by S.L. Jordan

🜝

The gush of AC welcomed us as we entered the building and shivers rolled through my body from head to toe, the road to this day had taken four long gut-wrenching years I thought as I fell in step with my godmother and joined the straggling security line. Stalled investigations, false leads, sleepless nights and what seemed to be the most incompetent police force in the country, but we were finally here. V-day. The verdict. Then sentencing, the day I would learn what my mothers life was worth. It’s value broken down in terms of time. With swollen and stiff hands, I fumbled with my belt buckle, and heel-toed my feet out of my shoes. We continued to routinely file in line. Belt, phone, and everything in my pockets were dumped into a tray and slid through the metal detector. Once we were cleared, we proceeded undirected to the courtroom that was empty, save the staff going through their usual morning routine, and took our usual seats. Fourth row and furthest to the left. 

As the hands of the clock ticked closer to 9a.m., the room slowly started to fill up. Reporters, law students, local crime junkies were the usual attendees, but today the room was filled with some of my mothers clients -those she could save-, her co-workers and fellow comrades in arms as she called them. I glanced back and was surprised to see some of my sparring partners from the studio, I never mentioned the case -or my mother for that matter- in class. A rag-tag bunch, they were an odd sight to see, varying in age, ethnicity and gender but sporting common bruises. They brought a smile to my face in spite of the knots tightening in my stomach. 

When the bailiff brought the jury in, I sucked what felt like all the air from the room and held it in my chest. I grabbed my godmothers hand and my stomach simultaneously, while they filed in slowly and sat down. Nadi used her free hand to get one of her home-made ginger candies from her purse, she carried those things with her everywhere and offered them to everyone, the sight of them brought more comfort than the actual candy did. 

“All rise. Department One of the Wayne County Criminal Court is now in session, the Honorable Judge Jiles presiding” the bailiffs voice echoed and ricocheted around the chamber, competing to be heard over the thudding of my heart. 

Oh, shit. guilty.guilty.guilty.guilty.guilty.guilty.guilty.guilty. I thought as I rose with the rest of the courtroom. 

“Please be seated.”

There was the sound of wind as the courtroom sat unanimously.

“Will the jury foreperson please stand? Has the jury reached a unanimous verdict?”

In response to the Judges questions a statuesque woman stands, her back as straight as a rod, and looks ahead, “yes, we have your Honor” her voice strongly states.

Nadi squeezes my hand and nods reassuringly. The bailiff walks over to the jury forewoman and takes a slip of paper to the Judge, who looks down and silently reads the answer. Not a muscle moved on his face -he probably ran his local poker table-, nothing to hint at the verdict. The paper was handed back to the jury forewoman, who unfolded the slip at what felt like sloth-like speed.

“We, the jury …”

The silence in the room had reached a fever pitch at this point, creating a buzzing sound in my ear. The buzzing silence and the thudding of my heart created an overlapping beat that could be felt pulsing through my veins. I slid my clammy hands from Nadi’s grasp and tried unsuccessfully to dry them on my jeans until I clasped them in my lap to keep from shaking. The jury forewoman’s mouth was moving, but I couldn’t make out her words. She sounded like an old clip of a muppet show I saw on Youtube. 

“… finds the defendant, Raymond …”

The edges of the courtroom began to blur and the jury box started to tilt. Sweat rained from my underarms down my arms and pooled in my elbow crevices. I flopped down on the bench and leaned forward with my head between my knees. I could feel the blood as it started rushing back to my head, my breathing began to shallow out. 

“The jury is thanked and excused. Court is adjourned.” 

Then I heard it. Hollering? Screaming? Whatever it was sounded broken, hitting every corner of the room only to come back centerstage widening the fissure in my heart. I pressed my knees into my head so hard that the soft cartilage around my ears started to bruise, that was a first – I almost chuckled at the thought, when I felt strong arms encircle me. Adrenaline surged through my veins as my body instinctively went into response mode, I relaxed my muscles and went limp preparing to strike. However, they were ready for that and moved with me by tightening their arms even more adding a consistent rocking motion. A gentle mantra  started to break through the buzzing silence, the thudding heart and the continued wailing into my ear.

“breathe, breathe, breathe, breathe, breathe, breathe, breathe, breathe,” said the voice as their warm breath traveled down my neck.

