymore,” replied Eric

“ What are you talking about, everybody has a family.” Enrique said

“ Not me man, I have nobody.” Eric replied.

“ Even the drug addicts and criminals have loving families. Are you telling me that a Gringo has nobody? I don’t believe that, and neither will the guards. These policemen will wait around forever until they strip you of what they want. You are worth a couple years salary to them”

“If you don’t give in, you will be here for a long time, they don’t have due process down here.” Carlos exclaimed

“It doesn’t matter, nothing’s ever going to change.” Eric replied. He was lying, he knew his mom would bail him out, but his ignorance was blockading him, and his resentment towards his mother was only him feeling sorry for himself. He knew what he did was horrible, and he knew how upset his mother was with him, but once again his ignorance held him at bay.

“ I used to be very resentful, to my mother. When I was ten years old my dad left my mother and I to start a new life with a younger woman. In the following months my mother couldn’t afford to keep me fed or clothed. One day she told me she was going to the market to get food. She had no money for food, she never came back, and I was left with my aunt and cousins. My aunt always had new boyfriends and I got little attention. I would live my life on the street, stealing and sniffing glue just trying to subsist. My aunt kept the money my mother sent back, and I went hungry sometimes. All I wanted was to see my mother, at times I deeply resented her for leaving, but always desperate for her presence. When I got to America I took everything for granted, including my mother. I was getting into my same childhood habits with drugs and had occasional encounters with the law.

One day my mother sat me down looking very upset and swollen. She wanted to remind me of our previous separation and all the hardships we had experienced because of it. She told me that all she wanted to do was to be with me, she reminded me that at any moment we could be re-separated and with that could possibly never see each other again.

What she said had inspired me to turn my life around, I dreaded the thought of going back to Honduras.

What I’m trying to say is even though I’ve been through really tough times, I cannot allow my past lifestyle to take control of me and determine my future, and I would hate for you to waste your life away.

You need to re-evaluate yourself Eric.” Carlos explained

“That’s easier said than done, Carlos.” Replied Eric

“ Everything will be alright in the end.” Carlos said

“If you say so.” Eric said, thoroughly disheartened.

“Believe me Eric.” He said

Eric heard the steps of the guards drawing towards him. They opened the door and told Carlos to come with them. He got up, walked down hall and disappeared into a smaller room. “See you on the other side.” Carlos yelled after Eric. Carlos’s story kept Eric up for most of the night. Eric could not believe the things this man Carlos had endured all his life, and how he fought against all the hardships. Eric felt bad embarrassed about his behavior earlier that day when they were talking, he was embarrassed that he had become a victim of his own privilege and didn’t even understand how good he had it.

The next morning Eric woke up to the guard’s foot tapping him. He stood up noticing another guard holding open the door. Two guards then walked Eric outside and took off his handcuffs. Eric was bewildered.

“I want to use a telephone” Eric demanded

“No,” the guard replied

“Please, I can get you what you want.” Eric begged

“No,” the guard replied. The guards walked back inside and closed the thick, cold iron door with a crash. Eric walked; he walked a narrow dirt road for hours before he saw a single car or bus. He hobbled into a small village and made a b-line for the nearest restaurant, “Tu Telephone? Por Favor.” Eric whispered, his mouth was scorched from the grueling walk, the man behind the bar handed him a old fashioned dial receiver and after a few tries of guessing the international area code for Santa Monica the phone began to ring. “Mom? Hi, its, its Eric.