A letter from Mama arrives a month later. The envelope has obviously been opened and is resealed with dirty Scotch tape. I remember Luís writing that all letters to the US are being opened by the Dominican government now. It’s just one page. The cleanup from the storms is complete, and workers have replaced some damaged trees with new sprouts. The outboard engine is acting up and Daddy’s trying to fix it, but so far no luck. She hopes my studies are going well and wants me to write about my new roommate. Take care of yourself, darling, the letter ends.
Dear Mama and Daddy, I got your letter yesterday. I’m Vice President of the Art Colony this year and still on the National Honor Society. You asked about my new roommate. Denise is from Melbourne—that’s Florida, not Australia, ha ha. I met her parents last month. Her dad is an engineer at the Kennedy Space Center. He’s working on this huge building called the VAB where they’ll assemble the new rockets. She says it will be so tall it will have its own weather system—inside. Can you imagine that? She also said Cape Kennedy is crawling with alligators and that her dad had to chase one away from under his car last summer. Anyway, Denise and I are getting along fine. She’s a little moody, but I’m sure as she makes more friends, she’ll perk up. Well, the supper bell just rang, and here’s Denise, so I’ll finish this later.
DENISE HENRY IS ALWAYS HERE. She’s short, with wispy black hair and pale green eyes. I don’t tell Mama and Daddy about how she clings to me as if I’m the only lifeboat in her stormy sea. Last night she cried and said it’s hard for her to make friends and that it’s all because she’s adopted. She’s told me this twice now, how she doesn’t fit in, even in her own family. I’m sorry she’s miserable, but I’m starting to feel suffocated. It’s hard to escape Denise: she waits for me before meals and sits next to me in the classes we share. I begin to plot ways to avoid her without her catching on. One night I have a nightmare about something that happened in Miches a long time ago when I was playing in the ocean with a friend. She got scared when a big wave surprised us and grabbed onto my neck because she couldn’t swim. I slipped off a rock and she wouldn’t let go and I almost drowned. In the dream it’s Denise that’s choking me underwater and I sputter awake, heart jumping.
In December I put my name on the list of students needing housing over the Christmas break. Denise discovers I won’t be going to Miches for Christmas and claps her hands in excitement. “Oh, goody—you can come home with me—it will be wonderful!”
With no good reason not to accept her offer, I console myself by thinking it won’t be that bad. I’ll be with her entire family; they’ll be like a buffer zone or something. Mr. Henry picks us up in a station wagon, and three hours later the Atlantic is ahead, gunmetal gray under the watery sun. Mr. Henry points north to Cape Kennedy and says that is the center of the world, right there. “This is where we’ll shoot men off to the moon.”
In Miches, when I was younger, we knew of the missiles being hurled into space from somewhere in Florida. Because the Dominican Republic was on their trajectory, sometimes we’d see spectacular streaks flying across the night sky, too huge to be falling stars. Once Daddy and I saw a large flash explode over the horizon. As I look at the Cape, now so close, I think of President Kennedy’s speech about landing a man on the moon before the decade is out. I never believed it before, but it’s looking like it could happen. I remember Daddy’s comment that soon there won’t be enough room on earth so we’ll need to live on the moon. He said that when the wife of one of his workers died giving birth to her eighth child.
At Cocoa Beach we turn south by bars and restaurants with space themes—The Orbit Lounge, Rocket Red’s, Comet Café. The Henrys live in a large subdivision filled with identical houses a few blocks in from the beach. They insist I call them by their first names, Ron and June. Denise says her dad has top-secret clearance at work. June is magazine-pretty and blonde. Clairol, Denise says, rolling her eyes. I take it she doesn’t approve. Denise’s younger sister Patricia has a stream of friends flowing in and out of her room.
Denise, I note with a sinking feeling, doesn’t seem to have any friends, except her boyfriend Tom—and me. Tom’s stocky and wears a military-style haircut. I can’t see what Denise finds attractive in him, except that he pays attention to her. He is a computer technician, also working at the Cape. “You just wait,” she says. “We’ll be engaged by next year; you’ll see.”
