Wanted For Drug Trafficking

The flight was interminably long. I tried to get some rest, but the plane’s air was cold and dank. Hanna had her hand on my leg the whole time urging me to get some rest.

“We’ll make it in time,” she said reassuring me. She soothed my eyelids like my grandmother used to do on the cross-country trip I went on with my family when I was eight years old. Only Hanna could bring back the fond memories. I had known her such a short time, but I felt like I had known her forever. The soothing action put me in a deep sleep, and Hanna woke me up when we landed at LAX, completing the silent journey in a race against death.

At the airport, all the women were dressed in black—high fashion, and the men were well groomed. We had to go through customs first.

This Mexican guy looked at my passport, and made a phone call.

“Who are you calling?” I pleaded, my heart in my stomach.

“Ma’am, you are wanted for drug trafficking,” he said.

“Listen, Pedro, I’ll give you a hundred dollars,” Hanna broke in. “This woman is just in the country to visit her sick brother. Then we are going back to Amsterdam.”

The Mexican’s eyes gleamed when he saw the green. He hung up the phone.

“Okay. You’re in,” he said fondling the 100 dollar bill through his pocket.

“Thanks,” I said. “It’s the truth.”

“Frankly, my dear, I don’t give a damn. I’m just looking out for my family, too. They don’t pay us enough here,” the Mexican with the pock marked face said sternly.

Hanna grabbed our suitcases without a word and hustled me to the Avis counter where we got the rented car.

“Do you know how to get there?” she asked in a business-like tone.

“Yep.” I was proud of myself for being able to navigate my way through Los Angeles even though I had not lived there for over 20 years.

We sat in the snarled traffic of the 405 freeway, and finally made it to the hospital.

We checked in at the front desk where we got our visitor passes and headed in the elevator to the second floor. We got to room 205 where my sister-in-law was sitting vigil beside my brother. His head was bandaged, and he was sleeping.

“Where did you come from?” Jessica asked surprised to see me there.

“All the way from Amsterdam” I replied at our somewhat cold welcome.

“What are you doing there?” Jessica asked in a way that measured all of my past experiences that she did not approve of.