Free Behold the Dreamers by Imbolo Mbue

much time to mail us the decision, because Immigration is very slow. That’s what you said!”
    â€œThey don’t even have the decency to apologize and explain why it took them a whole eternity to make one decision—”
    â€œYou didn’t make it sound that bad, Mr. Bubakar! You told me that the woman was very satisfied with my answers!”
    â€œI thought so, my brother. I thought she was. But who knows how those bastards at Immigration really think? We give them a story and hope they believe it. But some of them are wicked people, very wicked. Some people in this country don’t want people like me and you here.”
    â€œWhat is going to happen to me now? Are they going to arrest me and force me inside a plane? Will I get a chance to say goodbye …”
    â€œOh, no, God forbid! Inshallah, it’ll never get to that. No, for now you’re going to get a date when you have to stand in front of an Immigration judge. ICE lawyer will be there, pushing for the judge to throw you out of the country. I will be there, standing next to you, pushing for you to remain. I’m going to do everything I can to convince the judge that the people at USCIS are wrong and that you belong in America.”
    â€œSo you are saying it’s going to be you versus the lawyer from the government?”
    â€œThat’s correct. Me versus their lawyer. Better man go win all.”
    â€œOh, Papa God!”
    â€œI know, my brother, I know, believe me. But you have to put your faith in me. You must, okay? We’re going to do this together. Have we not made it this far together?”
    Jende took in a deep breath. The car seat had turned into a bed of needles.
    â€œDid I not help you make it this far?” Bubakar said. “Did I not petition USCIS to give you a work permit when they were taking too long to get to your case? Eh? Is it not because of that work permit that you were able to get a driver’s license and now have a better job?”
    â€œWhat am I going to do?”
    â€œYou’ve got to trust me.”
    â€œIt’s not that I don’t trust—”
    â€œDid I not help you apply for a student visa for your wife to come here and go to school? I got your whole family together in New York, my brother. Got you this close. The least you can do is trust me that, Inshallah, we will win this case and you’ll get a green card.”
    Jende’s mouth dried up.
    Bubakar asked if he had any other question.
    â€œWhen do I have to be in court?” he asked softly, dreading the response.
    Bubakar said he didn’t know—he’d received only a letter of explanation today but Jende should be getting the Notice to Appear, with a court date, soon enough.
    â€œYou have any more questions, my brother?”
    Jende said no; he could think of nothing more to say or ask.
    â€œCall me anytime with any questions, okay? Even if you just want to talk.”
    Without a word, Jende hung up.
    He dropped his phone on his lap.
    He did not move.
    He could not move.
    Not even his mind could move; the ability to create thoughts deserted him.
    What he’d lived in fear of the past three years had happened, and the powerlessness was worse than he’d imagined. If not for his pride, he would have cried, but tears, of course, would have been useless. His days in America were numbered, and there was nothing salty water running out of his eyes could do.
    Upper West Siders strolled by. MTA buses stopped by. A chaos of kids on scooters rushed by, followed by three women—their mommies or grandmas or aunties or nannies—cautioning them to slow down, please be careful. Mighty would soon be done with his piano lesson. The nanny would be calling in about twelve minutes to ask Jende to bring the car to the front of the teacher’s building. What should he do in those twelve minutes? Call Neni? No. She was probably on her way to pick Liomi up from his after-school