Gagging, I spit a wad of mucus on the floor and felt the gummy rawness of my throat. The tenderness from the beating it had taken. That’s when I realized that wailing, that god-awful noise that was bouncing uncontrollable around the room, was coming from me. Silence swallowed the room when I closed my mouth -real silence- gone was the buzzing and thudding of my heart. I lifted my head to see the sun setting, the day had passed leaving the courtroom dark and empty, except for my sparring partners, Nadi and the apprehensive security guard whose hand hovered unsteadily above his holster as he stayed as far away from us as he could. 

With each regulating breath I could feel Austine loosen his grip on me. Nadi was standing over me with a tattered napkin in her hands, her tear stained face etched with worry, she let out a sigh of relief when I finally stopped screaming. The eight of us sat there in silence as we tried to process the closure handed to us that day. Fuck if I was going back to my therapist. I was positive she had never received closure like this before. This felt worse than that day, like they took the knife that slashed her throat still wet with blood and stuck it in my heart. Not enough to kill me, but enough for me to feel it, to have to learn to breathe with the pain everyday.

As if we all understood there was nothing left for us in that room, we got up silently and walked out. 

🜝

1:41a.m. 

The glow of my clock blinked defiantly across my face. Good thing I wasn’t sleeping, I thought as I kicked my covers off and grabbed my sweats. My anger wouldn’t allow me to sleep. It boiled right under the surface with nowhere to go. I got dressed in the dark and locked up my apartment, I had roughly twenty minutes before the liquor store closed.

My feet hit the pavement with a slow jog. My head on a swivel, ears alert. Ignoring the promise I made to Nadi earlier that night, I calculated the quickest route to and from the store. Sunmil knew me, and would probably let me in after hours but I didn’t want to risk it. I could cut through the side alley and pop up two blocks from the store, taking 4 minutes off my commute. The lights leading up to the store were out, which was unusual, Sunmil usually kept those on all night to prevent vandalism. I heard the shattered glass crush under my foot before I noticed the shards lining the sidewalk to the store.

The LED lights on the store glared brightly out of the darkness. Ok, at least the store was still open I thought and hurried inside. It wasn’t until I had reached the front counter that I noticed no one was at the cash register. I doubled back to the door, there weren’t any signs of a forced entry. Where was everyone? I wondered as I paced back and forth. 

“Yoooooo! Sunny,” I hollered round back dragging his name out “should I leave the cash here or can you add it to my tab?” I preferred the latter and cracked open the bottle – staring into the clear amber color I gave the bottle a swirl as thin fast-moving streaks formed and the sweet pepper spice floated into my nostrils- and was in the process of leaving the store when I heard a muffled noise coming from the back of the store. 

I froze, and placed the bottle on the counter.

Waited for more. It was then that I noticed how quiet the store was. 

After a few more minutes of silence, I pivoted on my toes and started to tiptoe my way to the door on the side of the counter. Sunmil’s family lived above the store on most nights there would be the sounds of pitter-pattering happening above where there were none.

The hair on my arm was standing at attention, and I could feel the blood start to reheat in my veins.

Stay tuned for the fifth installment …

I wrote La Cosecha for my parents. For a while now, I’ve felt overwhelmed by the way people like my parents have been treated. Worst of all, I felt powerless. While listening to Oprah’s SuperSoul Conversation podcast, I heard a guest say “Take action. There’s something you’re good at it. Use it to help others.” It pushed me to write an ebook of short stories to sell and then donate the money earned to Raices. This organization is a nonprofit that provides free and low-cost legal services to underserved immigrant children, families, and refugees.

The decision to creare La Cosecha came after. It hit me like a spicy salsa verde. My parents, two undocumented immigrants, had given me years worth of stories. It’s an honor to share them with the world for a cause mis papis would have felt so connected to. These are our people. Every story we tell is one more shout added to the raging call for freedom. 

Here is a selection from La Cosecha:

My parents never got over their homesickness. Every apartment and house we lived in was decorated to transport them back home. The plants that lined the windows. The outdoor wicker furniture they bought at Home Depot to keep in the living room. Our kitchen was adorned with hand carved artisanal pieces and we had daily serenades from the small finch colony that lived in a white wire cage. The greatest of these sacred spaces was the backyard. Mami and Papi planted seeds of any flower, vegetable, and fruit they thought could survive the Texas weather. Their love and care was enough to make it a true wilderness out there. Tiles marked a path through the yard that grew narrower each year by the abundance of life. My brother and I grew up picking the little berry shaped chillies for dinner and cutting lemons and oranges for our lemonade. My parents looked happiest when they barbecued. They would sit out in their oasis and I could always hear my mother’s laughter over the bachata of Anthony Santos and the vallenato of Carlos Vives.