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I didn’t even get to enjoy paradise before there was trouble in it. John and I had never really talked politics. We talked about the bullshit we went through in the military, and it seemed we were on the same wavelength. He stayed with me at my Mami’s house, he never said anything strange about Latinos or people’s legal status in the country. We never talked about who we voted for in the last election. None of it seemed relevant to anything, and most of those types of guys just couldn’t keep their traps shut about stuff like that.
But not even two days after John and I were... intimate... I reacted with dismay over a news story about DACA (Deferred Action for Childhood Arrival) recipients, aka “Dreamers,” still not having a legitimate path to citizenship and facing deportation, and John said the law was the law, and they should be deported, despite living their entire lives here, and being brought by their parents through no fault of their own, back to a “home” country of which they have no knowledge, language base, or cultural assimilation, due to a court ruling.
The way I turned and looked at him, someone who knew little to nothing about Latin American culture until he had stayed with me, who didn’t even care to hear about what dangers these people would be facing if they were sent to these nations that their parents had fled, nations whose very problems often traced back to decades-old meddling by U.S. foreign policy (see the de-classified 1960s documents from the CIA about its actions in Guatemala over “communism”). His parents, staunch Reagan Republicans, had raised him to believe this way. “The law was the law and people who immigrated had to come the ‘right way,’” despite the exorbitant costs that most folks (from the countries where they faced the most dangers) couldn’t possibly afford without a sponsor, and those didn’t grow on trees.
Our argument could be heard all across the Thunderbolts floor. “I can’t believe I was so stupid. I should have known. Just because I met one Southern white boy in the Army who wasn’t some right-wing knuckle-dragger, I thought they were easy to find. You are nothing like my Norm was.”
“Well, maybe that’s how he was able to get himself killed over...” He stopped short of saying what he almost said.
“Oh, don’t stop, John. Finish the sentence. Get himself killed over... What? Me, right? Get himself killed over a brown girl that he shouldn’t have been having a relationship with in the first place because it was fraternization? Or because she was brown? Or both? The same one that shouldn’t have caught your eye because I was a victim that you were supposed to be getting out of that insurgent camp and you were married, too. So what does that make you? What would Ronald Reagan say? ‘Just say no?’”
“That was Nancy Reagan, actually,” John said, stiffly, but he knew I was right, for all intents and purposes.
“Oh, my god, you are ridiculous. Well, this just isn’t going to happen. I can’t do this with you. At all.”
“What are you talking about, Liluana? Liluana! Come back here!” Because I was walking fast in the other direction towards my room.
“Nope. No way. No, thank you, I don’t want any.” I was walking faster now as John pursued me.
“What? What are you saying, over politics? You don’t want to be with me because of politics?” He’d gotten ahead of me now to block my progress down the hall.
“It’s not ‘just politics,’ John. It’s not a difference of opinion. This is skin deep. This mindless, all-or-nothing, ‘this is the law and no exceptions,’ idiotic approach to immigration, which is overwhelmingly aimed at people of color? It gets people killed. People who are documented through the DACA process. Meanwhile, you have large swaths of undocumented Canadian and European immigrants who overstay work, school, and vacation visas that no one ever questions because they’re white and they speak English well. The subtext is always the same. White people are welcome, and others are hauled out by their ears. So yeah, your ‘politics’ aren’t the same as having an opinion on whether or not pizza should have pineapple on it. It’s whether or not you deserve to risk deportation and possible death because your pizza has pineapple on it. And I don’t want any part of it. I can’t live with anyone who does.”
“Wait, Liluana, stop, let’s talk about this.”
“No, get out of my way. There’s nothing to talk about. You already gave me your opinion.”
“Wait, so... what are you saying? That you’re calling it quits with me just like that? Over this?” John looked incredulous now. And hurt. “Come on, you can’t mean that.”
“I can and I do. I didn’t realize this about you or I would never have even begun to think about you like that. Automatic dealbreaker. Consider it done. Now leave me alone to deal with my feelings.” And I left him standing in the hallway. I went to my room, closed the door, locked it, turned on my stereo to muffle the noise, lay down on my bed, and screamed into my pillow until I ran out of gas and fell asleep.
When I woke up, it was 2:00am. I was hungry and thirsty. I figured everyone should be asleep. I quietly opened my door, and John tumbled in. He’d been sleeping against it, apparently, determined not to let me pass without knowing.
“Shit,” I exclaimed, startled.
“Hnngghhhmmphh,” John mumbled as he fell onto his side and woke up.
“What the fuck, John, what are you doing?”
