<p>Again, another piece I'm considering.</p>
<p>2009</p>
<p>That morning, I got off at Court Street instead. I made my way sleepily across Cadman Plaza, looking for the newly constructed, modern judicial building alongside the old, traditional one. The security guard in the entrance hall confiscated my cell phone. *<strong><em>. This was going to be a long morning.
Sitting in that spacious court room and listening to the Judge with the heavy Spanish accent, I couldn't help but roll my eyes. As she was pronouncing the hardships that immigrants before us had had to overcome, as the marvelous stories of the building of the Brooklyn Bridge and the base for the Statue of Liberty spewed from her mouth, all I could think was, "yes, all the hardships fell to the poor and the immigrants because no one else would take the responsibility." As she went on about how much they contributed, all I thought about was how these poor people had been taken advantage of by America's elite. All I could think about were the immigrants whose blood vessels had burst due to a rapidly changing pressure gradient, ensuring that the murky light of the East River would be the last light they'd ever see. Quite a contribution. She was making me unreasonably angry.
I settled further into my jacket - the dim lighting and the heat of the people pressed close on either side were making me drowsy. I examined the large portraits of smiling reddish men in powdered wigs, tuning out the sound of her voice. She was making me unreasonably angry.
The speech was over and my name was called. *</em></strong>ing finally.
"Congratulations honey, you're a citizen now. Treasure this day." I smiled impatiently, eager to get out of the courtroom.
"Thanks," I murmured and nearly sprinted for the door. I was very late to school.
Outside it had begun to rain. Fold the certificate of naturalization or allow it to get wet? I quickly stuffed it in my messy backpack and ran for the train.</p>
<hr>
<p>2007</p>
<p>Our eyes were blinded by the sunshine and abundance of tulips outside the Federal Plaza building. We sat down on a glimmering bench and I put my arms around my mother. She looked down in disbelief at her hands, shakily straightening out the papers that were handed to her mere moments ago. "This can't be possible," she kept saying. I patted her head in response.
Suddenly, she straightened up and started purposefully away from the building. "We have to fight this. They have no right-" her voice broke but her gait did not falter. It hadn't quite sunk in yet. The overweight woman in a suit didn't even ask that many questions, certainly nothing important. And then she simply handed my mom a piece of paper, no prelude, no hint that it would happen - just gave it to her and said that we were excused. Didn't even say what was written on it. What a *<strong><em>.
We had a month to set our affairs straight and get out of the country. We were being deported.
We finally got to our lawyer's office several blocks away from Federal Plaza. He gave my mom a tissue and said that we could fight the decision very easily. He would help. He had such a promising smile on his face, such a mask of reassurance that I almost believed him. Then I remembered that the *</em></strong> at the Plaza had worn a similar expression. I wanted to punch him, but he said he would help. We couldn't deny that we needed him.
My mom, in her fury, let slip her racism in that small, sunny office. "All those Mexicans, they have nothing going for them, all they have is their dozen babies. My daughter has a whole future ahead of her! She goes to Stuyvesant! She'll go places! Why do they get to stay when they have nothing to look forward to? Who gave her the right to decide our future?!" At least, thats what I gathered from her half English, half Russian sob-choked rambling. I still stared out the window in disbelief. We couldn't leave now, we had a life here.</p>
<hr>
<p>1999</p>
<p>My mom gasped at the contents of my suitcase. Barbies, Barbie house, Barbie furniture, Barbie jeep. Minimal clothing. "I told you to bring all your stuff!"
"This is my stuff." I was confused. What else did I need? We're on vacation, aren't we?
"Alright well, we'll just get you new stuff," she smiled, but looked worried nonetheless.
I unpacked my things in the spacious sitting room, carefully setting up my barbie neighborhood along the mirror-clad stretch of wall. I glanced up into the reflective glass on occasion, admiring the view of the treetops of central park that were visible directly outside my window. When I was finished, I climbed into the grand piano sitting imperiously in the middle of the room and stared out the window. I didn't notice that my mom and her boyfriend had come into the room until her voice startled me out of my reverie.
"This is Julian's house, honey. Be careful with that piano." Displeased, I grudgingly climbed down. I stumbled slightly before I reached the bench, took a seat and crossed my arms.
"Should we go get you some clothes?" she asked, forcing a smile. Something like, "not that we can afford to," came afterwards but in such a hiss of breath that I thought I had imagined it.
What was the problem? We were in this beautiful and obviously expensive apartment, couldn't we afford some pants and t-shirts? I glared quizzically at my mom. Just what kind of vacation was this?</p>