90 Miles To Freedom

by K. C. Hilton

  Dad would’ve kept the driveway in better shape than this. Joey leaned down and grabbed a rock that fit neatly into the palm of his hand, and chucked it ahead of him. He imagined his dad sweeping up, checking to make sure nothing needed fixing.

  Collin wasn’t the only one grieving. Joey thought of his parents every day. He just wasn’t able to share any of that with Collin. He had to be the strong one. If Dad were here, Collin wouldn’t have turned into a senseless drunk. If Mom were here, she would have made sure he’d showered, at least.

  “Joey! Hey! Joey!”

  Joey stopped abruptly and looked up the road, narrowing his gaze at the classic 1963 blue Chevrolet Low-rider which was slowing down and finally coming to a stop at the end of Joey’s driveway. Now that was a nice ride.

  “Hey guys,” Joey said, walking casually towards the car. It was a bit of a stretch to paste on a smile after his recent run-in with Collin, but he managed. Talking with his friends always helped take his mind off the less pleasant aspects of his life, including his brother’s idiocy and sadly lacking sense of responsibility. Joey grinned at the guys, feeling a welcome surge of energy. No way he was going to allow Collin to ruin his day.

  Chapter 12

  Joey was right, as usual. Collin sighed, thinking about it. He hated the fact that his little brother was so much stronger than he was. He lifted his forearm to his nose and sniffed. Joey was right about that, too. He did smell like a brewery. Taking a hot shower sounded like a good idea. He stretched, reaching towards the ceiling with a loud groan, then scratched his head. Yup. Shampoo would be good, too. Maybe even a shave.

  Today might even be a good day to work on the yacht, he thought. If nothing else, at least it would get Joey off his back for a while. He started up the coffee pot and walked towards the bathroom. On his way down the hall, he glanced out the large by window in the living room. It was a pretty day. The water sparkled with invitation.

  Joey stood at the end of their driveway, talking to a few of his friends. They’d pulled up in a classic blue car and Joey was leaning in the passenger window.

  Collin yawned again, then forced his aching body to continue towards the bathroom. “Jeez,” he thought. “I just woke up and I already need a nap.”

  The hot water felt incredible, pulsating on his tired skin like a massage. He leaned his head against the back of the shower wall, letting the water do its magic. He was tempted to stay like that all day.

  “Nope,” he said out loud. “Gotta get my butt in gear today.” Shower and a quick shave. That should do it.

  “Your coffee is ready!” Collin heard Joey yell, but he didn’t reply. He rubbed the condensation off the bathroom mirror and stared at his reflection, combing his fingers through his wet hair. He was badly in need of a haircut.

  “Did you hear me?” Joey demanded from outside the bathroom door. Collin swung open the door and walked out, wearing a towel wrapped around his waist. He was rubbing a smaller towel vigorously over his head.

  Collin looked away when Joey grinned, happy at the sight of Collin clean and doing something. Collin didn’t want to see that expression on his brother’s face. He knew he’d let him down, but wasn’t about to take ownership of that. Not yet.

  He didn’t bother answering Joey’s stupid question. In fact he made a point of ignoring him. Of course he’d heard him. Who in the entire neighborhood hadn’t? Joey spoke so loud all the time it was amazing he wasn’t deaf.

  Collin was well aware of what Joey was up to. He was doing everything he could do to get on Collin’s last nerve, get some kind of reaction out of him. Joey usually did a fine job at that.

  “What’s with all the packages that you keep getting?” Joey asked. “What’s going on?” Collin glanced at him, then looked away when he saw the sarcasm in his brother’s expression. “You’re always getting packages in the mail. Oh, look! There goes the FedEx truck! Hmm. I wonder if he’ll be stopping here.” For a second, Collin almost smiled. His parents would have been proud of Joey’s sarcasm. It was definitely shining through today.

  Collin continued to ignore him. He grabbed a coffee mug and placed it gently on the counter, then opened the fridge, searching for the milk.

  But Joey had no intention of stopping. He was peering out the window, shaking his head. “Damn, he didn’t stop! Well, don’t feel too bad. You could always hope for the UPS man. I’m sure he’ll be coming down the road soon. Then you can go out and sign for whatever it is.” Joey clicked his tongue as if he were disappointed. “It sure is a sad day when you don‘t get any packages delivered, huh? It’s such a shame.”

  Joey faked a broad, salesman’s smile, then winked at Collin. He tapped his fingers on the table just to irritate him even more.

  Collin snapped. “It’s none of your business, you nosey little shit! You’ll know when I want you to know.”

  “Whatever!” Joey retorted, dropping the sarcasm like a hot potato. “You know what? I’m sick of this. I’m going to the library. Try to stay sober today, will you?”

  Joey grabbed his keys and left, slamming the door for the second time that morning.

  “How much longer is this going to go on?” Joey asked out loud, stomping towards his car. “I’m not sure how much more of this I can handle. I’m nineteen years old for Christ’s sake! I’m only nineteen years old!” He reached for the door handle, then stopped, resting his elbows on the roof of the car. He dropped his forehead onto his arms when tears flooded his eyes.

