Flight to Freedom

by Ana Veciana-Suarez

  Thursday, 23rd of May

  Ileana says Tommy wants her to help him draw posters for a protest march. She is not sure what to do. One minute she wants to help because she likes Tommy and enjoys spending time with him. But the next minute she decides she doesn’t have any time and is hurt that he is using her. He visits her only when he needs her to do something, but he doesn’t bother to be nice at other times.

  “If he really liked me,” she said, “he wouldn’t care if I had to go to a party with a chaperone. True love is about overcoming obstacles.” She is sounding just like Mami.

  Efraín announced to the family that he has signed up with the U.S. Marines. Tía Carmen nearly fainted when she found out, and Tío Pablo stood there like he had been frozen in place, mouth open. Only Papi went over to shake his hand. Efraín leaves in a few days for another state to begin a training program. I won’t believe it until he actually goes. I think this is another one of his jokes.

  Saturday, 25th of May

  Jane’s grandparents called this morning to talk to Papi. I don’t know what they said on their end, but Papi was very polite and his English was surprisingly good. Later I overheard him tell Mami that the trip would take about ten days. We would visit Key West and Saint Augustine (the oldest city in the country), as well as Cape Canaveral and Tallahassee, the state capitol. We would spend some time in a couple of beach towns on the west coast of the state. It sounds so wonderful. Would it be selfish if I said a prayer for myself?

  Monday, 27th of May

  Americans celebrate Memorial Day in honor of those who have fought and died in war. It is a holiday where everybody flies the American flag. We don’t have one, but Tío Pablo does and he displayed it from a pole on the side of the house. He also put a smaller Cuban flag beside it. I wonder if he feels a commitment to both or to only one. Do you stop loving your homeland if you live somewhere else and fly that country’s flag? Must you surrender your memories to adapt to all the new demands of another life?

  When I first started school, Srta. Reed had me memorize the Pledge of Allegiance. Remember that? I had to recite it to her by the end of the week. Though I was able to do it, I had no idea what the words said or what the whole pledge meant. It was like reciting gibberish. But now I know what those words stand for. When I put my hand over my heart, and when I declare my allegiance to those colors and to the republic they represent, I cannot help but wonder if this means I have forgotten my own country, my own flag, that first allegiance of my birth. This is very confusing, and I’m not sure I can even explain the division I sometimes feel inside my heart.

  Wednesday, 29th of May

  Efraín has left to train with the marines. How we miss him already! I am not exaggerating when I say that it seems as if the sun does not shine as bright and the house is quieter without him. Everyone walks around as if they are still asleep. Abuelo Tony complains his heart hurts, and Tía Carmen looks like she is twenty years older.

  Efraín will probably be sent to Vietnam. That’s what Ileana says. Does that mean he will get killed there? Now I will pray for both Pepito and Efraín. I will pray in the morning, which I never do, and before bed, twice as long.

  Friday, 31st of May

  Every night this week, long after Ana Mari was asleep, I could hear Ileana sobbing into her pillow. At first it sounded like a strange breeze coming through the window. Then I thought it might be hiccups. Finally I realized what the sound was. When I asked her why she was crying, she said she was scared something horrible would happen to Efraín or Pepito because she was having nightmares about bombs and guns and babies being killed. I wish she hadn’t told me because I do not want to think about it. I, too, worry about my brother and cousin.

  Miami won’t be the same without Efraín. I feel like I am alone trying to figure out the city and the people and the events that happen to me.

  Saturday, 1st of June

  Mrs. Henderson visited today. She spoke with Papi for a long time, explaining why this trip would be good for me. He didn’t tell her either way about his decision, but her visit certainly helped.

  Abuelo Tony also talked to Papi, and he was very, very convincing. He explained that sometimes we have to give up control to gain something more valuable. He also assured my parents that they should not worry about money because he had “a little grandfatherly sum” squirreled away for an event of this kind. “You have to allow your children to fly,” Abuelo told Papi. I think my father may be ready to give in. I am so excited at the thought that I cannot fall asleep.

  Monday, 3rd of June

  We are waiting for a phone call from Cuba. Mami said she dreamed Pepito called during dinner, just as we were sitting to eat tasajo. (The shredded beef is one of his favorite meals.) Mami thinks the dream is a predictor of something, so now nobody can tie up the phone in the late afternoon or evening. Just in case Pepito calls.

  I sure hope dreams come true, for my mother’s sake.

  Thursday, 6th of June

  The whole country is sad. A man who was running for president, Robert F. Kennedy, was shot yesterday by a criminal, right there in a hotel where everybody could see. He died today. He is the brother of a president who was also assassinated, but that was before we had moved here. Again today, Abuelo said, “These are dark times.” It is very depressing. On the television they showed Mr. Kennedy’s wife crying. He has a whole bunch of children and they were crying, too. Now they are all orphaned.

  I don’t understand all this shooting. I don’t understand the wars, either. Any war. I suppose the grownups think they have good reasons to fight each other, but if they do, I wish then they would leave my brother and cousin out of it. Jane told me she has a second cousin who refused to go to the war in Vietnam, so now he lives in Canada. Doing that is against the law, so he can never come back to see his family. In a way that situation is like my family’s, but in reverse. Pepito is in the Cuban army. He didn’t want to be, but the government forced him anyway. This also means we don’t know when we will see him next.

