I hid my neighbor in our spare bedroom. She was an elderly woman who I used to shop for and her family were first gen Americans, she was not, so they asked me to help her. I refused at first. She is frail for a German woman but she held the tongue of her ancestors and she never had nothing nice to say. To be honest I didn’t care for her as much as I worked for her, but I owed her granddaughter, so I chose to swallow my pride; though I still couldn’t understand why they were asking me. They said it was because I was strong and forward like their grandmother, and they were not, they trusted that I could protect her better. I wasn’t so sure. ‘American’ didn’t have much weight now a days, minority or not, but I decided to try.

I held her at my place, away from her home and the border patrol agents who had began monitoring the streets and I did what I could as she posed as my grandmother. She was brown like me unlike the rest of her family who were quite clearly white and she didn’t go anywhere without me right beside her. Eventually though, her speaking in another language got noticed and the cops came to my door with guns on their belts and anger in their hearts. I told my daughter and sons to hide upstairs and the German woman to feign sleep on the couch. They did as told and I opened the door only enough for me to be seen.

“Hello?” I said. A hard looking monster stared at me, no humanity in his eyes.

“Hi, Vivienne yes?” He spoke with a very barely noticeable accent and I frowned. I grew up in Hispanic and black neighborhoods and I felt bad for his family. At least unlike them I didn’t have to go through the daily torment of looking at such a disappointment.

“Yes.” I looked at his badge and confirmed who he worked for as I crossed my arms “The hell do you want?”

“We’re here to ask about your grandmother. Does she have her papers?”

“Do you?”

There was no response as he glared at me. I didn’t care and glanced behind him at the man who lived across the street peaking out his window. We made eye contact and I felt there was a understanding between us. He nodded at me and got on his phone as I stood firm and tall. I didn’t need to fake confidence like they did, I had it, and until witnesses came this was up to me. With anxiety in the back of my throat I inhaled. And in this second of peace I hoped that by the grace of some being above or below that I wouldn’t die before I saw my kids grow up to be as stubborn as me. Then, I looked at the agent staring me down and I spoke my rights.

“I own this home. This is private property and you need to go.”

As I continue I suggest you pay attention. Because this whole thing, this retelling, is a story about how I almost died trying to be a good person. And most importantly this is a story about why it was worth it.

Please, remember two things as you read:

No one is illegal on stolen land.

And holding a crown does not make you God.