Page 20 of Amor in the 305

“Choppy,” I respond.

“Bueno, the ocean was choppy. After two hours it started raining, heavy rain and winds. We fight a lot because now we were in the ocean in the middle of a storm,estábamos desesperados, like maybe it was a mistake.” As he talks about the feelings of desperation he felt the night they left, he pulls his knees up to his chest and wraps his arms around his legs.

“In that moment we no know if we make the right decision. The next day it was sunny, there was no more storm, and the ocean was calm. We started talking about past memories growing up, of concerts we saw, or things we did, all to try to make the time pass. With the sun it was very hot.Peroat night,muchofrio.We were freezing, and we could barely sleep.” With his right hand he takes his shoelace between his fingers and starts rolling it back and forth.

“By the third night we started seeing things, we thought they were lights, or land. Of course, it was just,alucinaciones.No sehow you say in English.”

“Hallucinations,” I add.

“Yes, that. We saw many otherbalsastoo, some people alive, some dead.Era triste.” His voice softens as he recalls the sadness of seeing dead Cubans floating on homemade rafts.

“Did you see a lot of them?”

“Yes.” His head bobs up and down. “Too many.” I cannot even imagine seeing the things he’s telling me about, rafts full of people, both dead and alive in the middle of the open ocean.

“What happened when you saw them?”

“Nada. You no can get close.Era muy peligroso. We risk sinking.Acuérdate, all of us were very desperate to reachla Yuma.”

“La Yuma? What’s that?”

“Nosotros los cubanoscall United StatesLa Yuma.”

“Hmm, interesting.”

I’ve never heard anything like what he’s telling me. I’m fascinated and sad and cannot believe it’s the first time I’m learning about any of this. Here I thought I was pretty educated. While I may be in my area of study, there’s still so much to learn. I have so many questions about his trek to the United States.

“When you got here, where did you land?”

“Two miles from Miami.La Guarda Costa, found us. They put us on the ship while they look for otherbalserosto rescue,” he says, describing the Coast Guard ship in Spanish. “I cried when I was on the boat with Americans. I was finally free. Then, they took us to a warship that carries airplanes for two days before they took us back to Cuba.”

I’m confused at what he’s explaining. “Why would they take you back to Cuba?”

“Refugee campen Guantánamo.”

“Did you have to stay there?”

“Sí.” He nods in agreement. “I lived there for nine months until I came to Miami.”

“Have you seen your mom or family since you left?”

He’s shaking his head.

“Will you ever see them again?”

“I no think so. It’s not easy to travel to Cuba, especially for someone like me. The government says I deserted my country, and in Cuba, that’s criminal.”

I’m still. Everything I’ve listened to is shocking to me because I never could’ve, or would’ve, imagined anything like what he’s shared existed.

“So will you ever return to Cuba?”

“No. I no want to go back there. United States is my home. This country gave me life.”

“Do you talk to your family at all?”

“Sí. We can talk on the phone,perovery little. Not everyone in Cuba has phones, and it’s expensive to call there. I have to call a neighbor in Cuba who then lets my family use the phone.”

“Wow Amaury!” I extend my hand out to his arm, trace my fingers along his wrist up to his forearm and back down. “I’ve never heard anything like what you’ve told me. It all seems so surreal, like something I would read about in books or see in the movies.”

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