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Sunday, August 23, 2009

My little latin love story, Part 13 of ...

The first problem we encountered was the fact the Mili didn’t heed my warnings (something she does to this day, a trait that jumps back-and-forth between endearing and irritating) of how cold Utah gets. I had told her that she should concentrate on sweaters, wool and alpaca (a member of the llama family who’s fleece is a very good insulator, even better than sheep’s wool).

She said, “I thought this jacket would do,” referring to the long sudo-leather jacket. I laughed.

First we hounded my sisters for spare winter clothing. My older sister despite her middle class upbringing, her middle class parents and her perfectly comfortable middle class siblings liked to live the high life. Or at least look like it. I wanted my girlfriend to look and feel like a million dollars so we went to her first. She only had a jacket, but it was a place to start. My younger sister unfortunately had very little as far as clothing that would fit Mili. Mili is a small, petite Latin woman and my younger sister a very strong and intimidating white woman.

Next stop was the best thing to come out of the Mormon Church since the gospel, the DI. My parents were always willing to help out by buying things for Mili, but I wanted that almost married feeling of being able to do things without my parents help. I was surprised to see exactly how far I could stretch $8.50 an hour. Nevertheless, my parents on more than one occasion took her shopping for clothes. Sure, I have my pride, but I like to think I am humble enough to know when I could use a little financial help.

Tuesday, August 18, 2009

My little latin love story, Part 12 of ...

I had more or less of a plan. According to the INS we had 90 days to get married, after we got married we had to fill out a whole new set of forms, pay $200 and she would get her conditional permanent resident status for two years. After that we would pay a whole new fee and fill out a whole new set of forms and that would be the last hurdle for the next ten years or was that two? Then it would be something completely different if she decided to get her US citizenship. That was my plan as far as the INS.

Reality was different, as is usally the case. In preparation for Mili’s arrival, I had moved out of my parents home and rented a one-bedroom apartment. I didn’t make very much money so I took on a roommate. He had a futon so his room was the living room. I had checked with the INS and they said with the kind of Visa Mili was coming in on she would be able to work, little did I know that the work visa she was getting was a mini-work visa that only lasted ninety days and didn't just renew itself when we got married. I like to think this is one of the many jokes the INS plays on immigrants, 'Hey, we're going to give you this visa that lasts 90-days! Gook luck finding an employer that is going to hire you for only 90-days and oh, yeah. To get a work visa that lasts a year you are going to have to pay $250' Ha ha, I'm sure they laughed themselves to sleep every night over that one.

I had made arrangements with a girl from Argentina that I worked with so that Mili could stay with her until we could get married. I think she had the hots for me and was still betting on the fact that things wouldn’t work out when she made the arrangement but when things worked out I called her on it. My original plan was to have her live with my parents but Mili and my parents didn’t want to work around the language barrier. I could understand that because my very first companion on my mission didn’t speak a lick of English and it was very difficult, I mean drag a man to tears difficult.

Wednesday, August 12, 2009

My little latin love story, Part 11 of ...

It was November and it was the first time I had been to the airport since 9/11 and the new excuse for violating human dignity (and civil liberties) came into play, they called these excuses 'increased security'. At least people didn't have to take their shoes off at the security point yet, that was still a couple of months away. I was nervous, worried and filled with a scary new hope. Her plane was delayed in Denver for over an hour and I didn’t have a cell phone, so I just had to hang around and wait. I wanted to sit down and rest, but I guess chairs were only good enough for people beyond the gate and the lucky 10 who got to the chairs between the escalators. My mom wanted to come but I told her that I really wanted to be the only one there. As always, my mom understood.

Before, a person could walk all the way to the door that connected the plane to the airport and only have to see the people on the same flight as the person you were waiting for. I really hated this new everybody-come-though-the-same-gate thing. I mean planes are coming off all the time so there is a constant flow of people, you never know when the people from the plane you are waiting for are getting off. I felt a little like a gumba, in my semi-formal shirt, my very clean and ironed jeans, my mostly clean winter coat and holding a bouquet of flowers asking people “Are you coming off the flight from Denver?” Weird looks were abound from the groups of families that were awaiting returning missionaries. I just tried to blend into the background while still being close enough to see who was coming off and not being part of any grouping of people. There were mixed results.

She was wearing the same long black sudo-leather jacket that she had on the first time I met her in Perú outside of the mission, which for me was the first time I really met her. She said good-bye to the sister missionary (who's family had been looking at me the whole time wondering if they should say something to this lonely and obviously nervious/anxious person) that just so happened to be coming home from Peru that she had been traveling with and we embraced.

Emotions raced around my body like a Nascar race being shook up in a snow globe. Happyness, love, exaltation, relief and all other complex emotions smashed into each other or along the walls of my being. She seemed so relaxed. Her hair, as she usally wore it, was hanging loose and falling about her shoulders. She had on a grey shirt that pressed the limits of temple worthy low cut, a pair of blue jeans and a pair of black boots that added at least an inch to her height. Her wonderfully white teeth spread out in a heart-melting smile in contrast to her dark moca skin.

I missed you so much, heaven.” She whispered as we continued our embrace.

I missed you too.” I was still a little unsure about the whole new list of pet names available to me and didn't know which one to use. So, my brain ran around the emotional and mental chaos and handed me silence.

