So the Story Goes

Jaylene’s blood turns to ice as she follows his gaze to the black suburban parked across the street. Its windows are heavily shaded, but with the sun rising behind it she can barely make out the silhouettes of two occupants, both wearing sunglasses, staring at the house.

“They’re out early today,” Carl almost whispers. “We must not be here when they make the door.”

“You gather the children,” Jaylene instructs without her eyes leaving the intruding vehicle. “I’ll grab their jackets & shoes. Quiet now. They must not hear us.”

Carl moves from the window toward the basement stairs without so much as taking a breath. Had they seen them through the kitchen window? Or has the rising sun reflecting off the glass kept them blind to our presence? Why are they waiting? For us to come out through the front door? Assessing the situation, making sure there is no danger, that we will not greet them with weapons in hand? Finishing their coffee before proceeding with their ill intentions?

Just be thankful they are sitting for now, Carl thinks to himself. It may give us the time we need.

Jaylene turns off the burner & tosses the sauce meant for this evening into the sink, grabbing a handful of breakfast bars before fetching the jackets & shoes & heading for the basement, too. She is no stranger to circumstances such as these. She had grown up poor, one of seven children with undocumented parents. All of them had been born at home, without so much as a midwife. None had birth certificates. There were those who had known them from before they were born, but the two outside would care little for such things. “Show us your papers or our liege will have you out of here.”

Carl is from Haiti, here on a B1/B2 visa. The overlord had cancelled all of those, labeling their possessors criminals. The three children Carl had collected from their bedrooms & hushed with his finger to his lips had all been born in the hospital & had their birth certificates. But guess what….

All five get dressed as quietly as they can, Carl & Jaylene helping the two youngest with their shoes. Two breakfast bars for each kid, one in each pocket. One apiece for the two adults, judiciously hidden for later in case there might be a need among them.

As they work together to move the entertainment center from the cement wall, they hear a violent knock at the two doors upstairs, front & back. “Immigration & Customs Enforcement! Open the door!” A few seconds later they hear a battering ram knock the front door from its hinges. Carl is the last one through the hole, pulling the errant piece of furniture back in place with the rope attached strictly for this purpose. Unhitching the line, he carefully replaces the section of wall so as to make it as difficult to detect as possible should they happen to move the blasted thing—a skill he had honed over thousands of trial runs with their kids over the years. For them it had always been just a game.

He prays that adrenaline won’t produce a fault in his work, now that it actually counts. The last thing he hears before crawling through the tunnel is, “Clear!” from the living room upstairs.

*******

This is a continuation of the first installment of JBaz's "So the Story Goes". To participate &/or simply find out how others are imagining the tale progresses, click on this link:

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