I Never Knew His Name. This Dumpster Is What's Left.

A man who lived two houses down from me in Mankato was picked up by ICE in January as he pulled into his driveway. What is left of his life here now sits in a dumpster on a residential street in Southern Minnesota, and I never learned his name.

We knew each other the way neighbors often do. I would pass him on my walks and we would say hi. He never got back inside his house after that afternoon in the driveway. His car sat there until about a month ago, when it was moved to the street so the driveway could be used again.

Someone else emptied his place. I heard the loud, echoing clang of the dumpster walls as they tossed his belongings.

I do not know where he is. I do not know if he has family here, whether he is still in detention, whether he was sent to the country he came from, or whether he came here as a child and knew no other home. I can't tell you his name because I never asked for it.

That is the part I keep coming back to. He was my neighbor for a couple of years by the only measure most of us use, which is that we lived near each other and were friendly about it.

If you know this man, or if something like this has happened on your street, we would like to hear from you: stories@wovenrecord.com

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