Joe Tubbs had expected things to be better by now. Not just the price of eggs and cars, though that would have been nice. What he was really waiting for was a certain feeling. He was not quite sure how to name that feeling. Only that it would be good. Now that something was finally being done, he should start to notice it, right? He should be able to hold his head high, his back straight.
He pulled the woolen blanket around him tighter and cursed—for probably the hundredth time—the replacement service he had hired to get rid of the drafty windows. They had cost him a fortune and here he was, shivering through yet another winter in goddamn Pennsylvania.
He looked over towards the side window. The snow had finally let up, but the thought of abandoning the blanket in order to go out there and shovel did not appeal to him in the least. It all got harder when you got older. He sighed. Then again, maybe the cold air would shut up the nagging in his head. He had thought it was impossible but, recently, he had gotten a bit tired of listening to himself. Those voices, telling him that he was losing out to someone, that someone—many ‘someones’ actually— somewhere in America were having a good time, living it up at his expense.
“Politicians”, he muttered, looking at the screen on the wall in front of him showing the presidential couple waltzing in a festively decorated golden ballroom.
That wife was beautiful, Joe Tubbs thought. Much prettier than Jenna had ever been, even in her prime. Then again, he had never been as powerful as the man on screen, so he guessed it made sense that he had gotten Jenna and the president had gotten a lingerie model.
But he, Joe Tubbs, hadn’t had a Daddy handing everything to him on a silver platter. His whole life, Joe Tubbs had worked, and worked hard. Nobody had bequeathed him a real estate business. He wouldn’t have wanted it anyway, it would have watered down the taste of his success. That job at the bank he once upon a time used to have, he had deserved it, because he had labored for it. Unlike all those others, he had refused to be a drain on the government’s pocket. Instead, he had taken responsibility for himself, and gone and made his own luck. He might not have made it through the whole book, but, oh yes, he had understood ‘Atlas Shrugged’ better than they ever could.
There was the damn twitch again in his left eyelid. By now, he knew that no amount of rubbing or cold compresses or heating pads would make it go away. The doctor said it was stress-related. What stress, though? He had no showings scheduled over the holidays and new clients looking for a house usually waited until the new year to reach out. So, he had spent the last couple of days sitting at home, watching TV, eating, listening to music, eating more, sleeping, and eating again.
He looked away from the screen and the show-offs in tuxedos and gowns toasting each other a Merry Christmas, cups full of champagne that people like him could never have afforded. Tubbs often got a kick out of watching them, but recently even the good politicians were starting to annoy him (though he still would choose them a thousand times over the other ones, the ones who blamed people like him for all the shit that went wrong in their miserable lives).
Tubbs’ gaze wandered to the picture of his wife on the round coffee table next to the mid-century style sofa she’d insisted they buy. Must have been a decade ago by now, but the sofa still looked like it was fresh out of the box. He had two reasons why he never used that sofa. One, it was the only couch he had ever sat on that made his ass hurt. And two, the cushions were white and his wife was pathologically worried about stains.
It had been five years since Jenna had left him, but it was just easier to keep to her ways. Still, looking at the sofa, he momentarily had a vision of himself slowly pouring a glass of red wine on it.
He clenched his teeth. He did not deserve to be let go from his old job. Everyone in the bank did what he had done. The only difference was that they didn’t have a leech of a trainee next to them who was trying to steal their job. There was one reason Joe Tubbs had lost his position and his money, and his name was Tommy fucking Martinez. Too bad he wasn’t one of the illegals. Tubbs would have loved to report him to the anonymous online tip form. Unfortunately, he knew for a fact that Tommy was just as native to America as he.
Jenna left when the job did. He always knew that she loved their life more than she loved him. But it had still been a shock. He remembered her face, when he told her they would have to sell the convertible. That had been it for her, right then.
The twitching got worse. He switched off the TV stream, leaned back into his old leather chair, and closed his eyes. Pictures of their old house swam into his mind. Relax, he told himself, and started a breathing exercise his doctor had recommended, all the while picturing the mansion going up into flames.
Then the video popped up in his brain. He cursed violently, his jaw clenching even tighter, if that was even possible. He hadn’t even meant to see that damned video in the first place. His social media feed normally showed him content in line with his lifestyle and politics. But there it had been, the face of the fourteen-year old neighborhood kid from across the street, and once Tubbs had started watching he could not look away.