  Friday, 7th of June

  It is so hot now that Abuelo has decided we should do our exercise walks after dinner, when it’s almost nightfall. Every day this week, though, it has rained on our plans. “That’s summer in the tropics,” Abuelo says. “Rain, rain, and more rain.” We were finally able to walk today, and along the way we saw many beautiful plants and flowers as well as dragonflies and butterflies, grasshoppers, snails, slugs, and tiny aphids. Plenty of mosquitoes, too, unfortunately. We kept having to flap away the bugs.

  We walked a little farther than on other days because Abuelo felt stronger and because the overcast sky kept away the worst of the heat. I am so glad we did, too. We got to see a house five blocks over that has a well-tended garden with a wide variety of species that Abuelo said made his heart sing. There was a beautiful shrimp plant and a golden shower tree, and marigolds, crossandra, and purple pentas in a flower bed bordering the house. Along a chain-link fence there were several kinds of flowering vines, too, but I can remember only one of the names—the jade vine because it had the most stunning aquamarine flowers. That wasn’t all, though. In the far corner of the yard, a royal poinciana—we call it framboyan, which sounds like flamboyant—was in full bloom, and the red-orange flowers covered most of the branches. I have never seen such beautiful colors.

  “Only God can make them like that,” Abuelo told us.

  To which Ana Mari responded, “If it is fine with God, then I want to be very rich when I grow up so I can live in a very big house with a very large garden. Then, Abuelo, you can come and help me plant it. I do not want to sweat, though, so we will plant only in the winter or when the sun is setting.”

  This made Abuelo laugh.

  When we were returning home, I could tell Abuelo was tired. He had a hard time catching his breath. I kept insisting he rest, but he would not. He said his heart was still singing with the joy of the flowers and the colors, and that does not happen too often.

  “When you
are old,” he added, “you take advantage of every happy moment.”

  Saturday, 8th of June

  Ileana bought herself a record player with her own earnings. It is a small one we can put on the dresser in our bedroom, but it still cost a lot of money. She will not say how much, and Mami got very angry when she saw how she had wasted wages on something we do not need. But the money is, after all, hers. She earned it.

  Ileana also bought several singles, and she has been playing them over and over all afternoon. Loud. By loud, I mean loud enough for the windows to rattle. About every fifteen minutes Mami knocks on the door and tells her to lower the volume. Ileana does. Then she waits about five minutes and slowly turns up the knob. She likes to play a singer named Bob Dylan all the time. If you listen closely to the words in his song, you understand how sad and angry he is. Ileana likes “A Hard Rain’s A-Gonna Fall.” I think he has a whiny voice, but Ileana says I don’t know diddly-squat about music. What’s diddly-squat? I have never heard that phrase in English. She also listens to the Rolling Stones and Jefferson Airplane. I like the Monkees. Their songs are happy and romantic. They are also very cute.

  Mami has given up on any calls coming from Cuba. She says the dream was just that—a dream.

  Sunday, 9th of June

  Papi said yes. Yes, yes, yes! I am going on the car trip with Jane. Here I come, Key West, Saint Augustine, Cape Canaveral, and Tallahassee! I’ve started counting the hours. I’m already thinking about what I will pack. Jane says we will be staying at motels with pools, so I most certainly will pack my swimsuit.

  We were spending the day at Crandon Park when Papi announced the good news. I had been moping all morning, remembering Efraín and how he had shown us the zoo and the roller rink last summer. But the idea of the trip perked me right up. Even Abuelo Tony was excited for me. “You will get more of an education by traveling than by sitting in a classroom,” he said, and hugged me tight.

  I’ve got to pinch myself to make sure I’m not dreaming.

  Tuesday, 11th of June

  I have lots of homework, and enough tests to bury me. I must write you about the photographs we received from Cuba, the ones Pepito promised. The person in the photographs hardly looks like Pepito. He is almost twice as tall as Abuelo Pancho, and his face is long and it ends in a square chin. He has serious, hard eyes. He looks thinner than I remember, too, but maybe it is just his uniform. I feel cheated. Instead of making me happy, the photographs gave me this ripping sensation in my chest. Of course, I didn’t say anything to my parents. Why make a bad situation worse?

  At least I have the trip to look forward to. Jane gave me some brochures from Cape Canaveral, and we saw pictures of Saint Augustine in a book in the school library.

  Thursday, 13th of June

  Hip, hip, hurrah for me. I received Best Mathematics Student award in a school ceremony for eighth graders. I was so surprised. Never in a million years did I expect this. Though my lowest mark in any examination or quiz was a 95, I still thought that Mrs. Boatwright did not like me because she would never smile at me and was always so strict. Last week the school sent home a note announcing the ceremony, but I did not think it was important and threw it away. Had I known, maybe Abuela or Abuelo could have come to school to see me receive the award.

