No White Saviors
by Olivia Kate Cerrone
Lucia avoided the news, the headlines that read, “SANCTUARY CITIES UNDER ATTACK.” She refused to dwell on the possibility that she might be endangering Ofelia and her two young sons. The family trusted her enough to allow for this outing. Winter’s last gasp had extended well into early April. Spring pounced on them that weekend, leaving the sidewalks slick with melted slush as green buds formed at the tips of branches. The sudden warmth made the boys restless. Lucia offered to drive the family to World’s End. She’d not visited the park in years though her phone’s GPS offered easy guidance along the shaded, twisting roads that led to the secluded peninsula in Hingham. They followed a dirt path that extended from the parking lot. The noise of barking dogs inspired looks of concern from Ofelia. Perhaps they'd been followed.
She tried to dismiss the chance that they’d been followed. The government had renewed its efforts against immigrants once more, rounding up undocumented and visa-holders alike. Those caught supporting or protecting suspected “illegals” would be prosecuted “to the fullest extent of the law,” though what that meant exactly remained vague. Certain states challenged the law at the federal level, but Lucia remained unsettled. Host Homes were seen as an act of resistance. The family had lived with her for about a month without incident, but that could always change.
A wide, open expanse of land, almost three hundred acres, stretched out before them. Other families, some with young children and couples with playful dogs appeared throughout the rolling hills. Their shouting voices echoed across the hills and valleys in confused fragments, carried high overhead. A salted cross breeze reached them from the Weir River and Hingham Harbor that bordered on either side of the park. Sunlight flickered through the tall oaks that lined the periphery like sentries. For a moment, the day felt clean and fresh and full of possibilities.
Ofelia’s young sons raced ahead, muddying their sneakers and tumbling in the grass—laughing from the bottom of their stomachs. A large red-tailed hawk glided low above them, its wings tracing delicate half circles in the sky. The boys pointed to it and asked their mother if she’d seen it too. Ofelia’s face angled away from her sons. She gazed long across the fields before meeting Lucia’s stare.
“They haven’t played outside in years. Before, we lived in Texas without a car. We knew the house was being watched. They follow us wherever we go,” Ofelia said.
It was the first time she’d mentioned ICE. Lucia said nothing. Every bit of comfort she wanted to offer sounded useless coming from her mouth. She knew only fragments of the family’s case, how immigration officers arrested Ofelia’s husband at the hospital after their son Victor was born. Ofelia and her sons took refuge in a church basement until the Asylum Seekers & Immigration Resources became involved. Despite the ASIR’s legal efforts, her husband was deported back to El Salvador, where they’d escaped after their lives were threatened by La Mara. The gang had killed Ofelia’s father and brothers. They’d promised to take the lives of her sons.
The boys shouted something about finding a mouse in the grass.
“Don’t touch it,” Ofelia said.
Yet Ignacio, the oldest, managed to scoop up the little creature between his palms. He dashed over to his mother and Lucia, revealing the small field mouse, trembling in his grasp.
“Ignacio,” Ofelia said, her voice a warning.
He ran back to his brother, who shouted that he’d found another one. Ignacio knelt in the grass, releasing the mouse before Victor doubled over, howling with laughter.
“It pooped on his hand,” he said between breaths.
Ignacio blushed and swiped his soiled palm against his jeans and chased after his brother.
“It’s the first time they play like this,” Ofelia said.
“How wonderful,” Lucia said, careful not to ask any unnecessary questions. The ASIR had provided all host home volunteers with training that included a manual that Lucia read and reread, memorizing entire passages. Avoid discussion of the client’s case. For certain, it is important to listen, allow them to share feelings and for you to be validating. However, discussion of the legal case should be referred to a lawyer.
“There’s a beach nearby with a cool sculpture,” she said.
This much excited the boys. She led the family to where the hills leveled out and the trees extended short gnarled branches low to the ground.
“You come here a lot?” Ofelia said.
“My mother liked to before she died,” Lucia said.
