Flight to Freedom (6 page)

This is a day for the children to wear costumes and go house to house asking for candy. I dressed up as a Gypsy with Abuela María's clothes and a dozen plastic bracelets Tía Carmen bought at a small shop next to the Laundromat where she works. Mami drew a beauty mark on the left side of my mouth and colored blue circles around my eyes. Ana Mari went as a cat, with painted-on whiskers and nose. Her tail was a long black balloon. Abuelo Tony took photographs with his new camera. We collected so much candy that we cannot possibly eat it all without bursting. Efraín's boss sent us new toothbrushes. He told Efraín we would need them!

Just as we had planned at school, Jane and her mother stopped by during trick-or-treating, and Mami and Papi finally met my friend. Our mothers couldn't talk much to each other, but Mami invited Mrs. Henderson in. She made Cuban coffee, which Mrs. Henderson had never tasted. I'm not sure she liked it, but she was gracious enough to drink it. “This is very, very strong,” she said, and smiled. Later Mami said that my friend—she called her
la americana
—and her mother seemed decent folk. Mrs. Henderson told her they attend Saint Michael's Church, so I think that made a good impression on Mami. Papi did not express an opinion either way, but at least he was polite and friendly and did not object to anything.

I realized something today. I have not thought of my friends in Cuba in several days. I feel bad about that. Would a good friend forget so easily? I am curious about what happened with Ofelia and the Communist Youth. Is she enjoying it or are her parents forcing her to participate? Must she march in many rallies? Does she play with any of our other friends?

Papi always makes it a point to tell us a story about Cuba at dinner. Sometimes it's an event from history or a description of a historic site, but other times it is a story about the neighborhood or one of the businesses that we used to frequent. Tonight he told us about the José Martí House, in the southern section of Old Havana, and described the photographs and documents and furniture exhibited there. He could even remember the colors of the house—blue and yellow! He says we should never forget where we come from, so that when we return, it will be like slipping into old slippers found in the back of our closet. Memory, though, is like a piece of color cotton. Over time it fades.

I eat lunch with Jane every day. I have started packing my own food because I cannot get used to what is served in the cafeteria. Jane loves the croquettes Mami makes, but she does not care for the El Refugio meat. She says it tastes just like Spam. I like it very much. Now that my English is better, we also talk on the phone every afternoon. If Efraín is not around, she helps me with English and social studies homework. I help her in mathematics.

I have come to the conclusion that numbers are
the universal language. They count for the same amount no matter what country you are in. Yet you should see how
los americanos
do their division. They figure it out backward! They also do their subtraction very strangely. For example, they borrow by taking away from the top number. I learned by adding to the bottom number.

Either way, you arrive at the same answer, but if I try to do my calculations the English way, I feel like I'm turning my brain inside out. Mrs. Boatwright told me not to worry. She said several of her students do their arithmetic the way I do.

Jane gave me several books in a series about a girl detective named Nancy Drew. She read them three years ago, when she was in the fifth grade. These are much
easier to read than the Doc Savage ones. Still, I read slowly to make sure I can understand completely what I'm reading. Sometimes I think Ana Mari will zoom ahead of me. That would be so-o-o embarrassing.

For homework I have to write a three-hundred-word essay about exploration in space because yesterday a Surveyor spacecraft landed on the moon. How in the world will I do that? I wish I were living on the moon!

Good news and not so good news: I received a perfect score on my mathematics test. Only one other person in my class, a boy named Derek, got the same grade. I am so proud of myself.

But on the essay I did not get a grade at all. Srta. Reed wrote, “Good try.” Jane tells me not to worry about it, that I am too hard on myself. Yet I find English to be a confusing language, especially to write. In Spanish we rarely use the first-person pronoun to begin a sentence, but not so in English. I have to continuously
remind myself to put the
I
when writing about what I am doing or thinking. When I read it back to myself, the composition makes me sound conceited with so many
I'
s sprinkled all over.

Ileana is asking for trouble. She told Mami she was joining a sewing club at school but instead joined another club. Its name is Students for Peace. I am not sure what the members do, but I can tell you it has
nothing
to do with sewing. The only way I found out about this peace club is because the papers fell out of Ileana's notebook when we were moving our stuff to pull out the sofa bed this evening. It was a flyer in pink bubble letters and it said, STOP THE VIETNAM WAR. She grabbed it as soon as I saw it. At first she didn't want to tell me what it was. Then I told her I knew it had to do with that boy in the car, her friend who plays football, and she got so mad her lower lip jutted out as it usually does when she pouts. She pinched me, too, and said I was a busybody gossip, always watching everybody quietly and then scribbling in my diary. “Well, that's better than sneaking around,” I
shot right back. She called me a smarty-pants know-it-all and said that if I told Mami or Papi, I would have to sleep on the hard, cold floor the rest of my life. Then she turned off the light, and I had to go to the bathroom to write.

Ileana said she was sorry. I'm not sure if I should forgive her. I told her I would think about it.

Our marks came home today. I received an A, which is the top mark here, in mathematics. Also in science. I did not do as well in my other subjects, but I will not think about it because it will make me not want to try anymore.

