The Dreamers

30.

The parents: one mile outside of town, at a rest stop where the highway twists into the woods, a group of parents begins to gather. This is the closest the soldiers will allow them to get to Santa Lora.

This is outrageous, the parents say to one another. This is a violation of their sons’ and daughters’ civil liberties. They call their lawyers. They call their representatives and their senators. They call the media. They watch military vehicles trundle in and out of town. One father tries to climb aboard an army truck but is soon shooed off by the soldiers.

Some sleep in their cars. Some set up tents. They take turns driving back down the mountain for food.

They talk in small groups, exchanging news and blankets. Most of their children are still awake in Santa Lora—why not let them come home and wait out their quarantine in their own houses?

Protest signs begin to appear. Cameras.

Among the parents here is Mei’s mother, who, unbeknownst to Mei, has been sleeping in her station wagon. It feels better to be at least this near. Her daughter has not answered her phone in two days. And there is no way to know if this silence means that she has caught the sickness, or if it is only proof of the natural order of things: how parents are always so much more focused on their children than the other way around.