I heard whispers about ice. Winter had just gotten over with so I don’t
know why they were talking about it.
They didn’t really let me in on their conversations. They were friendly,
don’t get me wrong but I had to earn their trust. Which is hard because
I’m not really a people person.
I got to know a few people on a superficial level. And by that, I mean I
would smile and nod my head. I never learned their names.
I was waiting around for a job when a woman approached me. She said
something in another language so I just smiled and nodded.
She said a few more things.
I again smiled and nodded.
A man came over and said, “She says she has seen you before.”
“I’ve been here every day for the last week,” I told him. Which he should
have known, we’ve been on the same crew two of those days.
And before we get any further, I wasn’t doing yard work or construction in
Chicago. It was mostly moving stuff. Sometimes painting, which I was fine
at as long as I didn’t have to be on a ladder.
“No, she got picked up a couple of weeks ago,” he informed me.
“Oh, sorry to hear that,” I said, trying to give her my best sympathetic
look.
The woman said some more stuff that I couldn’t understand.
“She was being held by ICE,” the man translated. “Your picture is on the
wall.”
“My picture?” I asked, baffled about why they would have my picture.
She spoke some more.