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“For what it’s worth, I think there’s more to the story from the little I know about him. I met him when I visited you for my birthday and he seemed genuine to me. And that’s a lot coming from me because you know I instantly pick up on someone’s BS. Besides, I don’t like many people,” Melida says, chuckling.
“True. I’m glad you’re my friend and not my enemy,” I respond. “I have to take an elevator up to my room so I’m gonna let you go,” I tell the girls.
“Love you, Sunshine,” Jestine quips.
“Love you Sol, and I miss you more than you know,” Melida says.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
Amaury
Yesterday Sol walked away from me and I could feel my heart splintering with each step she took. Betrayal was sprawled across her gorgeous face. Her eyes puffy from lack of sleep and too many tears. All of it my fault and I wish I could turn back time and change things. I should’ve been honest with her from the get-go, told her the truth about my past but because my past was in Cuba, I didn’t think it mattered. Never did I imagine Yanelis would show up the way she did, with my child in tow.
Despite only getting a few hours sleep, I push the sheets back as soon as the day breaks and drive down to the beach to get in my morning run, a ritual I kept after completing my three years of military service in Cuba.
A few weeks after my eighteenth birthday, I was shipped off to begin my time in the military, not that I had a choice because it was mandatory. My father had been a member of Castro’s regime and believed serving in the military would make me a man, help give me guidance and purpose. I thought it was bullshit, especially since I hated the government and fighting with them went against everything I stood for.
For three long years I lived the rigid day-to-day of waking up before sunrise, making my bed to the point where my commanders could roll a coin along it, and shining my shoes every day. While enlisted I was miserable and would sneak out whenever the opportunity arose, which was at least once or twice a week. I’d leave before midnight and have to return before six in the morning for roll call, although many times I didn’t make it because I’d missed a bus or was tangled up with a girl somewhere. The times I got caught, I would be punished by having to do extra guard duties, or clean-up duties. But what hurt most was when my weekend leave passes were revoked and having to serve several months beyond my original completion date. Looking back, those years taught me discipline, loyalty, and trustworthiness, because I had to learn to trust my brothers in arms as they had to learn to trust me. I also fell in love with running because it was truly the only time during my service I could be alone.
My morning run was how I channeled the hate I had for my commanding officers who treated us like vermin, and the hate I had for the government that stripped me of my freedoms. During my runs I would daydream about fleeing the island and living freely in the United States—my thoughts and dreams were the only things the Cuban government couldn’t take from me.
After leaving the military service, I continued my morning runs because they set the tone for my day. In Cuba I would run along the beaches whenever I had the chance. It was much nicer than running through any neighborhood. Now in Miami Beach, I religiously pound the sand every morning and watch as the sun crests, giving life to a brand-new day. There’s something about a new day breaking that soothes my soul—the smell of a new day, the crisp fresh air, and the birds chirping as they start a new day.
Once I park my car in the nearly empty lot at Forty-sixth Street, I pull my laces tight and jog at a light pace toward the sand. This morning the ocean is turbulent and the dark gray storm clouds are rolling through the sky not far from the shore. It’s like Mother Nature is soothing my soul and sympathizing with me. The waves are crashing at an incessant pace, matching the erratic beating in my chest.
Typically, I find peace running parallel to the shoreline. The stillness of the early morning hours together with the sound of the birds waking, and the ocean soothe me, but not today.
The ocean rages.
The sky rumbles.
My heart thunders.
I have no one to blame but myself yet I’m so angry. My legs are burning because I’m running harder than usual. How did I get here? It’s like my past life in Cuba will never cease to impact my present-day life.
Without realizing, I find myself at South Pointe Beach. The last time I was here with Sol we made love in the water, and she told me she loved me. Seems like a lifetime ago when everything was going well. I fucked up and don’t know if she’ll ever forgive me. Had I told her the truth since day one, we would likely be in a very different place today. I probably would’ve woken to her soft curls sprawled on my pillows while we slept tangled in the sheets. Looking back, I don’t know why I kept it from her. I thought telling her would push her away yet never imagined she would learn it from anyone other than me and it would be worse. Lies that bind.
Eight miles later and I feel no better than I did when I woke up. I take a quick dip in the water to cool off before heading home to start the day, which I can already tell is going to be a long one.
I’m working on a vintage 1976 Vespa Rally we bought a few weeks ago at an estate sale and I started taking apart last week. Giving these classic beauties the TLC they need is usually therapeutic for me. Since my run didn’t do much for me today, I’m hoping working on this red lady will. Although, seeing the red Vespa only reminds me of Sol. Dammit!
“Oye mi hermano qué vuelta,” Eduardo shouts from across the garage. He turns the music down a notch and waltzes over to me. “Every time I see her, I’m fascinated. I can’t believe we have this in our shop!” he exclaims, dragging his hand along the back fender.
I ignore him and continue what I’m doing. I’m off-kilter today and I don’t want to take it out on those who have no fault.
“¿Tienes el moño virao?” he asks. Yes, I am in a bad fucking mood, can’t he tell? I crack my neck and a grunt lets loose.
“Pass me the pliers,” I say.
He hands them to me and as I’m taking them, he grasps them tightly. “What you do now? When you’re like this, it’s because you fucked up.”
Of course he knows something’s up. He’s known me my entire life and hiding anything from him is impossible, especially since I wear my heart on my sleeve.
When I was seventeen, I used to date a woman named Yenifer, she was my first love. Yenifer was twenty and, in my head, I had our whole future planned out. Little did I know I was nothing but a boy toy for her. One day I wanted to surprise her and so I skipped school and showed up at her house with a bouquet of flowers I’d picked along the way. When I got there, I saw her in bed with some guy and was left speechless. Rather than confront her, I watched as she and the guy continued having sex. Yenifer told the guy the same things she’d tell me when we were together. Turns out it was her boyfriend, and I was her sidepiece. It was the first time I had my heart broken. When Eduardo saw me later that day, I tried to hide it from him but failed. That night we rode our bikes all around Havana and he didn’t let up until I told him what happened.
“Yanelis is in Miami,” I tell him. Normally Eduardo would’ve been at the party we were at when everything happened but he couldn’t attend because his son had a show at school and he went to the performance.
“¿Cómo?” he exclaims, shocked at my words.