I miss Pepito, sometimes more than others. If I am busy with schoolwork, I do not think so much about him or about what our lives used to be like. I concentrate on the task. But on those days that I am home doing nothing but cleaning or setting the table or
folding laundry, things that require no brainpower, my mind goes back to our old house and my other school, to my friends, but especially to Pepito. Is he lonely because we are not there? Is he angry at us? Does he think about us as much?

When Papi returned tonight from his military training camp, he brought back a brown bag full of wrapped packages, one for each of us. I got a doll that looks a lot like one I left back in Cuba. This one is much smaller and prettier, though, with embroidery on the collar of her blouse. I like her, but the truth is that I am too old to play with dolls. In my room at home the dolls were more decoration than playthings. I would have rather received fishnet stockings. Or perfume. Of course I won't say this to Papi. It would hurt his feelings.

Ileana received a small bottle of perfume that smells just like the jasmine we had in our yard in Cuba. Ana Mari got a pink and white tea set. She wanted to set it up, but Mami said it was too late and
we needed to go to bed pronto. Papi had a package for Mami, too, but she refused to open it. She kept her lips shut tight.

The weekends Papi goes away, Mami just mopes around the house and makes little comments about how she is going to raise her daughters not to depend on men. She says that in this country we will receive opportunities she never had, and good for us. Abuela María chuckles at this. “Man proposes and God disposes,” Abuela mutters. I guess that means we can plan and plan, but it is up to God what really happens. If that's true, then it makes me not want to do anything. Why try so hard at school? Why work long hours like Papi and Tío Pablo? Why bother to train with the militia? It doesn't make sense. That's my opinion.

You wouldn't believe what I saw today when Mami sent me to the pharmacy to buy headache powder. First of all, Mami never ever sends me anywhere alone. She does not let me out of her sight. Even when Ana Mari and I play outside, we must stay in the backyard.
So I was surprised that she gave me one dollar and told me to walk to the corner, then turn left, and walk another block to the pharmacy. I know exactly where the pharmacy is, but I listened to her directions to make her feel better. As I was returning home after buying the powder, I saw a blue car with big tires parked at the corner. Inside there were two people, and I was sure one of them was Ileana. So I stopped walking in that direction and hung around the sidewalk to watch. It was hard to see anything, but I inched closer, sticking next to the bushes, just like a spy. (I guess Ileana's right about me being a busybody!) From where I stood, I could hear Ileana's laughter. She has one of those contagious laughs that tinkle like choir bells. I could also hear voices and see silhouettes moving, but nothing else. I was at a bad angle, and the sun was shining in my eyes.

Because they were taking so long, I began to worry that Mami might wonder why I was delayed. Finally, just as I was deciding to backtrack and cut through an alleyway (which Mami has told me to never do because you don't know what lurks there), Ileana got out of the car. She leaned in through the passenger window and said something, then as she straightened
up she threw her head back, and her hair fell like black waves. She looked like a movie star. That's when she saw me. She turned completely around to face me, and her jaw dropped. I'm not exaggerating, either. It dropped to the floor. I walked over to greet her, and she still couldn't get any words out of her mouth. I told her I thought she was supposed to take the public bus home after her “sewing club” meetings. She didn't reply to that except to ask me if I was going to tell. I said no, I wouldn't, but as we walked home, I asked her to tell me about her boyfriend.

His name is Tommy. He graduates from the high school this year and is planning to go to a town in the middle of this state to study at the university. I've never heard of that place, but it is spelled this way: Gainesville. He brings Ileana home every week after her so-called club meeting. (If our parents find out, she will be in big,
big
trouble.) She says he is very handsome and has blue eyes like that movie star, Paul Newman. He is a head taller than she is, so that means he is taller than Pepito. I don't know what they can possibly talk about since her English is worse than mine, but she insists they understand each other well enough. When she spoke, her voice rang out, like
a song. That's how happy she sounded. I told her that she should invite Tommy to visit her at home, properly and with a chaperone, but she shook her head hard. She says I'm too young to understand.

What is there to understand? If she keeps sneaking around, someone's going to catch her. You don't have to be sixteen to figure that out.

Patricia is not a nice girl. She never seems to have anything good to say about anybody. Today I did not have lunch with Jane because she was absent. She and her mother left early to drive to Tampa for tomorrow's holiday, when
los americanos
roast a big turkey and give thanks. After lunch, Patricia told me that I should be careful of girls like Jane. She says Americans call Cubans “spics” because they speak Spanish, and they also sing a song called “Row, Row, Row Your Boat” behind our backs. The boat-rowing song is sung in rounds, and it has something to do with the Cubans who float over in rafts. I don't believe Patricia. That sounds awfully mean, to make fun of people because of the way they come to this country.

This is the Thanksgiving holiday, on which we show our gratitude for all the good things God has given us. Tía Carmen seasoned the turkey last night and began roasting it very early this morning. She also made something called stuffing. The wife of the owner of the Laundromat showed her how to do all this last year. I had never eaten turkey, and do not like it much. It tastes like very dry chicken. Papi says that in Cuba turkey is called
guanajo,
and of course we all laughed until we had tears in our eyes because you call a person
guanajo
when he is silly and foolish. I did not like the stuffing either, but I very much enjoyed something called a sweet potato casserole that Efraín's boss sent home with him. It is similar to our
boniato.
So good!