The Catch

"Well crap," I said. "Dang it!" I was laughing, but nothing about it was funny. "You know... that's okay. That's okay!" He was watching my face, I could feel it.
"No," he said, "It's not okay."
"Well, what are you gonna do about it, you know. You can't do anything about it now. It's done. You can't change that about yourself. Its like you were saying about tattoos, its immoveable, immutable, unchangeable. I mean, the government will hate you now. They don't forgive that kind of thing like they used to."
"Maybe with 5 years in jail and deportation."
"Thats not what I mean."
He sighed. "I do have a couple of options. I have thought about this. I am not here with any government knowledge."
"What do you mean?"
"Its called fraud."
"Oh."
"So. I could either go back and apply for a work visa as myself, or--"
"--A work visa that they'll never give you because you are young, and male, and able-bodied, and going to steal American women and jobs..."
He laughed at that. "Right, right." I was almost saddened by how well I knew this drill. "Or! The only other thing," he said next, "is if I get married."

.................
When I was a little girl, there was a movie called Green Card with Gerard Depardieu and Andie MacDowell. My mom loved it and thought it was the cutest thing, so I saw it more than once. The movie came out when I was five years old, but I was seven by the time my mother was explaining to me from the sofa in our orange carpeted living room that a green card was something that foreign people got, sometimes through marriage, when they wanted to be citizens in the United States. I didn't understand why that had to be so hard. Why have hoops to jump through if people were just people no matter where they were? The plot involved a French guy who had to work together with an American girl to invent this long, loving relationship between them so that they could pass the series of interviews conducted by Immigration. By the end of the movie, they actually did fall in love and get married for real. I was fascinated. I sipped root beer, my legs crossed inside my oversized Carebear shirt, and imagined a frenchman with a big nose and an arrogant accent depending on me to keep them here.
So much can change in twenty years. Immigration policies are not what they were.
And I still think about this movie sometimes when someone says the kind of things that Nestor was saying.
.................

"If you get married in your country, right?"
"Yes. In my country. If I marry an American girl in my country, then I can come to the US as her husband."
"Esposo."
The word flew off the tip of my tongue. It had been sitting there since 4 months ago and now flew out with a quickness like it hadn't sat in storage for over 120 days at all.
"Yes," he said, "como su esposo." And he smiled.
"But she'd have to separate from you for months at a time waiting on the visa here in the states."
"Yeah, I don't know. I told myself I'd never do that. If I am gonna love somebody then I will never be apart from them like that. I won't hurt them with my distance."

I sat and thought about it for a second. I could turn back now if I wanted. I could say I didn't want to try. Hadn't I just said that to sushi boy? Okay, I told myself, sushi boy had other issues regarding inexpereince and unfounded enthusiasm. This situation was different. Its just that its not 1990 any more. There is no relationship that will fix what the government now sees as legal suicide. Still, I couldn't let this pass. I felt that constant and intrinsic refusal to let it go.

"Its not like I don't understand what it means," I said. "I am aware of the pitfalls. I am aware of the fact that you could go to the store to pick up milk and eggs and never make it back home."
"Home with you."
I cracked a grin. "Yes, home with me."
He smiled, too, and reached around, pulling me into his shoulder. "Its okay. Its up to you. It was my problem six years ago, so now I feel the consequences."
"No, I completely understand why people do it. I really do. I just wish it were something fixable. You know?
"Yes. I know."

Here was the catch. Here was the one big problem that made him too good to be true. I had known it would be there, and it was. Staring me in the face, larger than Gerard Depardieu's nose.

"What a romantic movie," my mom used to say. "Accents can be so attractive. Don't you think, honey?"
"Yup!" came my answer, my upper lip covered in root beer foam.