Ron and June don’t seem to notice Denise’s mood swings, or maybe they are just used to it. I’m just glad when we’re back in school and I can find ways to escape her. In March Luís writes that the noose is tightening in Santo Domingo. I’m not sure what he means by that, but it sounds ominous. He finishes by warning that this may be the last letter he can send me, but summer is only three months away so we’ll be seeing each other soon in Miches.
By April all the Florida papers are full of Dominican news because a new military junta has taken power. The American news reports change daily, and with rioting mobs and bombs, the death toll is rising daily. Dominican warplanes strafe the governmental palace with machine-gun fire and electricity is cut off in Santo Domingo. I pretend none of this has anything to do with Miches. My friends will stay in the village until this storm passes. I tell myself I’m sure Luís is safe. Mama and Daddy know better than to go to the capital city, so they’ll be fine, too. But I can’t shake the queasiness; sleep brings nightmares, and I wake up with a heavy weight below my rib cage that never seems to go away.
The dread gets worse after I hear President Johnson has ordered the evacuation of all Americans from the Dominican Republic. I’m glued to the television news every night. Hundreds of Marines land on the island and thousands more military troops will be deployed in the days ahead. The news shows masses of young men in fatigues and helmets exiting airplanes and ships. It’s like watching a war movie, but with the familiar backdrop of the Dominican coastline. Palm trees wave in the breeze as always. Small boys in tattered pants surround the soldiers, as they do any foreigners, hands extended for cheles—pennies—or candy. In the weeks that follow, I remain in a daze. In class I see the teacher’s lips move but only a few words sink into my brain. In the cafeteria line, someone prods me to move along. I didn’t know I’d stopped and was just staring at the Jell-O in the metal tray. It’s easiest not to believe what I’m seeing and reading. I tell myself that by June all this will blow over like a hurricane, and as usual, I’ll go home—this time for good.
The call from Norma Breeden comes on a Tuesday, just after a history class. I’m summoned to the office, where I pick up the telephone. Norma’s voice is almost hysterical. She’s calling from Miami. She wants to know whether my parents have been safely evacuated. She doesn’t stop for breath or my answer.
“We got out just in the nick of time. It’s awful, really awful. We had to leave everything.” She starts crying, and then Ed gets on the phone. I tell him I’ve heard nothing, not even a letter, since late March.
The telephone is silent for a minute, and I say “Hello, hello?” thinking we may have gotten cut off and I don’t know how to reach them again. My own voice rises into a breathless whine. “Are you there?” I’m lightheaded, afraid I’ll drop the phone.
“We’re right here.” Ed’s tone is calm; it reminds me of Walter Cronkite’s voice when he’s on the TV news, croaky but sincere. “I’m sure you’ll hear something soon. Call us when you know where they landed.” My fingers tremble as I write down their telephone number. In the dark of the insulated dorm room, after lights out, I claw my skin until it bleeds, as if hurting myself will stop the panic. It doesn’t.
By the end of the week President Johnson has ordered thousands more Marines to the Dominican Republic. A refugee zone is set up in Santo Domingo for all foreign embassies. From here ships and planes will take the foreigners away to safety. That’s how the Breedens got out. The school puts me in touch with the Dominican embassy in Miami. I give them my parents’ names, and one official promises to inquire if my parents have made
it to the safe zone. He says he’ll back in touch with me soon. Mr. McFarland also helps me make calls to different American officials, but no one can tell me anything more, or what to do.
On the island, battles continue into May. I hear no word from anyone about my parents. Telephone communication to the Dominican Republic is now cut off entirely. Except for a few students, expats like me, no one else seems aware of the situation. I meet with the dean, and he asks me if there is anyone I can stay with in the States if things, as he puts it, “get sticky” for my return home. I say no. By now over a thousand are dead in the country. The war is spreading far beyond the city, and guerrilla fighters are now organizing in the mountains to the north. That’s getting very close to Miches.