It was the close-up shot of the kid’s face that had gotten to him. The tears seemed so real, like he needed to wipe them off his phone. At one point, you could even see a spit bubble in between the boy’s braces. Despite all the sobbing, the boy’s words were easy to follow. Manuel talked about his mother, Maria, who had come to the United States when she was twelve years old and had lived there for 23 years. Tubbs knew the basics, more or less, of his neighbor’s American Dream. Maria had gotten married to a white guy from Brooklyn named Rick, and for some goddamn reason, had never applied for US citizenship. They had a boy together and named him Manuel. Not Rick Jr., mind you, she had had to pick a Hispanic name. And for what? To make things more difficult for her boy?
After Tubbs had sold the mansion to pay out his ex-wife and had moved into the neighborhood, the Jones’ from further down the street had told him that Maria’s husband was abusive. Tubbs had never seen any proof. Nor had he wanted to listen to any of her stories. All he knew was that they got divorced a couple of years ago. Maria and Manuel stayed in the house, but Rick had moved away.
Since then, he hardly saw Rick. He supposed that would change now that Maria was gone. But it had been ten days since the authorities had taken her away and so far he had not seen anyone but Manuel leaving or entering the house across the street.
That was the real story of the reel, of course, that Maria had been detained by ICE agents, right after dropping off her son at the nearby high school. Manuel claimed they didn’t even tell him where they took her—something that Joe Tubbs found unlikely. It sounded too much like these made up horror stories the liberal media liked to spread to get people riled up. And yet, Manuel never seemed to visit his mom. Prior to the holiday break starting, Tubbs had watched Manuel leave the house early to catch the morning bus and return right after school was over in the afternoon. The last couple of days, Manuel seemed to not have left the house at all.
Enough! He’d be damned if he was going to spend Christmas Eve worrying about these illegals. He pushed aside the blanket and, a few minutes later, he was in his garage, all bundled up and ready to clear the sidewalk. The cold hit him like a brick wall. He braced himself and shoveled a narrow path along the side of the driveway, so that he could get started on the more important sidewalk first. He hated the people who let their sidewalks steeped in snow for days or failed to put salt down. The carelessness of his neighbors was nothing less than infuriating.
He looked up when he had reached the front and saw the boy. Manuel was out as well, shoveling the sidewalk opposite him. Tubbs noticed that he wore neither hat nor gloves. Surely Maria would have insisted he put some on before going out in this weather.
“Hey there”, he waved. “Wanna make a few bucks and shovel my driveway?”, he heard himself saying before he could stop it.
Manuel looked up. His nose was glowing like he was a human version of Rudolph the reindeer. His hands were a bright red, too.
“No, thank you”, he replied, somewhat politely.
That annoyed Tubbs.
“Must be nice to not need any money at your age!”, he snapped.
The boy stopped in his tracks and looked up at him again. Joe Tubbs drew a sharp breath of air. He had never seen a face that desperate. Then the boy collapsed onto his knees. No, no, no. Tubbs chided himself for not keeping his mouth shut. The boy was sobbing now, right in front of him on the sidewalk. It was as if the video had come alive.
Cursing, he crossed over and put a gruff hand on Manuel’s shoulder.
“There, there”, he said, “come on, get up, now.” He helped him on his feet. “It’s going to be fine”, he continued, but the boy kept on crying, shaking his head, trying to speak.
“It’s not”, he stammered and wiped the snot away from his mouth. “Not…, nothing, nothing is going…” He alternated between sobbing and gasping for air.
“Breathe, young man, breathe!”
Manuel nodded and turned away, taking a few steps towards his house. Tubbs was about to breathe a sigh of relief, but just then, Manuel collapsed again, this time on the snow covered grass.
“Hey, hey, hey”, Tubbs grabbed him from behind around the shoulders. “Why don’t you step over into my house for a hot cup of coffee? Nothing that something warm won’t fix, eh?”
Manuel shook him off, rather violently.
“You don’t get it! They took my mom and, until this morning, I didn’t even know where to, do you understand that? I have no one else…, I am…”
“What about your father?” Tubbs interrupted him. “Can’t he take you in while they figure out what’s going on with your mom?”
“My father!” Manuel pulled up the sleeve of his blue and black striped anorak, revealing some ugly scars on his underarm. “The last time I saw him he did this! Why do you think my mom finally left him?”
Tubbs had a flashback to the last time he had talked to Maria. It must have been a year ago. She had told him about Manuel’s braces and mentioned how expensive the treatment was. He had brushed off her concerns, told her that surely the boy’s father could help cover it. She hadn’t said anything, but he now remembered the sad look she’d given him.
