Freedom Fighters

9. Beginnings

"How was it?" Camilo said, looking up from his novel.

With a soft jingle of keys, Dario locked the door behind him. He walked past the familiar white-washed pine dining table, dropping onto the couch beside Camilo, causing his friend to shake a little with the impact.

"It was fine, I guess."

Camilo closed the book he had been reading and placed it on the coffee table in front of him.

"You guess? Come on. You have to give me more details. So how did it go?" He grinned, wriggling his eyebrows.

Dario sighed, his chest deflating as he leaned back against soft material of the couch, almost sinking into it.

"We talked about some stuff, you know?"

Camilo leaned closer to his friend, putting an arm around his shoulder.

"Tell me more then. I like to know the juicy details. It was obvious she was interested in you."

Dario pushed his friend's arm off his shoulders, turning away with a frown.

"Let me get a glass of water first. Sorry."

He stood up and walked to the kitchen, leaving his friend bewildered.

The smell of spice hit him as he entered the cramped surroundings through the doorway. He put his arms on the counter and leaned forward, trying to orientate himself with his feelings. Grabbing the pitcher, he poured himself a glass of water and downed it in one motion. The smooth coolness of the water soothed his raw throat.

He placed the empty glass down with a clink, then reached his hand into the right pocket of his khakis, fishing out a small crumpled piece of paper. The soft fiber felt foreign in his hands. In it was written a very important piece of information that could change his life.

Sunday 9pm at the Port of Miami.
Ferry to Veracruz, Mexico

Sunday. That would be tomorrow night. One day was all he had left here, assuming he chose to go.

He looked around the kitchen which had become a part of his daily routine for the last year. A loaf of white bread remained on the wooden cutting board in the middle of the counter, with a jar of peanut butter left open beside it. A lone knife rose out of the open jar. Camilo must have forgotten to close the jar yet again after spreading the peanut butter on his white bread.

In the corner lay a little tin box holding Camilo's favourite instant coffee packets as well as his own tea bags. That was another quirky difference between them. He always hated strong taste of coffee, preferring the subtle refined taste that tea provided. But Camilo loved coffee, the stronger the better.

On the right of the kitchen counter was their yellow refrigerator. He had been familiar with the concept of refrigeration, seeing it being used before in Havana. But still, it was considered a luxury back home, only to be afforded by the well-off. But here in Florida? Virtually every house had a refrigerator. From the outside, they looked like awkward coffins with two compartments. But inside? Dario grabbed the rough steel handle and yanked it open. A wave of cool air hit him.

Inside, it was paradise. Food could be kept for days inside the cool environment for days. Simply a wonder of modern technology.

Bits of vegetables lay at a corner of the bottom shelf. On the top shelf was his jar of condensed milk and some fruits. A few slabs of sausages in cling wrap filled the middle shelf.