He rubbed his bleary eyes and staggered to his feet. “You’re not dumping me like that.”
“You don’t get a choice in this matter. I find you morally repugnant,” I sniffed.
“Wait, please, Liluana. I told you this was how I was raised. I... my family... we didn’t really get out much in terms of culture or diversity. To be honest, my folks weren’t really thrilled when I started dating Olivia. I think the only reason they were half-way okay with her was because her family was well-off and she was so popular in school, homecoming queen, sorority girl, honors student, went to church. Deep inside, I think they would rather I had met someone else.” He looked down when he said, “They truthfully would probably not have liked you either.”
“From what you said about Norm, it sounds like maybe you’re not as much a fan as you tried to let on,” I said, not able to dodge the tremor in my voice. “That was really cruel, John. And after I took you to stay with me so you wouldn’t be so lonely in your apartment. After my mother showed you kindness and cooked for you. The way you seemed to love being there. Was it all an act? I’ve been known to be that stupid before. It’s just that... I thought I’d gotten wiser. Now I feel like I’m still stupid enough to get duped by guys like you. Like Bucky. Jesus, Val has to let me go now after this.”
“NO, Liluana, don’t ask Val to reassign you. You’re wrong. Give me a chance to show you. I just need to understand better. You could help me instead of kicking me to the curb. I... I’m not trying to be like my parents, it’s what I know. I thought that because Puerto Ricans are Americans and that since you and your mom were Americans even though she came from Colombia, maybe you didn’t like people who didn’t come here legally. I had heard that this happens. I shouldn’t have assumed. Please?”
I sat down on the edge of my bed and put my face in my hands. I wasn’t sure what to do. He seemed like he was being genuine. I had just never dated someone who was anti-immigrant or right-wing in the least. John had never said anything to make me suspect. But then, we were both busy dealing with our PTSD and crushing on each other. I thought back to him being at my Mami’s place, and how much we were into each other without anything really happening. The sweet innocence of it. With my face already in my hands, I couldn’t help myself. I started to weep, softly, for the loss of that innocence. If only I could rewind time.
John leaned into me, rubbing my back and saying, “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry,” over and over again. He pulled gently at my hands until I took them away from my face, cupping my chin and turning me to look at him. His face was a mask of anxiety and grief and fear. “Liluana, please don’t abandon me. You’re the only person since Olivia, Lamar, and maybe Yelena who’s actually given a shit about me...”
“John,” I said through my tears, “I don’t want to feel this way, but I don’t want to invest my heart and then have it turn out that you won’t change, and that I can’t live with that.”
“I know, I wouldn’t want that for either of us, but I already felt like a different person just staying with you. I learned so much. I know it’s not your job to reeducate me, but I think you might be the right woman to do it. You make me want to do better, to be better. Not just you, to be fair. Yelena, Bob, Alexei, Ava, even Bucky. But you’re the only one who has me by the heart.” He brushed the tears from my face with his thumb, then placed his lips over my eyes, planting a gentle kiss on each one as I closed them.
I crumbled and leaned into him then, letting him hold me and soothe me, his kisses warm on my cheek, his arms strong and reassuring, his voice low and loving in my ear. This couldn’t be some horrible, hateful bigot, not my John. We laid down on my bed, holding each other, and fell asleep until morning.
When morning came, he said, “Let’s go out, there’s something I want to take care of, it can’t wait.” I suggested a shower, but he said we could stay stinky, and I laughed but wondered what the hell we were doing anyway until we stopped at our local Board of Elections office.
“What are we doing here?” I asked, confused.
John pulled down a voter registration form and started to fill it out. “I’m re-registering to vote.”
“Why?”
“Because I’m not going to be a Republican anymore, I’m going to be a no-party, independent voter. OK, sure, it’s not exactly a swing to the ‘dark side’ with you commies,” he winked at me, “but consider it a good faith token that I’m going to try to do better, learn more, and keep an open mind. If you’ll stick with me and talk me through things I don’t understand that well. Plus, have I told you that you’re really cute and I don’t want to be without you so I’ll do pretty much anything you ask.”
“I’m not asking you to do this, though, John. You have to want to do something like this or they’ll say I’m indoctrinating you. You have to care about human beings to want to do something like this.”
“The thing is, I do. I just didn’t make the connection. But I wouldn’t want to see the people I met in East Harlem deported, even though most of them weren’t deportable. They were all cool people, just trying to get by.”
“The majority are. The working class, across all races and immigration statuses, have more in common with each other than any of them have in common with the millionaires who run the country. It’s about solidarity. They want to live out their lives in peace, just like us.”