Lucrecia met Oliverio when she went to get ready at her sister's boyfriend's apartment for a party she didn't not want to go to. Oliverio was in the corner of the living room in the apartment he shared with his brother, rolling a booger between his thumb and index finger while reading a book. The way my mother tells it, the fact that she saw him pick his nose and start this odd ritual did not keep her from being interested in the tall, green eyed, incredibly shy stranger. My father was 8 years her senior and although it wasn't love at first sight she wanted a date to the party and her on again, off again, boyfriend was currently not on, again.
My Uncle coaxed Oliverio into joining them and as the story goes it ended with a tequila bottle in my fathers back pocket and a bet with my mother. Whoever lost the bet would have to give the winner “Un millón de besos!” a million kisses. 10 years later, when the story was first told to me, the outcome of the bet was hotly contested between the two interested parties but I was always assured that the terms of the bet had yet to be met. Like it would be a constant source of love in their ongoing union.
Among my only possession where the Sinaloa drivers license that my Aunt had bribed someone to get for me (without me having stepped foot in Sinaloa) and the Mexican passport I'd gotten from the Consulate in LA before leaving, which was only good for two years. With these two documents I had to somehow make my way in the world, find a job, make money, plant some roots. I thought the only way to start would be traveling, I'd move around Europe until I could squeeze an opportunity to belong, an inch of space I could call my own. Since I actively loathed myself at the time, all I could think of was the old Groucho quote “I don't want to belong to any club that would accept me as one of its members.”
The last time I saw my parents together was from the inside of Oscar's dark green Honda Civic as he drove me to Tijuana. They were holding each other while waving 'goodbye.' If I close my eyes, I can still see them getting smaller and smaller in the rearview window, until the image of them disappears completely from my mind.
Because of how my parents decided to live their lives, I had no clear path to US citizenship, either here or back in Mexico where I was a citizen by birth only. After twelve years of being “illegal” I was tired of the limitations my lack of documents set for me. So I convinced my parents to let me leave the States by applying for an internship at a communication research center in Italy - knowing full well that I didn't meet the qualifications and would never get accepted. I made sure to leave before the rejection letter had time to reach them and change their mind.
I'd been illegal for so long that I couldn't find any redeemable qualities in myself. I was always going to be that paperless Mexican, unable to be employed because I was a liability. Didn’t matter how smart or proficient I was, I’d always be stealing resources from others by just being where I didn't belong from birth. What could I actually contribute to a society that seemed better off without me. How could I find love in a city that didn't even know I existed? I was scum. Worthless, lazy, and a little bit ugly… I had a sense of humor about my situation but it was a mask I placed over my own discouraged face.
The country I felt most at home was Germany, and I tried my hardest to live there while waves of friends came to visit and travel/stay with me wherever it was that I was hiding out from the Beamten der Einwanderungsbehörde. In 2008 fate brought me back to Mexico City where it put an orange puppy in my arms so I could learn to love myself, by learning to love and care for her.
It'd been four years since I had last seen my divorced mother, and being back in Mexico afforded me the perfect opportunity to outmaneuver the American Government. My first step was applying to a Deutsche Sprachschule in Berlin. Then going to the German Embassy in Mexico City, acceptance letter in hand, and acquiring a one year student visa. With that German visa in my back pocket I then made a 4th appointment with the American Embassy and went to my scheduled interview in a suit and tie.
During the interview I told them about my German fiancé, I had brought pictures and a photocopy of my then girlfriends passport. Told them about how we were getting married, how I had a German visa, how we only wanted to get a tourist visa to the states because we wanted to go shopping in New York before the wedding, see here, I have an itinerary, plane ticket from Mexico to JFK, JFK to Frankfurt two days later, this is the hotel we want to stay at in Manhattan, this is a list of places we want to visit.
One full day is really all we need, Saks 5th Ave. Breakfast at Tiffany’s. Empire State Building. Brooklyn Bridge, two nights... tops. The Visa Officer interviewing me stopped me mid sentence and after looking at all my documents, one more time, carefully said “I don't believe you or your story, but you've done such a good job of answering all my questions and providing me proof with your documentation that I am going to let you get your visa, but don't forget the American Government will be monitoring you.” It had taken me over 4 years and all in all over $5,000 but I could finally go hug my mother.
The story told on this page is FICTION (snitches get stitches)
Meanwhile, one download from the CDC.GOV site, a visit to the vet and a plane ticket was all Anonima needed to get into the grand US of A.
