Last night I dreamed I was walking down a quiet road, when I suddenly came upon a group of people being held at gunpoint by armed military police. Some of the people were able to get away, walking quickly while trying not to be seen, and I began walking with them. I noticed they were all carrying flags and wearing shirts that represented their country, Argentina--and I soon found out their former president Carols Menem had died.
I could feel the mounting tension and wasn't sure what to do. Should I make it clear I was an American, that I was unaware of Menem's death, or should I gather with and support "La Gente?"
I quickly decided to join the group and found myself sitting with them in a concrete alcove, camouflaged by leaves and trees, unaware of why we were hiding. I looked around and saw many Muslims gathering, too, and thought to move away from them since they were such easy targets.
I eventually made it home--David was sitting on the sofa and Cristian's father Raúl was on an easy chair.
"Raúl!" I shouted, "Menem's dead!"
Raul stirred and I saw he was asleep. As I began to tell David what had happened, there was a knock at the door. An Argentinian military police officer walked in and told me not to worry, he only had a few questions. I said I knew nothing, but when he asked for my passport, he saw it was filled with stamps from Argentina. I knew in that moment I would be held suspect for something, although I couldn't imagine for what.