This is the time of year where most folks escape to somewhere. Anywhere into the sun. Pale faced I am flipping through my books and came across my trip to Cuba with Connie 10 years ago. The best I can do this year about going away is flip into the pages and re-enter that space and the short story I wrote about all that to fit on a postcard to mail away for a writing contest with hope for some response from Victoria BC. No response.
So here is the short story on a postcard for you.
It’s our first night in Havana. From the
balcony I can see the white dome of the capital
building. Just below down the street to the
right is the Italian Red Cross. In a new place
I need to connect to symbols that may help me
find my way back.
We are told that this place was once the
Presidential palace. I am facing a well worn
broken chair and am trying to unpack a smallish
stuffed bag. In the bathroom that divides
Connie’s room from mine I notice a white cap
that is stuck in the drain. I try to pick it out.
Also the sink is tipping over and there is no
hot water .
I take my first pictures of Connie testing her
enormous bed next to the tallest doors I have
ever seen. It smells of mold here … and the
emergency light does not work and there are no
batteries. I fall asleep to Connie’s hair wash.
A dim chandelier hangs down, down.
For breakfast we are served two pieces of very
dry bred, one slim egg and a very good small
cup of coffee. We return to our rooms to find
freshly made beds and the sink off the wall.
What to do now!? “No problemo! No problemo!“,
mimic the maid and move right out.
Wish you were here.
I.S.
