An Act of Liberation

By Kamila Izquierdo Non-Fiction

 

“How are you going to get in?” Eduardo asks me.

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“Like I got out. My aunt said that we just have to wait for my uncle to leave for work, so he doesn’t see me. He leaves at five.” I respond.

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He nods and then asks me, “So did you get what you wanted?” 

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As we enter the bridge, I let out a long sigh. “I got everything I asked for,” I answer, doubting my words.

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I sit there, slightly laid back in my seat. I can feel the soft leather on my back. My bare feet sit on the car window’s edge, and the breeze from this chilly summer night feels like a kiss on my toes. “A Veces” by Al2 El Aldeano is playing low in the car, but it stays in the background. What I hear is the wind making waves below us, and the ocean’s saltiness is so delicate in my nose that it feels natural, as if it has always been there. The bridge is empty, except for our car. My best friend is driving, and I know, right now, he is as much in his world as I am in mine. 

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I grew up moving from country to country, city to city, apartment to apartment. By seventh grade, I had attended six different schools. As a little girl, I saw these experiences as a curse, but when I turned fourteen, I realized that I was lucky to have all those moments and meet all kinds of people. That year, I decided that I had to make the most of my stay in Madrid. I started to enjoy every corner of the city, and I fell in love with the freezing winters and the endless summers. I loved the delicious smell of hot chocolate in winter coming out of the cafeteria that I passed every morning on my way to school. Ultimately, I started to enjoy the little pleasures in my life.

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When I arrived in Miami in 2016, I wanted to enjoy everything the city had to offer. I knew that I wasn’t coming to live in a condo with views of the ocean. But I wanted to fall in love with this city, with its little things, as I did in Madrid. However, I just feel like a prisoner in the United States. This country had become a nation of delinquency, making it normal for us kids, growing up locked in our houses because our parents fear that something might happen to us.

 Now it is 3 a.m., and we are coming back from Miami Beach. I am not supposed to be here; I am supposed to be sleeping at home. However, I wanted to explore Miami’s lifestyle. It has been a year since I gave away the freedom that I enjoyed in Madrid for better opportunities in Miami.

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But, I am here now. 

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I am distracted by the breeze as we travel; I have my feet in the air, playing with it like I am stepping on the clouds, and then, it catches my eye. I readjust my seat to the upright position to get a better view of the lights. I have never before seen anything so beautiful; as the lights shine on and off, the buildings come to life. I grow still, my muscles contracting with an excitement that makes the hair on my legs stand on end. My pupils dilate, making my sight blurry, and out of nowhere, my mouth waters as if my stomach wants me to devour the lights. I’m so focused on them that I’m unaware of anything else. 

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I have always been fascinated with how cities look at night. Maybe it is because I have never been allowed to be out at this time when the sky is at its darkest, making Miami shine more. This moment feels like an act of liberation for me; a liberation of my mind, my soul, and craving in life, which is to fall in love with my surroundings.

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I’m entranced by the colorful lights emitting from the buildings ahead of us. I take a deep breath, taking in every drop of freedom that I can. 

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My friend looks at me and says, “Welcome to Miami.”

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I smile back. 

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“Arrived!” Eduardo announces, waking me up. 

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Readjusting my eyes to the interior lights in the car, I realize that we have driven back to the dirty and dark Calle Ocho. I check the time on my phone, it’s 3:30 a.m. now, and we have just arrived at my aunt’s house.

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 “Ugh, I have to wait an hour and a half until my uncle leaves,” I tell him looking out the window to the old neighborhood. I face the dispiriting reality of my fifteen-year-old existence again, but with more strength this time.  

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“It’s all right,” he says, pulling his phone out. Searching for “Panfilo" on YouTube, he proceeds to entertain himself. And I go back to sleep.