Sons of a Saint

Part 2

1987

"Fuck!" said Melissa, looking at herself in the mirror. "No, no no!" How did an immigrant woman from Medellin, Cuba, end up in this messed up situation in a rehab center in Jupiter, Florida?

Melissa could still taste the saltwater from the crossing. The wind in her hair. The glimpse of freedom threatened by death or worse. There had been one man on the boat, one of the smugglers, who had spent the entire trip glaring at her. Melissa had heard stories of rape and brutality and huddled together with three other women who were also traveling alone. The man licked his lips, sweat covering his brow. He had rugged looks, dark eyes, and a shaved head. He was supposed to be a beacon of hope to her, but there was no hope there.

Her mother had crossed one year earlier and had told Melissa of the brave men who worked tirelessly to give the people of Cuba a new life. Had she been raped on the way over too? Melissa pushed the thought from her head. She was excited to see her mother again and timidly pushed herself down, making her body as small as it could be. She closed her eyes and listened to the sounds of the ocean.

The waters were not as rough tonight, or so she had been told. The words did not comfort her as the boat rocked from side to side, the emptiness of her stomach rising and falling in time with it. She dared not throw up for fear of being thrown from the boat. There was no space here for any setbacks or nuisances.

Melissa listened to the sound of the waves as they washed gently against the sides of the boat. She could feel the spray of the water against her skin and gently licked at the sides of her mouth, tasting the saltiness in the night air. She loved to bask in the warmth of the Cuban weather but, tonight, the coolness of the air seemed the right conditions for moving under the cover of darkness.

A noise forced her to open her eyes. She was worried that it would be the man with the shaved head, coming for her, to take her down below, not that it would matter. It was not. It was the older man who had boarded the boat before her. He stood and looked towards the mainland, towards Miami and put his hand over his eyes. Was he crying? He stretched his legs some more and sat back down in the crowded boat.

Melissa had expected more drama than this. Perhaps the tales she had been told were rare, told to some to scare them off from the trip, though the price alone was enough to do that for most. She had been forced to scrimp and save for over a year to gather enough money to make the crossing, and even then, she was afraid that she would be rejected. Her own mother had been told to pay more money that she had saved. It had taken a lot of arguing to agree on the already agreed upon price for the crossing. Melissa made the sign of the cross in front of her and hoped that the angels had been kind to her mother.

Almost as quickly as the trip had begun, it ended. Melissa was not sure what to expect, but it was not this. She was being taken to another country, and this short journey made it seem like she had been taken nowhere. The only thing which could convince her otherwise was the concerted sense of relief from the other Cubans on the boat. They were bonded now, if only for a moment. When she caught the eyes of the others around her, they smiled with relief as if they were her brothers and sisters. She would never see any of them again. She turned to the three women she had huddled with to find collective safety. There was a bond with these women, stronger than just the crossing. They had the collective bond of not being raped. As a Cuban woman, that bond was strong among many women, and she would find that American woman also shared in that bond.

Melissa stepped foot onto American soil for the first time in her life and was disappointed. This was the land of opportunity. There should have been fireworks and celebration. The first challenge had been completed, but the challenge of life had only just begun. It was the first in a long list of disappointments which she would eventually succumb to in this golden land.