She hesitated to share her mother’s own immigration story, or how she’d lost a daughter—a sister Lucia would never know—because others refused to help her. It’d been the last thing her mother wanted to do with her life—help prevent another family from breaking up. Lucia’s privilege afforded her the opportunity to become a host home volunteer through ASIR. Her competency in keeping the family safe was another matter indeed. Who was Ofelia and her children to trust anyone? They’d already been through a previous host home, staying with an elderly woman who decided after a few weeks that she didn’t want the stress of living with two young boys.
They soon came to the water’s edge, a rocky shore of smooth large stones and boulders. A tall glass sculpture stood before them—a tower in spiral formation built in mirrored tiles. Sunlight reflected off the tiles, casting a prism of color into the air that those who passed by tried to reach out and grasp. Victor ran his hands along those mirrors within reach, squealing in delight over his own distorted reflection and the infinite loop of the facing ocean. Lucia and the family encircled the fixture again and again, delighted by the strange illusion. Nothing seemed possible to break the continuous image of all that which surrounded them.
The only thing more absorbing than the sculpture, for the boys at least, was the ocean itself. They crouched in the wet sand, running their fingers through the gentle waves that lapped at their feet. Ofelia studied them for a long time, her squinting gaze at once content and bemused. Loose strands of hair from her bun floated in the breeze.
“I haven’t allowed them outside like this until now. Who protects my children but me?” she said.
“I don’t think anyone is watching us here. They won’t take anyone away,” Lucia said.
Ofelia shot her a long, hard look that made Lucia’s face burn with shame.
“They can do anything they want,” Ofelia said.
She gazed toward the entrance. Perhaps ICE waited for them in the parking lot.
Clouds gathered and stuttered the sunlight off the distant fields and treetops, moving shadows across the hills. A breeze lifted off the water, sending a hard chill along Lucia’s arms and neck. The promise of rain prompted them to head back. Ofelia’s boys came across a large chocolate lab that charged toward them in pursuit of a tossed ball. Ignacio caught the ball first, hoping perhaps to play fetch with the dog. Only the animal began to growl, baring its teeth. The boy screamed, dropping the ball and darted back the opposite end. Lucia’s heart sank, for a moment sure that the dog would maul Ignacio before the owner called—Sadie! Sadie!—and lunged at the dog, pulling it back by its thick collar.
“I’m so sorry. She never gets like this. She must have become startled,” the man said.
Ofelia caught Ignacio in her arms, though he tried to keep running. People stood and watched. His words ran together too fast for his mother to follow. She tried to hold him still and force him calm, but he’d become hysterical—gone to another place. Lucia feared they might not bring him back.
Later, during the car ride home, while both boys were asleep in the backseat, Ofelia confessed how this had happened before, how something, an excited dog or the fire drills in school could trigger such a nightmarish trance, evoking memories of violence.
“Back home some of the dogs are rabid. We always warn the children to stay away from them. He should know we are not there anymore but sometimes he forgets. Like he goes back in time and is stuck,” Ofelia said.
Lucia nodded. She studied the road ahead. Tension compressed around her skull as she wondered what else might be a trigger for the family.
Ignacio awoke before his brother. He leaned forward from the backseat and rested his elbows on the console between Lucia and his mother.
“Look,” he said. He cupped seashells and shiny pebbles between his palms—treasures taken from the shore.
“Those are beautiful,” Lucia said.
He placed a green piece of sea glass onto his mother’s lap.
“Cristales,” he said.
“Gracias,” Ofelia said.
Lucia caught her eye. A smile passed between them.