  What was he going to do? All he had left in this world was Collin. Collin. Damn you, Collin.

  Joey had a lot of friends, but they weren’t family. And even though Joey saw Collin every day, interacted with him in whatever manner, he missed his brother. This Collin was nothing like the brother he used to have. That brother used to talk with him about school or girls or anything else that was on his mind. That brother used to take him out fishing every weekend.

  That brother was his best friend, and he used to love him. The same brother was now full of empty promises.

  “God, Collin. Enough already,” he said through his tears. “Oh, Mom. I wish you and Dad were here. I miss you both so much.”

  Joey wiped an arm across his eyes and got into his car, gripping the steering wheel hard enough that his knuckles turned white. He sat for a minute without turning on the engine, feeling more bitter by the moment.

  “The jerk managed to ruin my day after all,” he thought. “No big surprise.” He turned the key and put the car in gear, but wasn’t soothed by the familiar purr of his engine.

  * * *

  Collin poured a second cup of coffee and sat at the kitchen table, sipping. He needed to cool down after having survived the latest dramatic encounter with Joey. Would his lectures never end?

  He decided to head down to the yacht and do a few things on it that day. But he wanted to do it by himself, without his nagging little brother.

  The packages to which Joey had so gently referred were piling up in the general living area of the yacht. It was well past time that he put everything away. Collin hadn’t ordered any new items over the past few weeks, since he’d figured these last packages should be enough. Now that they were all here he’d put them in their right places. Just like his dad used to do with his tools.

  Collin, like his mom, was a planner. He found it satisfying to be prepared for whatever might come and always stockpiled provisions just in case. He pulled out his pocket knife and slit open the packages one by one. Then he began to unpack the individual items, placing each of them in their rightful place, and as he did so, he felt life around him shift gradually into place as well.

  Throughout high school, Joey had rarely been involved with the cleaning or repair of the yacht. He showed little interest and hardly stepped foot aboard, always claiming he had too much studying to do. Maybe that was true, since he basically lived at the library.

  Collin snorted. Joey still lived at the library. He hadn’t boarded the yacht since the death of their parents.
Collin paused, wondering. For Joey to offer to help Collin with the yacht was out of the ordinary.

  “Something must have changed,” Collin thought, then shrugged and got back to work.

  Collin’s original plan had been to rebuild, then sell the yacht at a higher price when the market went up. That way he’d make a profit. However, Collin had decided not to sell it. However painful they were to remember, the yacht was filled with wonderful memories of his parents. Selling the yacht would feel like selling their home, which he hadn’t even considered doing. He just couldn’t do it. The memories were worth more to him than any profit that might be made by selling the yacht.

  Collin was like his mother Betty in many ways. He always thought of the future. He planned what needed to be done and what items needed to be purchased. Joey had no idea what the packages were for or what they contained. But the idea that he had to plan and be prepared for anything was continuously on Collin’s mind.

  Collin’s yacht did not need any further repairs. It was in perfect shape and in the best possible mechanical running condition. It was clean and perfect, just as it had been when his parents had died. Collin made sure to keep everything dusted and in their proper places. His mother would have been proud.

  Chapter 13

  Despite everything his family believed, Collin had stopped taking visiting tourists on fishing excursions years ago. But he did have a business, and he was busy. And he was making a boatload of money.

  Collin had a secret activity that no one else knew about. Two or three times a week Collin helped transport Cubans from Cuba to Florida. Cuba was approximately ninety miles from Key West. That meant Key West was even closer to Cuba than it was to Miami. Instead of shuttling tourists around, Collin transported Cubans.

  Collin’s large fishing boat was perfect for the task. She was strong enough to withstand rough sea weather and large enough to easily hold ten people, but Collin never transported more than five Cubans at a time. Collin was paid five hundred dollars for each person that he transported, which meant he could make anywhere from fifty-five hundred to seventy-five hundred dollars per week. That, in anybody’s opinion, was a pretty good chunk of change. That was more than what some people could earn in a six months working an average minimum wage job.

  Because of his earlier fishing excursions, Collin was very knowledgeable about the waters in the Straits of Florida. He knew the current, where to fish and where not to fish. He also knew not to cross, come too close, or cross over the invisible dividing line separating the United States from Cuban waters.

  Five years before the death of his parents, Collin had been on a fishing excursion by himself, testing out his new fish finder. He’d been enjoying the water and relaxing, thinking about nothing much, when another large fishing boat came about and slowly headed towards Collin’s boat. Thinking nothing of it, since the Straits of Florida were widely known for deep sea fishing and scuba diving, Collin went back to watching his fishing poles.

  The unknown boat came closer to Collin’s boat and finally stopped at a safe distance, about fifty feet away. A young Cuban man, maybe a bit older than Collin, waved his arms and shouted, “Ahoy there!”

  The young Cuban man, Adelio, was friendly and interesting, and he spoke English very well. Fortunately, Collin knew a little Spanish as well, so the two men understood each other fairly easily. Before long Collin found himself having a detailed conversation with the man. Adelio came right out and asked Collin if he might be interested in becoming a business partner with him. He explained the need for human transportation, helping Cubans get safely to America.

