My Buddy From El Salvador

I came around the corner at a job site and there he was, my buddy from El Salvador.

“They didn’t deport you yet?” I asked.

He laughed.

“You’re such a d*ck,” he said. “They haven’t found me.”

I laughed, but as I shook his hand, I said, “Sorry you have to worry about this every day.”

“I’m here on a work visa. I’ve been here for almost two decades. I speak better English than most of the people here, but if they find me, I’m gone.”

“Crazy,” I said.

“You know, you’re as dark as me. If ICE came around the corner right now there’d be two of us in the back of that van.”

We laughed again.

“Seriously, are you Hispanic?”

“Bite your tongue!” I said. “I have Italian blood.”

He put his arm up and I matched him.

“You are darker than me! Are you ready to go to Portugal?”

We couldn’t stop laughing, but I saw, by the look on his face that he was scared.

“What I don’t get is that people hate me! Why would anyone hate me?”

He was talking about Americans who hate all immigrants…

…no matter what.

“It’s because you’re brown,” I said.

“So are you!”

We laughed some more.

I wanted to give him a hug as we parted.

As dramatic as it sounds, there’s a better than average chance that they’re going to grab him…

…his legal status be damned.

“Have fun in Haiti, or wherever they send you,” I said.

“Dude, if they do get me I’m going to tell them that you’re here illegally too. ‘Go get Cliff’ I’ll say, ‘He pretends he’s Italian but look at him, he’s Hispanic!’”

Poor guy.

Looking over his shoulder.

Frightened out of his mind that the life he’s built - legally - will just be taken from him.