Plucking Opportunity

When my eyes open, there’s no sunshine. Instead of the sun flooding my bedroom with warmth, it’s pitch black. Turning my head to the left, I sigh as I glance at the clock. I shove my covers back and immediately wish I hadn’t as the gust of cold air hits me. As I sit on the edge of the bed I notice how cold the floor is and the fact I don’t have any house slippers, something I keep forgetting to buy.

After breakfast and getting dressed I venture outside. It’s humid, even in the darkness. The moon is beginning to recede as I walk to my co-worker’s home. Jose is a family man with three beautiful children. His wife died years ago and he takes care of them by himself.

“Hola.” He says with a smile. I return the smile but reply in English.

“Hello”

“Porque estas hablando en ingles, Eduardo?”

“I don’t want to pick fruit for the rest of my life.”

Jose rolls his eyes at me and hops into his truck. Junior, his oldest, is sixteen and responsible for getting the younger ones to school. I look out the window as Jose pulls off, trying not to remind the life I left behind. My mother was a sensitive woman who slaved day and night in the machiladora, the foreign factories, which don’t pay their workers the proper wages. She died two years ago due to respiratory issues and I came to America two months after to find a better job.

I’ve been picking fruit for Mr. Johnson for about two years now. He pays me enough to maintain my half of the small apartment I share with a man who doesn’t speak to me.

As a child, fruit was my favorite food, strawberries to be exact, but now I hate them. I’m lucky to be twenty-three because my body is young enough to regenerate quick enough to return to work every day. In all my time working for Mr. Johnson I have never been late or missed my shift. He says he’ll help me get my citizenship but I don’t believe him. I think he just tells me that to keep me from going to another farm.

By the time we arrive to the farm the sun is out and shining it’s brightest. Earlier in my life I would have been excited to see all the tomatoes, strawberries, and oranges. But now, I want to scream at the fact the only way to live is to pick fruit. The American workers, who get paid more, believe most of us who don’t speak English are either idiots or deaf. To make interaction minimal we all act like we are deaf and ignore them when they are screaming at us to do something else. Mr. Johnson rarely raises his voice and if it weren’t for my predicament I’m sure he would be a nice man.

“So what’s your deal?” Bobby, Mr. Johnson’s son, asks me as I stop to get a drink of water.

“What?”

“You’re the only one who can speak English.” He states. “Why is that?”

“Knowing two languages works your brain. Your father is able to speak Spanish.”

“I don’t know why. One of these days he’s gonna get busted for what he’s doing.” he takes a drag of his cigarette. “Having illegals farming his land, taking jobs away from Americans who deserve it.” He looks at me with a hate in his eyes I haven’t seen before. “Damn, Mexicans-“

“I’m from Ecuador.”

“Like I care.”, glancing away from me he smirks. “Time’s up.”

I turn to look where his eyes are to see immigration officers raiding the farm. I try to run through the strawberries, jumping over the patches, but I don’t make it very far. A body slams into my back shoving my face into the fruit. I think back to a time when fruit represented happiness. As my hands are cuffed, I remember taking fresh oranges to Jose’s children. I think about what will happen to him and his family. The officer shoves me into the car, my head hitting the window on the other door. My vision blurs as I close my eyes to allow the headache to subside.

As the car drives away I stare at the strawberry grove. My small steps were supposed to lead to bigger plans and I’m not sure how things will go for me now. I was going to apply for my citizenship soon and with all the money I had saved up I was going to get a better apartment. I look into the rearview mirror to see my hope vanish before my eyes. Who knew fruit could be someone’s only opportunity.