"You're awake."

I faced a tall young dark-skinned man who motioned to sit next to him.

"Go ahead. I'm not stopping you."

I couldn't if I tried, I thought. There was no strength in me anymore.

"Are you a migrant too?", the young man asked me with a sandwich in his mouth.

"Yes.", I lied, sticking to the story I fed the religious sister.

I felt guilty about lying to a nun.

Where did that thought come from?

"My name's Junior, I'm from Haiti."

"Didn't Haiti just have an earthquake recently?"

How did I remember that particular fact?

It was like traces of my past life kept coming and going liked the supposed memory, but some semantic knowledge remained like how to not lie to a sister and on an historical event like the earthquake.

"Yes, that's the reason I came here to this country. Hopefully I can get a US passport."

Good luck with that, I mused.

"And you? Where do you hail from?", Junior inquired.

If he was not going to lay off, I might have to keep making this stuff up to please him.

"Venezuela.", I replied.

"The Economic crisis and a dictator that has taken over the courts.", he answered.

"You got that right.", I responded back.

Whoever this Junior was, he was well-informed.

"I watch the news.", he explained, pointing to the tv screen.

Looking at the screen, I saw a report on the current US immigration reform crisis.

"They're sending more troops to the border?"

"Yes, and Arizona has made it illegal for undocumented people to be there."

"But...what about you?", I look directly at him and ask.

"What about me?"

"Weren't Haitians given temporary permits to be in the US?"

"That's the word-temporary. By the time, me and my dad packed our things from the camp, it was too late. The window had already closed so we got on a boat and went to Mexico."

"Where is your dad now?"

"We were mugged, and we got separated in the process."

"I'm sorry.", I said, imagining how terrible if would be if I ever got separated from my family.

Who am I fooling? I have no idea if I even have family, living family members that is!

"And you? Since you ask me so many questions, I figure you must have a story to tell."

"Actually, I'm here alone."

"No family?"

"I have a brother in the States."

He grinned at me, "So you're hoping he'll send for you and bring you home?"

"Maybe.", I smirked. For the first time in this conversation, I was telling the truth.

"You know too bad we have to stay here and wait. If we were already citizens, we could go the Embassy..."

"Could you repeat that?"

"Sorry, if you can't hear well through my accent. What I meant was the American Embassy. It's all the way in Mexico City, but there is a Consulate General here that does US Citizen Services right here in Tijuana."

"I just got to this city, so I haven't gone there yet."

"I can show you! Right after lunch, I can bring you to that building. Since we are both from different nationalities, we have to visit the consulate to obtain a visa.", he smiled and patted my back as he mentioned it.

Good thing I snagged my US passport on the way to the bathroom and put it in my hand.

If I hadn't freaked out and been so unprepared, I could have grabbed some bathroom essentials from the hospital as well.

"And you're waiting on yours here?"

I felt bad for him though because as an American, it was going to be easy to come back, but for him, he probably would still be here by the time I went home.

"Where else would I wait for it? At least here the nuns have good food and treat you well and we have mass every day for our spiritual nourishment."

A lightbulb went off in my head. "You're a Catholic."

"Born and raised.", he responded with a proud look on his face.

"You missed mass this morning because you came in late...why, I forgot to ask your name."

"Marcos."

"Nice to meet you Marcos.", he reached out his hand and we engaged in a mutual handshake.

"How are old are you, Junior?"

"19.", revealing his pearly teeth as he said this.

"I'm younger than you then." I was 17.

Where did that sudden realization come from?

"Then you're my junior then.", he teased.

I chuckled slightly and felt a bit of relief.

Who knew what I had been through in my past but sitting down with Junior and having this chat felt good.

"I'll bring you lunch then.", he uttered while rising from the bed.

"No, stay. I can get it myself."

"No, Marcos. You shouldn't tire yourself. I was the one who picked you up from the bathroom floor after you vomited.", he pointed at me as if to lecture me.

"That was you?" I was baffled on how I made it to the cot; I had assumed it was one of the priests, but this Haitian adolescent took the time to give up what I assumed was his bed for me to nap on and get over my nausea.

"We are all called to be Good Samaritans and do good in the name of our Lord Jesus Christ.", he responded.

"I don't believe in God.", I replied.

"So you're one who lost their faith?"

"Yes."

How did I know that? Did I used to be a Christian in the past?

"Just remember. Though you may not believe in him, Jesus believes in you."

He pressed my hand lightly and made his way to the dining area.

"Almost forgot. I just got a pre-paid phone that I bought recently and have yet to put any contacts. Would you like to be the first?"

"I don't have a phone though...", I sheepishly remarked.

"I have another one I bought for my father if we meet again...you can use that one."

Then, he handed me the phone and walked off.

"Wait!" He did not turn around but kept his course.

This humble man who I had just lied entrusted me with one of his only possessions and took care of me when I had done nothing to help him at all.

As I was wondering what number to place in there as I could not remember my number and thinking about adding the prepaid number temporarily, a series of numbers came to me out of nowhere.

410-***-****

564-***-****

I placed my pre-paid phone's number under "Marcus" and then proceeded to dial the first number I recalled on the pre-paid phone given to me by Junior.

I figured it was a US number so I dialed the international code for US before the actual numbers first just in case.

"Hello. This is GEAR School speaking. How can I help you?", a lady responded when the phone was picked up.

I managed to squeak out, "Hello? This is Marcus."