November 5, 2024
Today was so stressful. Papá told our family we had to move out of our home by January 20th and go into hiding because Señor Trump was elected President. He said that Trump will deport us back to El Salvador and that Papá might even go to prison. He said there’s a very bad man who’s behind it all—a Señor Stephen Miller. My sister Maria says he hates immigrants because he’s bald and never had a girlfriend until he was thirty. I told her that’s not our fault. Why doesn’t he hate women instead? She said he hates everybody. Dogs, too.
December 14, 2024
Papá said he found a hiding place for us. It’s in a fancy neighborhood in Los Angeles and we’ll be moving there in a month or so. The house belongs to a comedian that my Papá used to work for as a gardener. His name is Señor Larry David. I never met a comedian before. I wonder if they’re always funny.
January 20, 2025
They’re not. Mr. Larry greeted us at the front door and took us to the attic, which is very nice except for all the pictures of baseball players on the walls. I wondered why such an old man would still care about that. I told him how brave he is to hide us in his house, and he said he lost a bet. Was that a joke? He told us he has two rules. The first is to never put a glass of water on a wooden table. He said we must always respect wood. Was that also a joke? The other rule is no music, especially Latin music. He said it wouldn’t be safe. But I get the impression that he hates music and does not like to see people enjoying themselves.
January 28, 2025
This morning I was awakened by Mr. Larry screaming, “Musk! Musk!” Apparently, Señor Musk is now working for the government and firing a lot of people from their jobs—and really enjoying it. Is he on drugs? Mr. Larry spends a lot of time during the day screaming out names and saying dirty words about them. It started with Musk this morning and then, throughout the day, I also heard “Trump!,” “Vance!,” “Noem!,” “Hegseth!,” “Kennedy!,” “Patel!,” and “Fascist!”—which he seems to scream way more often than the others. He really doesn’t like this Fascist guy.
February 12, 2025
Today I heard something about an Alien Enemies Act. I don’t know what that is, but it’s over two hundred years old and sounds really scary. All of it put Mr. Larry in a terrible mood, which was made even worse when he couldn’t find the remote control to the TV. He came up to the attic and asked if anyone knew where it could be. He was very angry. “What is it with these remotes?! Why are we always looking for them? I’m so sick of this!” Mr. Larry said he liked it better when the only way to change the channel was to walk up to the TV and turn the dial and that those were the days. Papá told him to look between the couch cushions. Mr. Larry said he did. Papá said to dig deeper—it’s always there. Of course, he was right. Not only did he find the remote. He also found an old phone called a BlackBerry, from 2002.
March 12, 2025
Today Papá told me there’s a rule from Trump that might mean I’m not a citizen anymore, because even though I was born here, he and Mamá weren’t. Meanwhile, Mr. Larry spends all day watching the news on TV and never goes out anymore. There’s one news station that makes him so mad that my Papá is concerned it’s going to give him a heart attack. Papá said if he dies we’ll have to hide the body in the basement.
April 8, 2025
ICE has been given access to taxpayer information to help identify and target immigrants for deportation. The crazier the government gets, the crazier Mr. Larry gets. Tonight he got salad dressing on his pants. I’m only thirteen, but I’ve never heard anyone react to a stain like that. He said it happens all the time, even when he uses a napkin to cover his lap. I asked how that was possible. He said, “The stain always finds a way.”
May 12, 2025
Today the government reversed its immigration policy and decided to admit white refugees from South Africa because they’re being murdered and persecuted there. Even my eight-year-old cousin knows that’s a lie. Mr. Larry said that’s the last straw, he’s moving to Canada, and suddenly he started singing its national anthem, “O Canada.” He got halfway through before realizing there’s no golf there for eight months of the year. I don’t know what he sees in that game.
June 3, 2025
We are all worried about Mr. Larry. It looks like he’s losing weight and even more hair. Today the air-conditioning in the house stopped working. We didn’t care at all, but Mr. Larry was very upset. I heard him screaming, “I’m sweating, I’m sweating! I never sweat!” But he couldn’t bring in anyone to fix it, because it would be too risky. The actions of the government, combined with no air-conditioning, have made him a ticking time bomb.
July 9, 2025
Still no air-conditioning. It’s ninety-three degrees outside. ICE agents in L.A. are arresting people off the streets, in stores, and at work, and raiding their homes. Families have been separated and deported without what my Papá calls due process. There are protests. The National Guard and the Marines have been called in without state consent. Everyone is scared. I was unable to sleep because Mr. Larry was yelling all night about it. In the morning, Papá said we can’t stay here anymore. I asked if Mr. Larry was throwing us out and he said, “No, we’re leaving because all this has made Mr. Larry unhinged.” Papá said he would rather risk getting rounded up by ICE agents than stay here another day. We lied and told Mr. Larry that we miss our house and are returning home. But the truth is Papá contacted another ex-employer who has agreed to let us stay with his family, a Señor Conan O’Brien, who is much calmer and, according to Papá, way funnier. ♦
