The Wrong Message

Jose had just got off work and was heading home. He roofing job demanded a lot from him, be awake at 4 a.m just so he could drive through the labyrinth that is Dallas, and make it to the yard at 5 a.m.

He usually listened to old school Mexican music, Los Tigres Del Norte, Los Cadets, where always among his favorites.

The drive in the early morning through Dallas wasn’t so bad. Jose would set the cruise control on, turn up his favorite song “El Jefe de Jefes”, and he was instantly teleported to a town more than 3,000 miles south of him.

Those songs and that peaceful drive always reminded him of home. Of his true home. The home he left when he was 16 years old because he was unable to find work, and the work that he did find, he was unable to provide any help for himself let alone his family.

He would picture his padres asleep at the rancho while he drove. He would wonder when he would see them again, or how the circumstances would be the next time he saw them.

Would it be when his parents had passed away, and he would feel forced to travel and say his final goodbye? Or maybe somehow he would get deported and be forced to go back to where he came from?

He dream was that someway, somehow, maybe he would find true love with a woman that could help him with his citizenship. That would be perfect, Jose thought.

Then his mind would come rushing through the mountains of Mexico at the speed of light, and he would begin to dream about the perfect wife.

The beautiful, American girl, the one with blue eyes and blonde hair brighter than the sun.

Jose was to busy fantasizing and didn’t notice the red and blue flashing lights behind him.

When he finally saw them, he was scared! “Hijiole” he said frightened. How long has this cop been following me?

He slowly turned down the music, tapped on the brake pedal and began to slow down while looking for a place to pullover.

Crap! He thought, there is no shoulder on this highway!

And Jose kept driving.

By now the Police officer had grown impatient and was pressing all kinds of buttons in his car blaring different types of sirens.

When Jose finally found a decent shoulder, away from traffic, he slowly pulled over, and whispered a prayer in Spanish.

When he finally came to a stop, it was still pitch dark outside, and to make matter worst, the officer had turned on his spot lights on him and all he could see was a bright white lights almost as if the heavens had opened up and a stream of light was pouring out of the heavens.

Que hago? Que hago?, he thought to himself. Yo no hice nada, porque me detuvo?

Open the door and get out of the car slowly! The officers intercom blared. I’m not going to tell you again, Open the door and get out of the car slowly!!.

Jose understood a little of what he was hearing, but he the main problem was that he could not speak English nor did he have a drivers license.

He nervously opened the door and crept out slowly while saying, “me no speak English”, “disculpe Official, me no espeak”

“Get your hands where i can see them and get on the ground now!!” The Officer barked through his intercom.

Jose, now frighten to what was happening, tried to tell the officer once again, “ Senor, plis….mi no spiiiike ingles,” then he thought, what if i call my boss and have him explain to the officer, that he was on his way to work, and that he wasn’t able to communicate.

And so Jose slowly reached in his back pocket to retrieve his cellphone…. The next thing he felt was like someone had pinched him very hard and aggressively in his chest. Then he felt another pinch, this time in his upper belly.

All of a sudden he felt his knees grow weak and buckle. Then slowly like a weak spring, his legs gave out, and he collapsed on the floor.

Not quite grasping what had just taken place.

He had told the officer that he didn’t speak English. He had begged him that he didn’t know what was going on.

Then, slowly, the light he had seen began to fade away, and he began to get drowsy.