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Wednesday, June 23, 2010

Leaving Havana

My grandmother stood on the tarmac. I could see her little white hankerchief waving in the breeze. She had a pair of those black tie up old lady shoes, the ones you see in movies. Her dress was sheer cotton with pearl buttons up the front. I could see her crying and waving. My grandfather was behind the metal fences. His pained look was visible just behind my grandmother's right shoulder. They would only let one person into the loading area, so my grandmother was the one who walked us to the plane.

I had no way to know that I would never see either one of them again. In my childish excitement, I only cared about the plane and all that went with it. I had flown before, but I could not remember it. This was for me, a great adventure. My sister on the other hand, had already begun getting sick, the beginning of a life long penchant for motion sickness.

I wish I could have known that it would be the last time I would see my grandparents. I wish there was something I could have done or said that would have made a difference. I don't know what happened to them. I've heard stories, none of them pleasant. Perhaps they paid dearly for getting my sister and I out of the country. I'll never know.

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