Losing My Life

It's raining lightly outside, my head rested against the cold glass of the bus window, eyes shut. The numbing vibration of the window rattles my skull. The text message tone of my mobile phone sings out, a few people throwing dirty looks my way at an unmuted device. The text is from a number absent from my phone contacts so of course I click into the chat, curiosity tingling in my fingertips.

‘Congratulations! You’ve won $20 000! Click here to collect your prize: https://win-009ourpr1ze-fr33money$.’

My heart skips a beat for a moment, out of pure human nature. It’s a scammer. Obviously. I drop my phone back into the depths of my mint green hand bag and turn my attention to the passing houses beyond the bus.

My two-room home is quiet aside from a rhythmic tapping of the water leak in my shower. This has been my home for the past three years since my parents were deported to their mother country of Chile. At eighteen, lucky enough to remain in the United States thanks to my eligibility for permanent citizenship, I was alone. Imagined thoughts of the moment of reunion with my parents gives me energy. It is dark outside and after another long day of work at a bustling restaurant downtown, I collapse on my unmade bed. The ocean of messy sheets washes around me.

I awake suddenly to heavy rain drumming over my head and I glance to the glass sliding door of my bedroom that leads to two square metres of dead grass outside. The water is thundering onto the ground on an angle, the storm becoming stronger. I sigh and reach for my bag beside me on the bed. I pull out my phone. It’s 2:45am and I have a bank notification. Ignoring a hungry rumble from my abdomen angry at missing dinner, I unlock my phone and open my bank app. I stare at the number for a good few minutes. It has to be a glitch because thousands of dollars don’t just appear into your bank account. I click the Google icon and find a hidden website open in my browser, the same website link at the top of the screen that the scammer has texted me.

‘Thank you for redeeming your prize!’

I must’ve unintentionally touched the link as I put my phone back into my hand bag on the bus. Placing my phone amongst my bed sheets, I massage my temples. I’m imagining things. I pull myself up, get undressed and climb beneath the covers.

It’s real. In the morning the supposed glitch is still there, the $20 000 still appearing on my screen. After visiting an ATM at the local shopping centre in my rundown suburb, my bank balance printed on a paper receipt confirms it. I perch upon the edge of a bus stop bench, my mind racing with what to do next. My phone starts ringing, and I answer to hear my beautiful mother’s voice.

“Hola Querida, Maria, how are you?” Her accent is laced with warmth.

“Mother, you and Father will not believe what has just happened to me!”

I explain the story, the line silent as my parents listen to my every word. Soon the excitement gets the better of my father and he sings out in joy.

“Maria! You come to visit us! We will reunite with a grande luncheon and party through the night!”

My eyes fill with tears as my thoughts are filled with memories of my parents whom I hadn’t seen for so very long. I decide what it is I must do next.

After our call ends, I board the next bus downtown. It’s my only day off, but thirty minutes later I walk through the doors of the Italian restaurant. Finding my boss in his backroom office, I discuss my dire need to take the next three weeks off work. My smile is difficult to hide and in my mind I am already drinking Mote con Huesillos by the beach with my family. After visiting a bag store and purchasing the first suitcase I have ever owned, I head home. On my phone I find a flight from here to Chile. I type in all the necessary personal details until ‘payment’ comes up. Taking a deep breath, I purchase the return ticket. Lying across my bed, I begin to wonder about the money and where it had come from. I don’t actually recall entering any competition, scam or not, to have been a possible candidate for the $20 000 prize. Excitement to hold my parents again soon washes away my thoughts of confusion towards the money.

Santiago Airport is airy and light, the ceiling of the main walkway hovering far over my head.

“Querida!”

I hardly have time to turn before two bodies collide into mine almost taking me off my feet. After we hug for some time, laughing with joy, my parents look me over. Both my mother and my father have glowing olive skin and dark curls that frame their faces. I have my father’s nose.

“Maria, you look so beautiful and grown up!” My mother beams, her cheeks like peaches, “We are overjoyed to see you again.”

“And so unexpectedly…” My father adds, flicking a glance at his wife.

Their smiles weaken slightly, but before my brain has time to decode the meaning of his facial expression, my father is grinning again and talking about his favourite places in the city of Santiago and the family I must meet.

My stomach is full, a lunch buffet of empanadas and cazuela. It’s one week after my arrival and I am in the spare room of my parents’ quaint house with my new suitcase open. It’s perched beside me on the king single mattress. The bedding is grey and the view outside is green, white lagerstroemia dancing upon the window sill in the hot breeze. I pause momentarily, peering out to the garden. I decide to check what time my flight departs two weeks from now, just so I don’t need to look again for a little while. After unzipping the side pocket of the white suitcase, I dip my hand in and pull out a small black notebook. I open to the back of the book where I have safely tucked away my return ticket and my passport. My ticket falls into my hand, but my passport isn’t here. My heart begins to beat harder. I stand up over my suitcase and begin to rummage through my clothes. It is here somewhere. I end up tossing clothes onto the ground, hoping to hear a light cardboard tap on the wood floor. It’s not here. I walk into the lounge room to find my mother drinking a glass of wine and reading a book.

“Hello, Amor,” she closes the book and smiles up at me.

“Hey, have you seen my passport?”

Her brown eyes widen, “Oh, no, I haven’t. Did you look in your suitcase?”

“Yes, I did.”

“What’s the problem?” My father’s voice chimes in.

“My passport is missing.”

“Did you check your suitcase?”

“Yes, it’s not there.” Panic rises in my throat when I speak. “I had it in the side pocket so I wouldn’t lose it.”

My parents exchange a peculiar look, the meaning I can’t quite pinpoint. They are unexplainably calm considering my situation.

“What is going on?” I say.

“Hmm?” My mother takes a sip of her wine just as my phone chimes from the kitchen bench with a text message. I walk to the other room. My father follows me. The text is from the unknown number.

‘We hope you’re enjoying Chile’.

“What’s going on!” I repeat, panic settling in.

My mother enters the room a worried look upon her face.

“We’re sorry Querida, this was the only way to see you again.”

“What are you talking about?”

Another text comes through.

‘Because you’re never going to leave’.

I realise my mother has been speaking and I haven’t been listening.

“…and he was so nice, and so friendly and we realised all he wanted was your passport, not to harm you.”

The lighting in the kitchen is dim, the globe perhaps losing its fluorescence.

“So, you lured me here for someone to steal my passport? I don’t understand?”

“Well,” my father looks at my mother then back to me, “Not just your passport…”

I run to the bedroom and grab my wallet from the dresser. I rip it open to discover my driver’s licence and permanent US resident cards are gone too. Flames lick my throat.

“What have you done!” I cry out. I re-enter the kitchen where my parents haven’t moved a muscle, empty wallet in hand and tears in my eyes.

“How could you be so naïve?”

My mother shakes her head, “It’s okay, you can get a new passport, right? There’s a newsagency down the road to take your photo and-”

“Mama!” I exclaim. “They could steal my identity!”

“Don’t be silly Maria,” my father touches my shoulder. “We did what we had to do, we didn’t have the money to bring you here and you couldn’t pay either so your mother and I agreed it was a small cost to reunite with you!”

He laughs and smiles and I clench my jaw.

“This person you made a deal with will now be able to use my identity, my name, my birthdate. They will probably be able to access to my bank account and will simply withdraw the money they transferred to me right back out.”

My father looks stunned. “Really?”

“Yes,” I sigh heavily.

I walk into the living room and sink deep into the couch as the gravity of my predicament falls heavy upon my shoulders.