The Life-Changing Room: PART THREE

            Friday morning we were packed, loaded, and out by 10am heading to the Detroit border. As the car ride continued, the vehicle grew increasingly silent. The car rolled to the gates and my mom entered the building to return our temporary living slips we were given to live there the extra 10 days. She returned to us with a gruesome look on her face as she announced that the guards there weren't going to allow us to cross; they required us to drive back to the border that first denied our visas, Port Huron. Another hour and a half later we arrived at the gates. We had to go to the same border and the same person that first denied us to try and get it renewed again. This is impossible. There is no way that the person who first denied us so discourteously will have a change of heart.

            Crossing into Canada was a breeze since they didn't want us in America anyway. We explained to the Canadian lady our predicament and she understood our condition. She gave us hope as she explained that we should try to schedule an appointment while Tim wasn't there (the guy who denied us first). We thanked her as she wished us the best of luck and we were on our way.

            Half an hour into Canada I was given an idea; my mom should call the Port Huron Customs and see if Tim was in. If he was in that afternoon, then she could always come back at a different time. She took this into consideration and made the call. After a few moments our vehicle was turning around and heading back in the direction of the gates. With the car still pin-drop still, we came to the border once again, this time being walked over to the building which would determine our entire future.

            "Phones and all other electronics are to stay in the vehicle! You can take your wallets and money, but nothing else," they directed as we piled out and into, once again, the "secondary inspection" room.

            This place brought back terrible memories. Cold faces glared back at us as if they had no heart or sense of kindness within them. Silence crept with the occasional tapping of keys on the computer. A voice finally vocalized asking my mom for the papers she brought this time around, "Why do you think you should qualify now if we have already denied you? We shouldn't even be taking this case! You should have scheduled an appointment with the man who first denied you! He's the one who knows all there is about visas and you obviously didn't meet the criteria then! We can schedule you an appointment with him, but we're not going to process you today."

            Stunned, my mother reluctantly agreed and the man went to get Tim's schedule to place us in for an appointment.

            A lady with a familiar face appeared with fire sweltering from her eyes, "WHAT ARE YOU DOING HERE!? Why do you have the nerve to come in here and waste our time!?! You don't qualify and that isn't going to change!"

            My brothers and I glared at each other, each of us itching to lash out and illustrate to that woman what she rightfully deserved. Horror moved stealthily into my being as tears permeated my eyes. The officers turned there back as if not to notice a young girl sobbing in her rather uncomfortable chair. Discussing for a moment then fiercely looking into our eyes, they had the nerve to deny us the meeting with Tim and also the requested meeting with the supervisor.