Olivia Kate Cerrone is the author of The Hunger Saint, a historical novella about the child miners of Sicily, which won a 2018 American Fiction Award. Her Pushcart Prize-nominated work has received the Jack Dyer Prize from the Crab Orchard Review, the Mason’s Road Literary Award, and first place in Italian Americana’s annual literary contest. Her writing has appeared in Psychology Today, Publishers Weekly, The Rumpus, The Brooklyn Rail, The Huffington Post and elsewhere. “No White Saviors” is an excerpt from her forthcoming novel DISPLACED.
by Olivia Kate Cerrone
Lucia avoided the news, the headlines that read, “SANCTUARY CITIES UNDER ATTACK.” She refused to dwell on the possibility that she might be endangering Ofelia and her two young sons. The family trusted her enough to allow for this outing. Winter’s last gasp had extended well into early April. Spring pounced on them that weekend, leaving the sidewalks slick with melted slush as green buds formed at the tips of branches. The sudden warmth made the boys restless. Lucia offered to drive the family to World’s End. She’d not visited the park in years though her phone’s GPS offered easy guidance along the shaded, twisting roads that led to the secluded peninsula in Hingham. They followed a dirt path that extended from the parking lot. The noise of barking dogs inspired looks of concern from Ofelia. Perhaps they'd been followed.
She tried to dismiss the chance that they’d been followed. The government had renewed its efforts against immigrants once more, rounding up undocumented and visa-holders alike. Those caught supporting or protecting suspected “illegals” would be prosecuted “to the fullest extent of the law,” though what that meant exactly remained vague. Certain states challenged the law at the federal level, but Lucia remained unsettled. Host Homes were seen as an act of resistance. The family had lived with her for about a month without incident, but that could always change.
A wide, open expanse of land, almost three hundred acres, stretched out before them. Other families, some with young children and couples with playful dogs appeared throughout the rolling hills. Their shouting voices echoed across the hills and valleys in confused fragments, carried high overhead. A salted cross breeze reached them from the Weir River and Hingham Harbor that bordered on either side of the park. Sunlight flickered through the tall oaks that lined the periphery like sentries. For a moment, the day felt clean and fresh and full of possibilities.
Ofelia’s young sons raced ahead, muddying their sneakers and tumbling in the grass—laughing from the bottom of their stomachs. A large red-tailed hawk glided low above them, its wings tracing delicate half circles in the sky. The boys pointed to it and asked their mother if she’d seen it too. Ofelia’s face angled away from her sons. She gazed long across the fields before meeting Lucia’s stare.
“They haven’t played outside in years. Before, we lived in Texas without a car. We knew the house was being watched. They follow us wherever we go,” Ofelia said.
It was the first time she’d mentioned ICE. Lucia said nothing. Every bit of comfort she wanted to offer sounded useless coming from her mouth. She knew only fragments of the family’s case, how immigration officers arrested Ofelia’s husband at the hospital after their son Victor was born. Ofelia and her sons took refuge in a church basement until the Asylum Seekers & Immigration Resources became involved. Despite the ASIR’s legal efforts, her husband was deported back to El Salvador, where they’d escaped after their lives were threatened by La Mara. The gang had killed Ofelia’s father and brothers. They’d promised to take the lives of her sons.
The boys shouted something about finding a mouse in the grass.
“Don’t touch it,” Ofelia said.
Yet Ignacio, the oldest, managed to scoop up the little creature between his palms. He dashed over to his mother and Lucia, revealing the small field mouse, trembling in his grasp.
“Ignacio,” Ofelia said, her voice a warning.
He ran back to his brother, who shouted that he’d found another one. Ignacio knelt in the grass, releasing the mouse before Victor doubled over, howling with laughter.
“It pooped on his hand,” he said between breaths.
Ignacio blushed and swiped his soiled palm against his jeans and chased after his brother.
“It’s the first time they play like this,” Ofelia said.
“How wonderful,” Lucia said, careful not to ask any unnecessary questions. The ASIR had provided all host home volunteers with training that included a manual that Lucia read and reread, memorizing entire passages. Avoid discussion of the client’s case. For certain, it is important to listen, allow them to share feelings and for you to be validating. However, discussion of the legal case should be referred to a lawyer.
“There’s a beach nearby with a cool sculpture,” she said.
This much excited the boys. She led the family to where the hills leveled out and the trees extended short gnarled branches low to the ground.
“You come here a lot?” Ofelia said.
“My mother liked to before she died,” Lucia said.