“I’m sorry”, he heard himself say to the boy, who still kneeled with his arm outstretched in front of him.
“For what?” Manuel gave him a look and got up. Tubbs noticed that he had green eyes. Must have gotten them from Rick’s side of the family. “You didn’t cut me”, the boy stated. “If you want to feel sorry, you can feel sorry for sending these agents after my mom!”
Tubbs took a step back.
“I did not…”, he gasped, “you have some nerve, young man! It’s not my fault your mother came here illegally…”
“It wasn’t her fault either, was it? She was twelve years old, when they brought her. Twelve years old!”
Manuel grabbed his shovel and walked back towards their house. Tubbs watched him slam the door.
A minute later, Tubbs rang the boy’s doorbell.
“What?” Manuel was crying again. At least he now had a tissue to blow his snot into.
“Where is your mom?” Tubbs asked him.
“You know where she is”, the boy answered. “In a detention center. Like all the others.”
“I know that. But you said earlier you found out which one.”
For a moment, the boy just stared at him.
“Baldwin”, he said then, “they said they took her to the Northlake Processing Center in Baldwin. It’s supposed to be a prison, but it’s been taken over by ICE. That is where they said she is. It’s about a twelve-hour car ride. Do you want to know how much the cab driver asked for that?”
For a moment, the two of them remained silent and just looked at each other.
“Where is Baldwin?” Tubbs finally asked.
“Michigan. It’s somewhere in the North of Michigan.” Manuel looked deadly tired now and made a motion to close the door, but Tubbs quickly placed his hand on the doorknob.
“I’ll drive you there”, he blurted out. “Just pack a few things. If we leave now, you will be able to visit with her tomorrow morning.”
Manuel’s mouth fell open. He didn’t say anything, just gave his neighbor a look as if he was checking out whether or not the man had lost his mind. Tubbs wondered the same thing. But he also couldn’t help but wonder how the boy was going to pay for his orthodontic treatments without his mom.
“It’s Christmas, after all, right?”, he finally remarked with an encouraging nod. And when Manuel still didn’t respond but kept on staring, he decided for him: “I will pick you up in twenty minutes.” Then he hurried back to his house. He made sure to pick up his shovel and place it back on its proper spot in the garage, but he left his sidewalk unshoveled.
Several hours later, he was maneuvering his car next to a gas pump. He looked at the passenger seat, where Manuel seemed to have dozed off. It was way after midnight. Tubbs did not feel even a bit tired, though. Ever since the fuel reserve button had lit up about an hour ago, his adrenaline rush had been escalating with every mile he drove. They must have just crossed the longest stretch of highway in America without an open gas station.
Joe Tubbs breathed a long sigh of relief. He saw the boy stirring.
“Sit tight”, he said, “I’m just going to put in some gas and get us something to munch on.”
The smell of gasoline that greeted Tubbs outside gave him a feeling of comfort. He stood still for a moment and watched his breath form clouds of smoke. For once, the cold felt good. He made sure that the nozzle sat snuggly in the gas tank opening and watched it filling up his Chevrolet, wondering if there had even been a drop of gas left in it, when he had finally pulled in here.
The first few hours of their drive, Tubbs had done little but listen. Manuel had talked a lot, but he hadn’t minded. If anything, he had encouraged him by asking more details about his mother’s family.
He looked up from the gas tank to take in the view. It was the last dark hour before dawn. He squinted up but there were no stars to be seen except maybe one, but it was probably just an airplane.
Tubbs lowered his gaze and focused on the bright neon lights of the gas station in front of him instead. Snow was glittering on the dark rising hills around them, and there was something magical about the fluorescent lines of blue and red lights that surrounded the little convenience store. Like an American light oasis, he thought. When the tank was full, he closed the lid and went to the store to pick up some snacks and a couple of hot drinks.
Back in the car, the boy was wide awake.
“Thought you could do with some hot chocolate,” Tubbs said, handing Manuel the treat.
The boy accepted the drink but wouldn’t look him in the eye. He took a sip. Tubbs leaned back and did the same. He’d never tasted coffee this good.
“I don’t forgive you, you know.” Manuel’s voice was quiet. He had cried a lot during their drive so far, but now his face was dry and motionless.
“I understand, son… I understand,” Tubbs answered, just as quietly. “I wouldn’t forgive myself either, if I were you.”
Joe Tubbs turned on the ignition. “Time to find your mom,” he murmured. “Bring you guys back home.” And he pled to God that he could.