When we tore apart I gave her the flowers that I had brought with me and we hugged again, this time with a long, drawn out kiss. In hindsight I get the image and feeling that you get when watching a movie and suddenly the whole world speeds up while the couple in the middle remain, slow and in real time. At that moment, the world felt like it had left the sun like a bad lover and began to orbit around us. Fireworks exploded, angelic choirs sang and God probably took his attention from something important to look at us for a moment and give an approving nod. Sure, I'm exaggerating but it sure felt that way.

Wednesday, August 5, 2009

My little latin love story, Part 10 of ...

At that time Xbox had come out and I was studying whether to buy an Xbox or a Playstation 2. I really liked Halo on Xbox, but my sister said I should come to her house in Salt Lake and try out her Playstation 2. With what I was going through I thought it was a good idea to get a distraction in my life. While I was there I called Mili. At long last she answered.

I was so happy just to speak to her, but she was more reserved. A more ‘I-want-to-tell-you-something-but-I-probably-shouldn't-tell-you’ kind of mood.

What happened?” I asked.

I didn’t go in.”

Did they not let you go in?”

No, I just didn’t go in.”

WHY!” I screamed into the phone. This was the first time I had really become agitated with Mili. I was usually the one that kept his cool.

I’m not ready to marry you.” This wasn’t happening. I had paid so much, suffered so much and fought so much. I wasn’t even going let Mili stop me at this point.

Eventually, I pried the information out of her and she told a tale of how she just didn’t feel like she was a good person. Mili felt bad about some things that she had done in the past. Things that had long since past, things she had long since left behind her, things she had long since repented of. I could see that she was a completely different person now then the person in her past. But she couldn’t. I listened as she laid the whole story before me, and when she was done I broke into the ‘you-shall-be-as-white-as-snow’ speech. Sure, it's a little overdone, a little cliché, but things don't get cliché because they arn't true or useful. I didn’t care about what she had done or how she felt about things she had done in the past, and at that moment I felt like an old friend had walked up to me to say 'hello', I remembered the true reason I was fighting so hard and tolerating so much. Something that had gotten lost in the fighting, the straining and the overall mess of government. I loved her, and I wanted to spend eternity with her.

The next day Mili called the embassy and they told her she couldn’t get another appointment until next year. Although the government was taking their time, with regard to 9/11, I feared that they might just get their act together and look at the INS instead of just promoting patriotism. First, I called the US embassy in Peru and tried to convince them that just because I was a tax-paying US citizen I had some say in what went on in government, I refused to speak or acknowledge that I spoke Spanish in a foolish attempt to intimidate them like I would a Wal-Mart customer service employee into accepting the return of an item that I had bought without the receipt. It didn’t work; they probably don't get paid enough to care. Next I called my representative in Washington, my voice in federal law, my congressman, Chris Cannon. I figured that he could call the embassy, throw some proverbial (and probably literal) weight around and tell them to make an appointment for Mili and that would be that. I got passed off to some underling who gave me the excuse that because of Sept. 11 the INS told them that they couldn’t pull strings like that any more and I never voted for Chris "Jowels" Cannon again.

I wish I could take back every tantrum I ever had. I wish I could take back every tear I had ever made my mom cry, every sleepless night that she had for my sake. My Mom, seeing my suffering, called Orin Hatch’s (our senior senator) office and told them of my plight. Orin Hatch or at least one of his powerful secretaries (because, let's be honest, it's the secretaries that get things done) waved the stick of senatorial power and with a call, a fax and within 24 hours Mili had an appointment for the very next week and I had a smile on my face once again.

Monday, August 3, 2009

My little latin love story, Part 9 of ...

September 11, 2001 at about 7:30am MST. I turned on the television for the morning news as I did every morning before I went to work. I liked to listen to the strange crimes that go on and make fun of the TV anchors that tried to be funny and all they had to report on was a sale at some store in Salt Lake. Some might say I’m a little psychotic, but I was happy that something interesting was happening in the world. I was fascinated by the reactions of the news media. Astounded by the footage. I marveled at the story of a couple that clasped their hands before jumping from the tower. I wasn’t really hurt or saddened until that night when my mother mentioned that the hijackers were immigrants and that it would probably have an affect on Mili’s case. That is when I became worried and angry.

I like it when companies put radio stations on their hold music. You get a variety to listen to. The INS doesn’t. After two hours on hold to the INS, I learned that they repeated the same music and message every fifteen minutes. I even began to say the message with the machine when it came on. I don’t even know why I called the INS. I had called them a few times throughout the process and I always came to the same conclusion; that conclusion was that the people working in the call center probably don’t even know whom they work for or what they are suppose to do. This time I wanted to know how September 11 was going to affect my case. As usual, they didn’t know.

Luckily the government has a speed all it’s own. They passed the US PARTIOT ACT (it seems like the only thing they are quick about is taking away our civil liberties) quickly enough but then they really didn’t know what to do with themselves, other than collect their paychecks. So no major changes happened until after Mili came to the US.

After all her paperwork and exams were done the US embassy gave Mili an appointment for an interview for the last week in October. We were delighted. I happily spent forty dollars just to talk about how this whole nightmare might be coming to an end.

I anxiously waited the day of her interview at work watching my e-mail for the news on when she was going to be able to come. All I got was “I’m not going to be able to come.” I called, I wrote and no answer. Two days later I was a basket case. I didn’t know what had happened. I didn’t know what to do. I even called in sick to work. So I did what I always do to escape reality, I played video games.