Return to Sender (16 page)

Early Christmas Eve morning Mari comes over with a letter for Tyler's mom to deliver to her uncle. Mom glances at it a long moment, sighs, then hands it back. “I'm sorry, honey, but we're not allowed to bring anything in. They're no-contact visits. But tell you what,” Mom adds, because Mari is looking just like Mary and Joseph every time the door bangs shut in their faces on those
posada
nights. “What I can do is tell him whatever you want, okay?”

“Tell him we miss him,” Mari says in a quivering voice. “Tell him we love him.”

“I will, I promise. Please, don't be sad.” Mom puts her arms around the young girl. “We're going to do all we can to get your uncle home as soon as possible, either to Mexico or here.”

Mari manages a small smile that Tyler can tell costs her a big effort to muster. It makes him feel even sadder than if she'd burst into tears. When she heads outside, he follows. “Give me the letter.” Tyler doesn't know how he's going to do it. But it's one thing he knows Mari really wants for Christmas. “I'll get it to your uncle, promise.”

Mari hesitates. “But your mother said …”, she begins. Then that hopeful look comes on her face again as she hands over the folded- up pieces of notebook paper. It goes through Tyler's mind that it's too bad that Mari didn't have the box of stationery the Paquettes are giving her tomorrow for writing her uncle a letter today.

“Tyler,” she calls after him. “Thank you.”

Don't thank me yet, he feels like saying. But then, he has until tomorrow to make good on his Christmas promise.

Tyler must have inherited his grandmother's storytelling genes, because he tells his mom a pretty good tale about why he has to visit Felipe in prison this morning.

“I promised Mari to bring her back a personal report.”

“I can do that,” Mom says, eyeing him closely. “Besides, I'm not sure they let in kids.”

“I'm not a kid,” Tyler declares.

“I know you're not.” Mom smiles fondly. The thin edge of the wedge is in the door. “But they're going to take one look at my little man in his boy disguise and say no.”

“Please, Mom.” Tyler can see that his mother is struggling to find reasons why he can't visit. Before she can begin numbering them, he goes on. “Remember how you asked me to find out what the Cruzes wanted for Christmas? This is what Mari told me she wants.”

His mother considers, then sighs, giving in. “I guess there's no harm in trying. Worst comes to worst, you can wait in the car.”

Ms. Ramírez arrives with the lawyer. At first, Tyler thinks the redheaded man in jeans with a teensy earring in one ear must be his Spanish teacher's boyfriend. But no, it's Caleb Calhoun, the free lawyer from Burlington. When Mom asks him if it's going to be okay to bring Tyler along, Mr. Calhoun just shrugs. “It'll depend on the deputy, if he's having a good day.” What kind of a lawyer answer is that? No wonder he's free!

But at the county jail, they're in luck. The deputy in charge today is Uncle Larry's friend. What's more, he's in a holiday mood. He doesn't say a thing about Tyler being a kid. As for the rule about each prisoner being allowed only three visitors at a time, the deputy can't see any harm in this foursome, as one's a lawyer and another's the translator. “That makes two visitors by my count.”

He leads them up some stairs and down a long hallway to the visitation room. “Anything on your person you got to leave behind in one of them,” he says, pointing to a row of tiny lockers lining one side of the hallway. On the other side are small high windows with bars. It's the first real sign that this is a jail instead of a hallway at the high school or the boys’ locker room at the gym. To enter the room, they have to walk through a metal detector. Mom has to leave her car keys in a little basket, but Mr. Calhoun is allowed a pen and pad. Thank goodness letters don't set off any alarms, Tyler thinks as he goes through the doorway with Mari's folded- up letter in his pants pocket.

The room is small, with a glass wall at the far end. In front of it are two chairs and a narrow counter with a phone on top. On the other side of the glass, the same arrange-ment. It turns out that prisoners and visitors talk by phone, looking at each other through that thick, probably bulletproof glass. Now Tyler understands what his mom meant by a no-contact visit. There is no way he's going to be able to hand over Mari's letter.

“Just call me when you're done,” the deputy says, nodding at a wall phone by the door. As he leaves, locking them in, Tyler feels a jolt of fear. And here he's just
visiting.
Imagine what Felipe must be feeling.

After a few minutes, the door on the other side of the glass partition opens. The same deputy leads Felipe out and nods to where he's supposed to sit. Felipe looks around war-ily like he might have been dropped off in some room where he's going to be tortured. When he spots Tyler and Mom standing on the other side of the glass, his face breaks into a huge grin. Tyler waves to him and he waves back.

First Mom introduces Ms. Ramírez and Mr. Calhoun. They sit in the two front chairs, handing the phone back and forth, Mr. Calhoun explaining, Ms. Ramírez translating. They tell Felipe what all is in store for him. The crim-inal hearing once the holidays are over. The sentencing. Then the deportation hearing. Even though Tyler can't hear what Felipe is saying at his end, he can tell that the poor guy is getting more and more heavyhearted with the news.

“Please do assure him that I'm going to try to get this criminal stuff dropped. Ask him if he's got any kind of a record.”

Felipe shakes his head when Ms. Ramírez translates. But then he hesitates and tells some crazy story about a little dog in North Carolina that a lady he worked for thought he stole. Maybe she reported him to the police. Mr. Calhoun takes notes.

When it's finally Tyler's turn, he feels awkward and shy, like when he has to talk on the phone to Aunt Roxie and Uncle Tony.
“Hola, ¿cómo estás?”
he starts. Behind him, he can feel Ms. Ramírez beaming at how good his Spanish pronunciation has gotten.

