Charlotte: The Arrival

A Call in the Night

The call came at 10:47 p.m. on Saturday night. 

By that point, it had been almost a week of silence - phone numbers that went nowhere, broken email systems, no information confirmed and government database that never changed. 

Each day had become a ritual of dread: wake up, search names, try not to panic at new headlines, manage the panic of family members in other countries, try to work and or exist or remind myself that this wasn't life and to enjoy my own while at the same time watching someone experience a nightmare in real time as the events were unfolding.

I picked up and listened to a cold robotic voice name that someone was trying to call me and would I accept the charges and I did. 

Hearing his voice for the first time - in - I couldn't think 5 months? 6 months?  It was missing his suave confidence, his light-hearted perspective, though I could hear his resolve. 

“Hola Daniel,” he said, his accent fractured by exhaustion and a little bit of anger.

In a calm voice he first acknowledged that he had been out of touch for almost a week and explained that once he had been transferred - the process took almost 6 days and he had no access to phones, but they had finally arrived at a center that morning. 

I asked if he knew where was, and if he was at Krome, I explained that he had vanished from their systems

He paused and I could hear him thinking and he surprised me by reverting to his distinct English:

  "Where am I? Where do they have me? Well Daniel I will be honest - I think I’m in hell - and I think I’m going to die here.

“Wait, what?” I said. “Where are you? What happened?”

I heard him take a deep breathe and say "ALCATRAZ! Sabes? They say me that we die here, and I think is true"

Before I could reply, the line went dead.

----

(7 Months Earlier)

Chapter 2: Charlotte

Before all of that, before the system and the panic and the silence - there was the arrival of this man at my door in a quiet AirBnb as the snow lightly fell and our story began that day. After staring at each other in sheepish wonder and joy and "wow I cant believe Im really seeing you" - I ordered food and he got to try McDonalds for the first time.

That first few days felt like a dream, but the first night felt like a movie, I hadn't been with anyone romantically since early 2020 when my boyfriend at the time, Cristian, and I realized we had no idea when we'd see each other again post the pandemic. I had not lived with anyone since early 2021 when I taking care of my Mom

We didn't even notice that how late it was until we realized it was noon, We had spent the time catching up, flirting, laughing, and doing what two people who have been talking about "what it would be like" for 6 years finally get to do it.

As he brought us sandwiches from the other room while I tried to fight off dozing and with a huge smile he said:  "Entonces, Daniel - estas conmigo?"

I must have looked confused because he grinned even harder and for the first time - I heard him speak English.

Anyone who’s ever spent a lot of time with someone who speaks a different first language knows the moment I’m about to describe. When they suddenly switch into your language for the first time, it hits weirdly hard. It’s not just translation; it’s like hearing someone’s voice wearing a new outfit 

His Spanish was always smooth and deliberate - intentional, measured, confident, a little hypnotic. But his English was a bulldozer crashing into a fire truck with seven regional accents fighting for dominance.

It came out fearless, unfiltered, and somehow twice as charming because of it. Fuck grammar rules, "A"s are really "Es" with a twist, no letter is silent - and stressing syllables is for the cowardly. 

"OHHHH OKAY RIIIIGHT NOW WE ARE AMERICANOS!! SORRREEEE!  I say this for you: You are the MAAAY boyfriends, yes? And I am yours? YEs? Right? WE are they boyfriends together?"  - "Novios" -  Through my original laughter, I found a sincere smile - because somehow, it was the most honest sentence I’d ever heard. And so I agreed: "Novios"

For a while, it really was that simple. We ordered food late, watched garbage TV, told each other stories. He talked about his incredible journey from Cali to Bogotá to Mexico City to San Antonio how he got his approval, had three hours to decide, and left behind two suitcases on a beach and just trusted fate that this was his destiny. It all sounded impossible, but somehow it was him.

But real life started to creep in.

I was still waiting to move into my new house, so we were hopping between Airbnbs. He was new to the country, no car, no job, no real English yet—and the only person he knew was me. The space started to feel smaller by the day.
What had started as exciting started to feel like holding your breath too long. 

When we finally moved into the house, it was like exhaling.
The place was huge. Four rooms, light everywhere. He immediately started decorating, finding ways to make it look alive.

I remember one night giving up halfway through building a bookshelf as I was tired and annoyed - but when I woke up the next morning, it was done. Every book in place. There was a note on top that said in his large crawling handwriting:  “My lazy stubborn boyfriend! You have your skills, I have mine. Why don’t we ask the other when we need help?”

He wasn’t wrong.

He cooked constantly. He filled the house with music, taught me about lighting, music  and design and how subtle shifts create ambience and he always wanted me to dance salsa with him.  In exchange, I helped him with paperwork, translations, forms that made no sense. I gave him crash courses on our history, culture, civics, customs and basic business strategies. At night we’d play chess or Mario Kart or just talk for hours.

It was wonderful - until it wasn’t.