It's still strange to talk about spending a night with my family in Cuba (that alone is still unbelievable). I took a cab to Margarita's house, and along the way the driver told me his love story. He and his fiancé met thirty years ago, btu during Mariel, she left and he stayed. They drifted apart, married other people, and lost contact. Eight years ago, she divorced and when her friends tried to match her with new beaus, she said that her true love was in Cuba. Her friends began the search with she eventually joined, and five years later, she found him. He had also divorced, so they cautiously decided to meet as friends, however, as he said, within an hour their passion has resumed. She now lives in Miami but he has his papers and goes for his interview next week. I do hope that it works out for him and that we'll run into each other in Miami. Another romantic Cuban dares to dream...
It rained all night, but inside the house it was stories, raunchy jokes, singing and lots of laughter. It felt like home, so very oddly like home. They said that they didn't expect me to be so Cuban, especially to sound like a Cuban (something I've heard a lot this week). We ate chícharos, white rice and fried eggs, a simple meal and tastier than the restaurants we've been visiting during the week. I was happy, very happy. And, as my brother asked, I took our mother's picture, gave it to Margarita who wanted to keep it with her. Mami is home again.
No comments:
Post a Comment