Chapter Twenty-Three
Graduation
Graduation looms and I’ve not heard back from any US officials. Norma and Ed Breeden stop calling. No longer able to pretend everything will be all right soon, I sink into a state of shock and lethargy. Outside everything is brittle and bright, but inside it feels like I’m looking through a shroud, the kind that Dominicans wear when they are in mourning, veils that keep their grief inside. I try to cover up the worry that wells up at night because if I let the worry have its way it turns into panic and I begin to sweat and it’s all I can do to keep myself from exploding. When I’m wet and shaking from panic, sometimes I think I want to be dead because it hurts so much to be alive. So I hold tight and try to pull all the bad thoughts back inside so I can breathe again. So I can pretend I’m okay.
School closes down for the summer in two weeks, and no one knows what to do with me. I sure don’t. Denise has the solution to my problem: her family will be delighted to have me come live with them for a while. More numb than grateful, I accept. It doesn’t seem that I have any control over my fate, and besides, Denise has it all figured out. We’ll get summer jobs together. I swallow my dread and try to sound thankful. That won’t be necessary; I tell her. I’ll hear from my family soon. Before graduation. Just in the nick of time. You’ll see.
My Aunt Betty flies in from New York to come to my graduation. She’s Mama’s older sister, and I’ve only seen her once in fifteen years, the time we took a trip to the States when I was twelve. I step up to the podium in the bright sunshine and accept my diploma. I’m graduating magna cum laude, fourth in my senior class. The headmaster beams at me as he hands me the scroll. “Your family will be very proud,” he says. I try to smile, but I can barely see him through a cloud of tears. I fumble my way to Aunt Betty; she hugs me tight. Daddy and Mama would be proud, indeed. So would Berta, wouldn’t she?
Aunt Betty’s mouth is moving, but I can’t hear her in the chaos of flying caps and balloons and all-around jubilation. Our steps crunch on the gravel outside the school, where a procession of taxis and cars lie in wait, ready to take their charges to airports, buses, home. Shouts of relief and joy punctuate the still air as students charge out of the buildings for the last time, hugging classmates and promising again and again to write. A boarding school is like an island—we all waded ashore from somewhere and were stranded together for years. Now it is time to leave. I walk my aunt to the waiting taxi. Her hair, like Mama’s, is silver-white. It’s nicely styled, unlike Mama’s no-nonsense cut, which is always kept in check by an uneven pattern of bobby pins. Aunt Betty’s voice is low and sweet as she says she’ll keep in touch. My stomach hurts and I feel like I’m in quicksand. I want to scream out my fears of being left alone, of not knowing what to do except get in the Henrys’ waiting station wagon with Denise. I want Aunt Betty to say, Wait, I’ve changed my mind—come up with me to Port Washington. Sue will be so glad to see you. Sue is my cousin, another almost-stranger I exchange Christmas cards with every year. But I know Aunt Betty can’t take me in no matter how much I wish it.
The sun glints white-hot off the taxi and I pull myself together, blink away tears, and pretend a smile. Aunt Betty whispers “Be brave” and pats my back. “You’ll be fine. The Henrys seem like very nice people and it’s awfully good you’ll be with your roommate. You’re quite lucky.”
I nod, my eyes stinging. For a minute or so, I stay paralyzed in one spot. The taxi leaves. Other cars slide around me, jockeying for position. Trunks snap open, car doors slam. Squeals and greetings and good-byes mix with the smell of exhaust and swirls of dust. Planting one foot carefully in front of the other, I slowly traverse what seems now to be a very long distance back to the front door of the school.
“There you are!” Denise bounds up to me. “Dad’s loading my stuff in the car,” she announces. “How soon will you be finished packing?”
I steady myself and say I’ll see her downstairs in a half hour. I step into the cool, old-wood smell inside. I climb the stairs slowly, gripping the banister, and sink onto my bed. The room is empty, except for my suitcase, which is mostly packed. The air is stale with the scent of faded varnish and the peculiar tint of silence. I check all the drawers and find a small box with some letters, a few drawings, and a folded piece of cardboard that protects my treasure, the picture of Luís. I whisper his name, my voice choking, then bury my head in the pillow. I’ll see you soon, I promise the small picture. It won’t be long. This storm in Santo Domingo will blow over, like the others always do. I close my eyes and imagine Mama and Daddy, sitting on the porch right now. I just know they are okay; they wouldn’t leave Miches.
