The Hard Part

In this world of ours we are constantly being assaulted by change. Its a fast paced setting all about "the next big thing" and how to get a step ahead of the next person. I must have missed the part of the Bible that explained that life is a race. A race to accumulate the most wealth, have kids early to get on to retirement early, finish school first. . . etc etc. It's amazing to me what a difference little routines make in my life, saving me from the constant, tumultuous changes of everyday life. These little routines I create and cherish save me from being swept away in the confusion. And I admit, on some of them I might border OCD status.

So every morning I get ready in the exact same manner. Shower, brush my teeth, shave, pants, body armor, socks, boots, shirt, check my gun, gun belt, equipment bag. etc etc. Being sure not to forget anything. This allows me to kinda run on auto pilot for a bit while my mind catches up to the fact my body is up and about. It's a long routine and I will spare you the boringness of it all. Fact is I like my little routines since in my job you never know what it is you will be doing for the day.

So last week as I arrive to work and meander on into the muster room I head for my usual spot, 3rd row from the front, 3rd seat from the aisle. Wow, wait, somebody apparently didn't notice in the last 6 months that such said seat previously mentioned was always occupied by me. They have taken the liberty of plopping their somewhat overweight mass down in my spot. Well, there goes one of my little routines out the door. Not a good way to start muster in my mind. But oh well, life goes on, as I make a mental note to arrive a couple minutes earlier tomorrow to secure my seat. I told you on some of my routines it borders craziness I am sure. Luckily I don't have too many of those.

There is a slight buzz in the room as more and more agents enter. All of them chatting about the previous days work and what they plan to do for the weekend. I take a seat, not my seat mind you, but one that happens to be next to a buddy of mine so its alright. A hush comes over the room sweeping its way out from nearest the doors out to the corners. In comes the "Brass." Field Operation Supervisors, Supervisors, and even the Patrol Agent in Charge. All here to make corny jokes, brag about themselves if given the chance, and to deal out our assignments for the evening. We are told about certain "breaking news" and things or people to be on the lookout for. I only slightly register the first few names read off the list and their assignments. Making a mental note of where they will be in case I need to help them or vice-versa. A few I make notes of where they are at so that I can avoid them at all costs. As is life. I know vaguely where my sub-unit will be working for the week so I can focus more on that areas assignments. As I wait for my name I realize that he has already moved on past those assignments and has already read the names of everyone else in my sub-unit. Not good. Special assignments are either really cool, or really boring. Usually the latter.
"Lange"
"Here sir" I reply.
"Hospital watch, Copper Queen, room 115"
Great. Just what I wanted. To sit outside a hospital room for 8 or 9 hours. Guarding somebody who obviously isn't going anywhere, not dressed in one of those embarrassing robes they give you. Stewing over the fact that I know who is paying for all these tests and delicious food given the alien, along with the $1200 trip back to their country, me and my taxes.

I arrive at the hospital in quick time, no need to make the other guy I am to relieve wait longer than he needs to. I find room 115, poke my head in to make sure my charge is safe and secure in their adjustable bed. I cringe as I lean past the door, blaring next to my ear is the TV, of course tuned to Univision playing some novela, loud enough that I can probably hear it from the end of the hall. She seems asleep. And very small, the other agent said she wasn't a juvey, yet she looks to be 14 or 15. I turn the TV off and sit down outside the room. Within seconds the TV is back on and Corazones Ardientes echoes out and down the hall. I pull out my book I brought and settle down for a long, long night.

About an hour later the doctor arrives and asks me if I could translate for him. Sure, no prob. I walk in and explain to the girl, she doesn't seem a grown woman to me, what the doctor is doing etc. He is only going to check her sugar levels at this time and a gives her the result of a couple other tests he has run. He finishes and quickly ducks out thanking me for my help. I move to follow but a hand reaches out and grabs my sleeve. "Oficial, cuando me voy?" The number one question they all ask. When am I leaving. I ask her why she is in such a hurry, she wanted to be here, live it up, soak it in, you are in America. This comment usually lightens the mood and the fact that I get to explain to them it could be weeks before they get sent home. Home for her being Ecuador. I look down on her and see her eyes glistening with tears. "I just want to go home" she says. "Please, can't I go?" I tell her that she can go when the doctors release her. We want to make sure she is healthy before we send her back. She was up in the mountains for 4 days before we found her. She had little food and no water. The guides that bring them across lie to them and tell them its a short trip, couple hours. Not days. They come ill prepared. I see it everyday. I hate the guides for it. These people deserve better. She starts crying and tells me she wants to see her baby. Her baby. She is a baby herself I think. She tells me about how her boyfriend left her when he found out she was pregnant. She got another boyfriend after, but he was shot and killed. Her mother kicked her out of the house and she left her 5 month old baby with her aunt. She made it to Mexico and had to be operated on there, a breast infection. Days after being released she is crossing the border. Two of the guides tried to rape her. She and others ran. The guides ditch them and they find themselves lost, without food or water. My heart aches but I feel no tears. This isn't the first story like this I have heard. You harden yourself to these stories, because they don't make your job easier. I still have a job to do. But its too late, I have heard her story and like all the others they stick. They bounce around in your head and eventually can't be ignored. But you steel yourself while on duty, emotions make for mistakes. You can't get mad, or sad. You do your job.
I talk to her and calm her down. Telling her she is safe and will be able to see her son again. Soon. I walk out feeling cold.
I am fine. I do my job, wait for my replacement and head back to the station. On my way home it hits, it usually does sooner or later. That girl, in a different world, could be my sister, my niece, a cousin, someone I know and love. My eyes glisten. This, this is the hard part of my job. Other days I deal with the Drug Dealer, Rapist, Car jacker, Pedophile. They throw rocks at you, shoot at you, try to run you over. You track them and chase them for hours, in grueling territory. But that isn't the hard part. This is. The stories like Veronica from Ecuador. That is the hard part. And there is nothing you can do about it.