Welcome to America: Now Prove You’re Leaving

The gatekeepers of freedom

Photo by author.

The immigration officer who just screamed “NEXT!” to scrutinize me and interrogate me before she opens the gates of her great wonderful country in front of me looks hungry and angry. She’s so tall I wonder if they built a little platform near her desk so she can look more threatening.

I move my lips. Eat me, baby. I’ll devour you from the inside, don’t worry. But I keep that thought in; she wouldn’t get it. Not the type. Frizzy hair, ample bosom, a miserable expression across her face — no hellos, no smiles. Just, “Why are you visiting the United States today, ma’am?”

“For leisure,” I say weakly, wondering if I’m about to become her afternoon snack.

“Leisure?!” She looks like she’s smelled something foul. “Get that lazy ass out of here!” I can almost hear her wanting to say it.

“I’m visiting my sister who lives here,” I add quickly, nerves crawling up my spine at her tone.

“Why didn’t you mention that before?!” Her frown intensifies.

“Well, you just asked me the question. I don’t know. I’m also meeting friends here. I didn’t think I had to make a list of people I was going to see on my trip,” I stammer, feeling my patience slipping.