Chaplain McFarland has promised to check for any mail from home. “My father’s stubborn,” I tell him. “They’ll get in touch with me soon, and I’ll go home.”
“What will you do then?” he asks.
“I don’t know,” I answer, surprised by the question. “Whatever they decide, I guess.” He looks at me oddly. “You just graduated from high school. You must have some idea of what you’d like to do next.”
What I’d like to do? That thought never occurs to me, it just bounces off my mind like a stone thrown at a rock wall. I never decide anything; I’m not allowed to. I can type and take shorthand. Maybe I’ll be a typist at an American company or the Embassy, or something like that in the capital. Before now, I thought maybe the Breedens would rent me their guest room in Santo Domingo, but they’re gone, so that won’t work. I will myself to get up. It is time to make believe all is well.
In Melbourne, I take babysitting jobs and wait for word from home. Weekly, I call the school and the various government officials. I call the Breedens. “Oh, honey,” Norma says with a moan, “No matter what happens, we’re not going back. Ed thinks it will be years before American businesses will be welcome again.” I stop calling her; she’s not helping my state of mind. I have no money and the Henrys have been supporting me for two months. I give them my babysitting cash and June puts it back in my hand, shaking her head, no, no. Don’t worry about it.
Still I wait. Denise and I drive up to Brevard Junior College so she can register. When we get back to Melbourne, June runs out. “The school called, they have news of your parents. They’re okay.” Of course they are. Relief streaks through me like lightning, filling my hollow places. I dial the Howey number. My mind is racing; I’m already half-packed in my mind. My head is buzzing with excitement. Finally, Mr. McFarland is on the line with a ham radio message my parents have sent. The message is very short, saying they’re fine and that once they establish my whereabouts they’ll contact me more directly. I feel light, like I’m almost floating, when I finally get an actual letter from Mama. She’s relieved I’m with the Henrys. Please let them know how much we appreciate their taking you in, she writes, and then: We miss you terribly, but I’m afraid it’s not safe for you to come home now. I take a deep breath. Okay, I can wait a few months. This is not a problem.
The letter continues: I’m sorry to say this, but you’re just going to have to stay in the States and make your own way. Panic grips my throat as I try to swallow the words, to make them go down, but they rise like bile, green, ugly. I reread the sentence as if the words will change on the page, poof, like magic. In
stead I can see Mama brushing the sweat off her face and lighting a cigarette to steady herself as she tips me over the edge of the cliff. As if I know how to fly, as if anyone ever taught me to flap my wings and fly to the next branch, to a new life. The paper swims in front of my eyes. I brush aside dread and finish reading.
I wish we could help with money, but we can’t, not now anyway. Maybe things will be stable enough for you to come home for a visit at Christmas. We’ll just have to see.
Denise enters the room. “So, when are you leaving?” It’s almost an accusation. I just stare at her, then back at the piece of paper. My world has collapsed again to this room, to Denise. She will be happy with the news, glad to have me once again all to herself. I crawl under the covers in the hot, sticky afternoon. I can’t cry. I escape into sleep and wake up to June’s hands checking to see if I have a fever. I give her the note.
She shakes her head as she reads, then tells me I can stay until I get my feet on the ground. “We like having you, and you’re such good company for Denise.”
The sky crackles with lightning and thunder booms as a huge rainstorm turns the sky black. I slip out of the house and let the wind lacerate me with flying sand. I stumble along the path to the beach and lie face-up to the sky, watching clouds race and boil. A jolt of lightning, too close, sends me crawling back to the house and back into bed, where I curl up into a ball and throw up.
I enroll at Brevard Junior College and get a night job in the credit department at Sears. I begin paying rent to the Henrys and can take care of my school expenses. Letters begin to flow back and forth from Miches. Most of the US troops have left, and the Embassy has reopened. It looks like I’ll be able to come home for a two-week visit over Christmas. Slowly, slowly, the knots in my stomach start to loosen up. I’m going home. To celebrate, I put a matched set of Sears luggage on layaway. The color is lipstick red. Daddy will think it’s too loud, but I don’t care. I’ve already been kicked out of home, in a way, so what is he going to do?
The Coconut Latitudes: Secrets, Storms, and Survival in the Caribbean Page 13