  As soon as Mami and Papi came home from work, I showed them the certificate. We immediately went to the shopping center to buy a frame for it and hung it on one of the bedroom walls. Papi said I inherited his way with numbers. Mami said that was fine as long as I didn’t inherit his stubbornness. They laughed and kissed, and I decided that seeing them act silly was better than receiving the award itself.

  Friday, 14th of June

  Alina must attend summer school because she failed two classes. (She won’t tell me which.) I think she is working too many hours. She should concentrate on school. Srta. Reed gave her some books to help improve her English. One is titled Direct English Conversation for Foreign Students by Robert J. Dixon. Most of the lessons are vocabulary that I already know, so I promised to help her when I return from the car trip.

  Sunday, 16th of June

  Abuelo Tony died. He died. He’s gone. My abuelito.

  I write those words and still can’t believe it. He had a heart attack. By the time the ambulance came, the paramedics could not revive him. Tío Pablo had to give Abuela medicine to calm her down because she was hysterical. She would not let the ambulance people take him or come near him. Now she has been sleeping all afternoon.

  Oh, my abuelito. My dear, dear abuelito.

  Later

  No more tears, no more tears. I have cried myself out. I tried to be strong for Ana Mari because she has taken this very hard, but I got a horrible headache from holding in all my crying. So I went for a walk. Without telling any grown-up, either, which is a big no-no. I just forgot. I walked and walked and walked. I was sweating rivers from so much walking. I went to all the places Abuelo and I would go during our exercises. I saw all the plants he pointed out to me and I tried to name them. Some I knew, others I had already forgotten. And the more I walked, and the farther I got from home, the more I was able to cry. I could let it all out without the worry of upsetting anybody. When I got to that pretty garden we saw a few days ago, I stood in front of the framboyan and cried even more. I am glad it was hot because no one was out in the streets. It would have been embarrassing if somebody had seen me.

  I cannot believe I will never hear my Abuelo’s voice again, or touch his hand, or see him walking beside me, panting because Ana Mari and I are moving too fast. Death is so final, so absolute, so unfair. I do not want to think about it.

  Monday, 17th of June

  I had never been to a funeral until this day. I hope I never have to go to another one. This one was a traditional Cuban wake. The funeral people had fixed Abuelo Tony up and dressed him in a fancy suit, so he could lie in an open casket. They put makeup on his face, too. When I knelt on the cushioned pew in front of the coffin to say a prayer, I looked at his fake smile and closed eyes and I knew for sure he was dead. Papi wanted me to kiss him, but I was afraid. He looked so…so unreal, like a wax doll. I did touch him, though, and he felt very hard and cold.

  Efraín came home from boot camp this morning, but he must leave tomorrow afternoon. I hardly got to talk to him because the men mobbed him and asked him all kinds of questions. The funeral parlor was full of relatives and friends, all of them talking too loud. The old women sat in big chairs lining the room. Abuela was in the corner closest to Abuelo’s body, sniffling and dabbing her eyes with a handkerchief. Every time someone new came up to her, she began to weep all over again. “Leave her alone,” I wanted to scream. She kept complaining it was cold, and Tío Pablo gave her his jacket until Mami went home to get her a sweater. The air-conditioning was very, very cold. My fingernails were purple the whole time.

  Everyone wore black, even Jane and Mrs. Henderson. Mr. and Mrs. F., from the craft store, came, and so did Tommy and a few of Ileana’s girlfriends, and Alina with her family. I was surprised how people kept coming in and out of the parlor with little plates of pastries or cups of café they had bought at a cafeteria down the block. To me all the commotion felt more like a party than anything else. I hated the noise and the relatives hugging me tight. I did not care for any of them. All I wanted was my Abuelo back. There were lots of flowers, too, so many that Ileana sneezed all afternoon. Mami gave her a special medicine to make her stop.

  A priest came in the evening to recite the rosary. I just mumbled the words to go along. I wished he would go away, too, and he finally did, but not before coming to pat each of us on the head. I wanted to ask him why my Abuelo had died. Why didn’t somebody else die, somebody mean, like Fidel Castro and those dictators in Russia and that man who killed Robert Kennedy and the other fellow who murdered Martin Luther King, Jr. Why?

  We had to come home after the rosary because it was almost eleven o’clock. All the grown-ups will stay the night with Abuelo�
�s body, then tomorrow after church we will bury him. I can’t stop thinking about how Abuelo worried he would not ever see his homeland again. Maybe he knew something we didn’t.

  Tuesday, 18th of June

  Early in the morning, before we left for the funeral parlor, I ran around the block collecting all the flowers I could see. I picked ixoras and marigolds and pentas and tiny lantanas and gardenias and appleblossom cassia and frangipani and allamanda and oleander. Back in the kitchen, all the names came to me suddenly, in a rush, as I wrapped their fragile stems in a moist napkin and then wrapped them again in foil.

  At the parlor, when we went to say our final goodbyes to Abuelo, I put my special bouquet inside the casket. I am sure no one except Ana Mari understood what I was doing, and when she saw the beautiful flowers, all those bright colors against Abuelo’s dark suit, she came over to hug me. Together we cried.