He Left Us in Cuba

I was smoking a cigarette on those ceramic front steps. It was June 7 and Aaron had left the day before. One week into this thing and my lungs still hadn’t relaxed to let that salt-soused air in the way I wanted them to. That’s what the cigarettes were for, okay?

This was the plan I had made and he had agreed to: This year it would be me and the boys in Boca Ciega, Cuba, for all of June and some of July, with Aaron holding the rest of our world down. Raines would work with me on reading and writing in Spanish (primary medium: Las Crónicas de Narnia), Sylvan would leave his guileless and delightful Spanglish behind to welcome a flood of fluency, and I would ask myself questions that would cultivate a foundational consonance. These were components of my expectations for this trip, but I told myself they were tiny clips of what our days would entail. Ulises’ mother Isabel would help me with the boys, providing the requisite time and space for the three of us. It would be challenging in identifiable ways, I esteemed, as if to extinguish any further critical thought or planning. Oh, how haughty I can be. Determining through hours and afternoons and weeks wasn’t something I was doing anymore, I mean, even my daily vocabulary had shifted to prove it. External to internal coercion still doesn’t work for me, by the way, even when I feel the light on my face and can prove some beneficial something about whatever I’m doing. This is some tricky bullshit, but scrutinize away if it sets your spirit at peace.

So back to paradise island. Those 30 steps from the house to the beach land in the little pile of premium, superfine successes of the trip. I felt grateful every day for our little white house and its proximity to magic waters. Um, except for that week the boys boycotted the beach and demanded only cookies and shows and NO MORE BEACH. But we’re not there yet. The week we had with Aaron let us figure out how to light the stove and make Cuban coffee (I’m now on a sugar crash I’m hoping will trail off in a few weeks), scout out our ice cream spot in Guanabo, introduce ourselves to Playa Boca Ciega, and have a superhero birthday party for Aaron (42 year olds need piñatas too). You wondering where my romantic encomiums about Cuba are? They are still leveling at the base of my skull, waiting to complete just one communicable sentence before transuding down my spine and into my nervous system.

This first post is too short but my laptop is about to die and I think my heart rate just spiked because I haven’t actually processed much of the wonders and dangers of this trip yet. Also, you might be thinking What a bratty post. She just spent her summer in Cuba with her kids! This is super true, and I have 5 weeks of our days in Cuba to strain, so if you need to ex out of this page, it’s really okay. Until I get back to you, here’s a short clip from my mind the morning after Aaron left:

AM mind-emptying scraps (reeeeeeeeeeally dramatic and without explanation, so enjoy!)

“I’m smoking a cigarette on the front steps of our house here in Boca Ciega. I miss Aaron. He left yesterday and I miss him. The night before he left we had a beautiful time between us and I remembered just a little bit what it is to let him love me and to love him…I guess I remember love–the tenderness, the intimacy….I felt so NOT brave when Aaron left and I feel that a little less today but it’s still there–that fragile feeling. Ulises and his lifeguard friend just walked up from speargun fishing. No fish today. It just feels like too much. My eyes tear up in little waves. So I have no idea how to make this work and I don’t feel at peace and I miss Aaron and Sylvan misses Annelle and Raines lost a tooth (!) and his toenail got smashed under a rocking chair and it came off entirely. But it’s pretty much scabbed and already healing. So Isabel is Ulises’ mother. Delia is so wonderful. She owns the house and her husband Santiago and she live in the back house. They’re 67 (D) and 78 (S). So funny too. ”