My encounter with an illegal immigrant

A couple of days ago I stopped at a Jiffy Lube.  Almost as soon as I walked into the waiting room, a young Hispanic man began chatting with me as if he’d known me for years.  As the television on the wall displayed scenes of destruction from Japan, we chatted about the Tsunami to while away the time.  With a heavy Spanish accent, he shifted to topic to his own woes, how he had to “get his papers in order” etc.  Then he related to me how, when he was only 16 years old, he got into a fight.  It was with another Mexican he said, and that the other guy, who was older, had been picking on him.  He told me how, after they arrested him, he told them, “I’m here illegally.  Can’t you just deport me?”  He was told that he would have to serve his sentence and then he would be deported.  I asked him, just to clarify and make sure I heard him right, “you mean you told them you were here illegally and they refused to deport you?”  With obvious bewilderment, he repeated, “I told them I was here illegally – but they didn’t care.”  He continued, “now that I’m out of prison, it has disappeared.”  “What has disappeared?” I asked him.  “The deportation order has disappeared.  They will not deport me.”  I got the impression he wanted to return to Mexico.  What was stopping him, I do not know.