  “Thousands of men, women and children have perished in the water. They are so desperate to escape Cuba that they are willing to try to float ninety miles on an inner tube or a shabby little raft. Those who illegally left Cuba on homemade rafts are known as ‘Balseros’”. Adelio hung his head and continued. “They did not have fear of the many sea creatures brushing up against them, such as sharks, because they would spread themselves with old motor oil to keep the creatures away. This was a trick they learned from fishermen.” A quick smile crossed Adelio’s face, then disappeared.

  “Many Cubans are swindled and captured by human traffickers. The captured Cubans are made to do forced labor or are pressured into sex slavery because they feel they have no other option.”

  Collin had heard this before, the stories of how many Cubans, not knowing how to make a new life in another country, believed the lies that the human traffickers told them. The traffickers promised them a new life and a different kind of work, but through these lies the Cubans are pulled into a web of deception and deceit. They end up with something else, something far worse than what they had been running from.

  “I’ve heard about these things,” Collin told him.

  Collin couldn’t help but feel that Adelio’s helping his people get to America was personal somehow. Why else wouldn’t Adelio just go to America himself?

  Collin sensed that Adelio was an intelligent man, but he seemed to be taking it upon himself to help as many people as he could. For a man to deliberately place himself in a dangerous situation in order to help others that he didn’t know, well, to Collin’s mind, that didn’t even come close to rational thinking. Especially when it meant the man could possibly get killed.

  On the other hand, thousands of people join the military, putting themselves in harm’s way. Many of them die for their country and for people they don’t know. But that was different, wasn’t it?

  “You sound like this is something very personal to you, Adelio. I mean, more than just helping your people.”

  “Oh, it is, my friend. I shall tell you my story.”

  Chapter 14

  When Adelio was only ten years old, he had helped his father build a small wooden raft and an ore. All the time they were building their raft, Adelio’s father told him stories about the free world, America.

  “Sailing to freedom,” his father would say.

  The reason they were building a raft was because it had the advantage of not being easily detected by radar. He had to be very careful. Because he was leaving Cuba without permission, he feared reprisals against his family and friends.

  While Adelio and his father prepared the raft for his illegal exit, his father reluctantly explained that the journey was extremely dangerous. It was true that on some summer days, when there was a stiff wind from the south, crossing the straits could be relatively easy. If the prevailing winds blew in the direction of the Gulf Stream, they could propel a raft from the north coast of Cuba all the way to the Florida Keys. The current, at times, could be like a warm river which coursed northeastward along a route. When this happened it was quite convenient for a Cuban refugee.

  But for the most part, the trip could be deadly. Adelio’s father told his son that only about half of those who embark on the crossing actually make it to Florida. The others are either caught by Cuban authorities or they drown. As soon as a raft leaves Cuba, it enters waters that are three thousand, three hundred and ninety feet deep. On rough summer days and throughout the winter, when the wind and sea currents clash, the seas can get “ungodly high”. During those times, the waves rise so high they are like mountains.

  Adelio’s father didn’t want to tell him everything, but knew he had to be honest with his son. So he told him how nature can sometimes be a rafter’s best accomplice, but rarely. Adelio almost couldn’t listen when his father told him that over the years, many rafts had been found floating either empty or cradling a dead, sunburned body.

  But the family was so desperate for a different life from the one they led in Cuba that they, and so many others, were willing to attempt this almost impossible voyage.

  Adelio’s father’s raft was hidden off the shoreline, camouflaged within the heavy brush where he and Adelio often went fishing. It had been outfitted with water, nets, and extra clothes to keep him safe from the harsh elements.

  Adelio remembered clearly the day his father was to lea
ve for America. He had given his son a long, tight hug, then told him to be a good boy. He promised that when it was time, he would send for both Adelio and his mother. By then it would be legal for them to come to live with him in America.

  Adelio remembered his mother crying so hard she was almost unable to speak. She handed her husband a sack which contained the bare necessities for his voyage. The sack was heavy - Adelio could see that from the way his father slumped a bit after slinging the bag over one shoulder. They had worked together compiling this little bundle, filling it with a can of old motor oil from a mechanic they knew, an old pair of binoculars, an old wind-up watch, two boiled chickens, a few cans of evaporated milk, and some rice and beans.

  His father reached into his pocket, pulled out a knife and a compass, needing to assure himself that he had them both packed away. Nodding with satisfaction, he dropped them back into his pocket, then gave it a little tap for luck.

  He held Adelio’s weeping mother tightly against him, kissing her and muttering something meant to reassure her into her ear. It didn’t seem to be working, though Adelio could see she was trying to contain herself, if only for him. His father stepped away from her at last, patted Adelio on the head, then turned to leave.

  When he was only a few steps away from the door, Adelio’s father turned back towards Adelio. He knelt in front of his son and removed the cross necklace which had always hung around his neck. This he draped around Adelio’s neck. He told his son that the cross had been given to him by his father and it would keep Adelio safe.

  “But Father, you need it to keep yourself safe,” the little Adelio said.