90 Miles to Havana by Enrique Flores-Galbis Read Free Book Online Page A

edges. “I want you to pin this on your shirt when you get to the airport,” she says and pushes the paper in front of my face.
    I read it without picking it up:
    â€œPedro Pan,
Please Take care of my son Julian.
God Bless You.”
    â€œI don’t want to wear that!” I say, turning around to point at my older brothers. “How come they don’t have to?” Alquilino and Gordo are still reading the old comic books. You could never tell that they’re about to leave everything behind, and maybe never see our parents again.
    I crumple up the paper and throw it on the floor. “I’m not wearing it!”
    Gordo slaps down his comic book and starts walking in my direction. He looks angry. As I scramble away, I accidentally knock the plate out of my mother’s hand; it shatters on the tile floor. “Julian, what’s gotten into you?” she asks.
    I know what’s gotten into me. Until this morning it had all seemed like a dream—a dream about some other kid—but now I know this is real. Now, every time she says, “we don’t know” or “maybe,” she blows a little more haze away from that dream. I used to believe that my mother and father knew everything, and everything went the way they planned, but now I’m not so sure about that. Now I’m wondering what’s going to be waiting for us at the other end.
    My mother hasn’t told me everything because she thinks I’m too young to understand and she doesn’t want to scare me. But I’m not too young to know that it’s not her fault, and that she doesn’t really want to send us away to a strange country all alone, and I’m not too young to feel terrible about it.
    I take a handkerchief from my suitcase and start picking up the jagged pieces of sky and sea. “I’ll glue it back for you, Mami, I promise.”
    I wrap up the pieces in my handkerchief and slip them into my pocket and then pick up the name tag.
    â€œI’ll put it on when I get there,” I mumble, but I’m not sure she heard me. She’s staring past me, her face is a closed door.
    When we get into the car she turns around and looks at us for a second like she wants to say something, but then she turns away and hangs her head.
    The airport is crowded with bored soldiers, nervous parents, and dazed children. When they call out our name we’re led into a small room. The man behind the desk points at the envelope my mother’s holding, she hands it to him and he spreads out our passports on his desk. He’s matching the passport photo to the face, then the name. “Alquilino, Eduardo.” I had almost forgotten Gordo’s real name. Then he looks at me. “Julian?”
    I’m trying my best to look bored like my brothers, but then he points at me.
    â€œSearch him,” the man says.
    Why me? I panic, but I try to keep smiling just like my parents, so he won’t know just how scared I am. I follow the guard and my suitcase into another small room across the hall wondering why he picked me.
    The guard is a big guy, stuffed into a khaki shirt with the collar buttoned up too tight. His head looks like it’s going to explode as he swings my suitcase up onto a metal table. He’s looking right at me as he tumbles through my clothes, then runs his hand along the inside wall of mysuitcase—right where the bird is hidden. I concentrate on the bulging vein splitting his forehead in half. I don’t want to look down and give it away.
    His hand stops near the corner. Did he find the suspicious edge behind the blue lining? Now I can’t look away.
    Gordo told me once that when you’re in trouble and can’t think of anything else to do, you yell.
    â€œPapi!” I scream. The guard’s face flushes a weird pink.
    â€œQuiet!” he growls, as he tries to find the edge again.
    Then I yell even louder. “Mami!” the sound bounces off