Felipe seems genuinely happy to visit with Tyler. He rattles off some stuff in Spanish, but every once in a while he switches into English. How're Mari, Ofie, Luby?
¿Mis hermanos?
which Tyler knows means his brothers. Please give them my greetings. And Sara and Tyler's dad? And Ben? Tell Ben not to feel bad. How's Oklahoma, Wyoming, Nevada? And Wilmita? Is she very sad?

Tyler laughs. Even behind bars, on the other side of bulletproof glass, Felipe hasn't lost his sense of humor.

“I have a letter for you,” Tyler finally says, reaching into his pocket. He can't read it because, of course, it's in Span-ish. Somehow, he knows having Ms. Ramírez read it over the phone won't be the same as Felipe reading it himself. So he unfolds the letter and holds page after page flat against the glass, half expecting some alarm to go off.

Tyler doesn't know what the letter says, but as Felipe's eyes move across each page, his face softens with feeling. When he is done with the last page, he puts his palm on the glass where the paper is, then rests his head on the back of his hand. Tyler tries to hold his own hand steady, willing himself not to cry.

When Felipe drops his hand, Tyler can see he, too, is fighting back tears. He really is just a kid, no disguising it, with man-sized troubles.

“Thank you, my friend,” he tells Tyler in English over the phone. “My Christmas today.”

This is what Christmas is all about, Tyler thinks as they drive home. What Mary and Joseph must feel at that last
posada
house when the door flies open and there's room for them inside after all. Tyler can't wait to tell Mari exactly how he delivered her letter. In fact, he decides to write down everything that Felipe said and put it in a card and give it to Mari as a present tomorrow.

Back home, he is writing away when the phone starts ringing down the hall. It's probably Mari calling for the Cruzes to find out how the visit went. But no, the minute they arrived, his mother and Ms. Ramírez and Mr. Calhoun headed for the trailer with their report. They did promise not to tell Mari about Tyler's surprise.

Down the hall in the kitchen, Sara is saying,
“Un momento, por favor.”

And then she is calling for Tyler in this excited, house-on-fire voice. “Tyler!!! Tyler!!! Run next door and get one of the Cruzes. I think it's the mother!”

Tyler bolts out of his house like it is on fire. But the only thing burning is the happy tears in his eyes, borrowed from his sadness. He can't believe it himself, but merry Christmas! Mari may be getting every one of her wishes after all!

24 diciembre 2005

Querido Tío Felipe,

We have been so worried about you since that horrible night three weeks ago when the
patrón's
wife came over with the news that you had been stopped by the police.

(Although this letter is in Spanish, I don't want to mention any names and get anybody in trouble. My family's won't matter since nobody at the jail knows us anyhow.)

Neither Papá nor Tío Armando realized that you were going off the farm when you accepted the invitation from the
patrón's
son. They assumed the party would take place at the
patrón's
house. But they say that they don't blame you. You deserve a little fiesta now and then after the hard way you have been working to help the whole
familia
since you were fourteen and came to this country! And before that, Papá has told us, when you were even younger than little Luby, you were already helping Abuelote farm in Las Margaritas.

Finally, thanks to the Virgen of Guadalupe, to whom I made a special petition, we have found out where you are. We feel so much calmer knowing you are close by, even if you are behind
bars. I don't think any of us in the family could stand someone else we love disappearing, like Mamá has disappeared. (Ten days ago marked one whole year since we last saw her. I cried so hard…. But I don't want to make you any sadder.)

Papá and Tío Armando want me to send you special thanks for running
away
from the farm rather than leading
la migra
here by returning home. “That brother of ours has courage!” Papá and Tío Armando have both said many, many times.

So, even though this country is treating you like a criminal, you are our hero! I speak for all of us, including my little sisters. We want you to know what we have asked for from the American Santa Claus and from the Three Kings: your safe and quick return to our family, either here or in México.

Early this morning, as I was writing this letter, Ofie asked what I was doing.

“Writing to our uncle. I will give the letter to the
patrón's
wife to deliver.”

“What are you writing about?” she kept pestering. You know how nosy Ofie can be!

I wanted to scold her to leave me alone so I could finish the letter before the
patrón's
wife left for the jail. But it being the day before
Christmas, I tried to be patient and explain that I was telling our uncle that what I wanted for Christmas was news of his safe and quick deliverance.

My sister stood by like she was debating something with herself. I knew because she was biting her fingernails (which is what all three of us do when we are nervous, and Papá is always telling us not to). Finally, she said, “Tell Tío that's what I want for Christmas, too. I'm going to pray right now to Santa. I'll ask the Three Kings for my dollhouse and my Barbie and beauty salon and lip balm instead.”

Poor Three Kings, loaded down with all of my sister's gifts! They will definitely need another camel.

Meanwhile, dear Tío, you will get nothing as we are not permitted to send you food or a gift or even a phone card. But thank goodness Santa has a whole team of reindeer to carry all the hugs and kisses we are sending you!

xoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxo

Each one is
un besito
(x) and
un abrazo
(o),

Mari

31 diciembre 2005

Querido Tío,

This is the last day of the old year, and as Papá says, good riddance. May the new year bring you safely home! I hope that you can stay in the United States because our family is not the same without you, Tío. How we miss your beautiful guitar playing and songs and your great stories and jokes.