She hesitated to share her mother’s own immigration story, or how she’d lost a daughter—a sister Lucia would never know—because others refused to help her. It’d been the last thing her mother wanted to do with her life—help prevent another family from breaking up. Lucia’s privilege afforded her the opportunity to become a host home volunteer through ASIR. Her competency in keeping the family safe was another matter indeed. Who was Ofelia and her children to trust anyone? They’d already been through a previous host home, staying with an elderly woman who decided after a few weeks that she didn’t want the stress of living with two young boys.
They soon came to the water’s edge, a rocky shore of smooth large stones and boulders. A tall glass sculpture stood before them—a tower in spiral formation built in mirrored tiles. Sunlight reflected off the tiles, casting a prism of color into the air that those who passed by tried to reach out and grasp. Victor ran his hands along those mirrors within reach, squealing in delight over his own distorted reflection and the infinite loop of the facing ocean. Lucia and the family encircled the fixture again and again, delighted by the strange illusion. Nothing seemed possible to break the continuous image of all that which surrounded them.
The only thing more absorbing than the sculpture, for the boys at least, was the ocean itself. They crouched in the wet sand, running their fingers through the gentle waves that lapped at their feet. Ofelia studied them for a long time, her squinting gaze at once content and bemused. Loose strands of hair from her bun floated in the breeze.
“I haven’t allowed them outside like this until now. Who protects my children but me?” she said.
“I don’t think anyone is watching us here. They won’t take anyone away,” Lucia said.
Ofelia shot her a long, hard look that made Lucia’s face burn with shame.
“They can do anything they want,” Ofelia said.
She gazed toward the entrance. Perhaps ICE waited for them in the parking lot.
Clouds gathered and stuttered the sunlight off the distant fields and treetops, moving shadows across the hills. A breeze lifted off the water, sending a hard chill along Lucia’s arms and neck. The promise of rain prompted them to head back. Ofelia’s boys came across a large chocolate lab that charged toward them in pursuit of a tossed ball. Ignacio caught the ball first, hoping perhaps to play fetch with the dog. Only the animal began to growl, baring its teeth. The boy screamed, dropping the ball and darted back the opposite end. Lucia’s heart sank, for a moment sure that the dog would maul Ignacio before the owner called—Sadie! Sadie!—and lunged at the dog, pulling it back by its thick collar.
“I’m so sorry. She never gets like this. She must have become startled,” the man said.
Ofelia caught Ignacio in her arms, though he tried to keep running. People stood and watched. His words ran together too fast for his mother to follow. She tried to hold him still and force him calm, but he’d become hysterical—gone to another place. Lucia feared they might not bring him back.
Later, during the car ride home, while both boys were asleep in the backseat, Ofelia confessed how this had happened before, how something, an excited dog or the fire drills in school could trigger such a nightmarish trance, evoking memories of violence.
“Back home some of the dogs are rabid. We always warn the children to stay away from them. He should know we are not there anymore but sometimes he forgets. Like he goes back in time and is stuck,” Ofelia said.
Lucia nodded. She studied the road ahead. Tension compressed around her skull as she wondered what else might be a trigger for the family.
Ignacio awoke before his brother. He leaned forward from the backseat and rested his elbows on the console between Lucia and his mother.
“Look,” he said. He cupped seashells and shiny pebbles between his palms—treasures taken from the shore.
“Those are beautiful,” Lucia said.
He placed a green piece of sea glass onto his mother’s lap.
“Cristales,” he said.
“Gracias,” Ofelia said.
Lucia caught her eye. A smile passed between them.
Olivia Kate Cerrone is the author of The Hunger Saint, a historical novella about the child miners of Sicily, which won a 2018 American Fiction Award. Her Pushcart Prize-nominated work has received the Jack Dyer Prize from the Crab Orchard Review, the Mason’s Road Literary Award, and first place in Italian Americana’s annual literary contest. Her writing has appeared in Psychology Today, Publishers Weekly, The Rumpus, The Brooklyn Rail, The Huffington Post and elsewhere. “No White Saviors” is an excerpt from her forthcoming novel DISPLACED.