When We Left Cuba

by Chanel Cleeton

“He’s an American politician,” Eduardo counters. “How innocent can he possibly be? The Americans have unclean hands in all of this.

And at the same time, even as I’m loath to admit it, perhaps it makes things a bit easier, too. At least the ghost of my brother isn’t haunting every room in our house, every street

It hasn’t escaped my notice that many women in the United States are, in many ways, nearly as restricted as far too many women in Cuba.

and no matter how hard I try, I can’t mimic the carefree attitude they adopt with aplomb; I lack the innocence they lay claim to.

Men always want that which they cannot, or should not, have.

Women in Cuba and the United States alike are still viewed as extensions of other people—fathers, husbands—rather than as our own selves, to be judged on our own merits.

“The only way to stop being afraid of something is to confront it. To take away its power over you.”

and a wave overtook me, water filling my lungs, panic flooding my body as I attempted to save myself. That’s what the dream feels like—like I’m drowning, and I can’t save myself, and I can’t look away.

“When I came back from Europe, I had these dreams . . .” He flinches. “Still do sometimes.” “Does it ever get easier?” I ask. He bends down, his lips brushing the top of my head. “It does. It takes time.” His grip around me tightens. “It never really goes away, though.”

Beach, his trip to the United States capped by his delivery of the longest speech in the United Nations’ history: a four-and-a-half-hour-long denouncement of the imperialist Americans he accused of

I’ve learned from our experience in Cuba that in my father’s eyes, business supersedes ideology.

Will she be able to experience the same level of freedom the Americans enjoy in their country? Will her vote truly matter in Cuba one day?

Fidel wants to spread communism through the world; what better place than to have it spring up in the United States, to have it infect our country.”

They’re attempting to sew discord in this country, trying to radicalize American communists.

The thing about hope is that when it fills you, when you hold it in the palm of your hand, the promise of it is everything. You can go for days, weeks, months, years on that hope, telling yourself everything will be fine, eventually, you’ll have what you’ve been waiting for, this is just a momentary setback in your life, one you will overcome. After all, if there isn’t a happy ending at the end of the story, what is the purpose of all of it?

“You didn’t want to lose me so you lied to me? Do you realize how ridiculous that sounds?