island time

               It was three-o-clock on a Tuesday. Misery shuffled away from the brightness and bustle of the city into the café. The sound of the bell in the doorway signaled her arrival, and her eyes adjusted to the dim lighting. The muted sounds of fellow coffee drinkers released the tension in her shoulders. The chalk letter C of the familiar font on the menu was still smudged from last week. She found solace in the cashier’s friendly smile and, “Hi, what can I get you today?”             She hummed the same old tune from every week as she walked to her corner table. Every Tuesday, she found herself at the same café from when she got off work until closing. Tuesdays were the only days she could get home early, but she never did. Her notepad and laptop sat on the round wooden table, primarily untouched. Rather than complete work outside of the office, she observed. She didn’t know what ...

On our way home after the storm, we saw the windy sea, and we knew to try to outrun the waves.   We pulled our motorcycles over, left them on the opposite side of the Malecón.   We dashed across the wet street when only the sky was in its foamy reflection and it was clear of speeding taxis.   The waves rose behind the wall. Our eyes focused on one building up like a small tsunami.   We waited until the last possible second, holding our breaths, until we had to flee from the crashing water.   The streets were empty, but our hearts were as full as the waves that drenched our clothes.   Time was flying away from us in Cuba. I was hyper-aware of it when the old white taxi left behind its diesel fumes, driving away from our laughter.

        When my brother and I were kids living in Puerto Rico, we played outside all day long. Our neighborhood was small and tucked away from the rest of the world. It was easy to miss the small entrance off the main road. There was just one block of houses. Instead of another row of houses across the street, we had a “jungle.” At least, that’s what we called it. It was probably originally meant to be a dog park, just a big green field surrounded by various trees. There was a clearing right in the middle, in front of our house. It felt like we were hidden from everyone in there, and in some ways, our imaginations transported us to worlds no one else could see.                I hung upside down on my bunk bed one afternoon, staring lazily at the fan that did little to combat the humid air. I had been lost in the world of Alice in Wonderland, but the heat kept distracting me until even the Mad Hatter was sweating. I ...

 There was a girl who built bridges. She built whole roads over rivers. She sculpted magnificent structures. She constructed entire worlds and never stopped. Her legs were as strong as the iron beams she used, and her arms were as steady as the paths she paved. She worked too hard, too long, and too alone. And sometimes she didn’t listen to what people told her, even if they meant well enough. Many people tried to help and got fed up, and they let their anger creep into the words they spoke. The people she built the bridges for said, “It’s not strong enough,” and the people who wanted to build their own said, “You’re too slow,” and the people who were supposed to pay said, “This isn’t worth the investment.”   And she was crushed, so, she destroyed. Every bridge she built, torn apart by her bare hands. She yelled and screamed and thrashed, until she was standing in the middle and realized there was no one there to catch her. And she fell,...

https://youtu.be/4CVXQq230Hg The elevator doors opened, and she walked in. She pressed the button for the fifteenth floor and waited for the doors to close. As soon as they did, she leaned her head back against the mirror wall and held onto the handle for support. She was tired, more tired than the day before, and even more than the day before that. It seemed like every meaningless long day morphed into the next. She longed to take off the heels and stifling pressed clothes she wore every day. She looked down at her briefcase and pointy shoes. She closed her eyes, picturing herself living her dream of wearing a different pointed shoe.             The elevator began to grow, the mirrored walls expanded, the shiny floor turned into hardwood, the metal handrail morphed into a wooden barre. When she opened her eyes, she was wearing pointe shoes and ballet clothing. Someone sitting behind a large grand piano on the far end of the room st...

     There was a small mustard-colored stain on her favorite white t-shirt, but she went back in time to a family road trip when she wore it. They had stopped on the side of the road, and her father bought Georgia peaches from a small wooden stand. A few other cars had pulled over with people that wanted peaches. Some carried whole families like theirs, others were just one or two passengers, but not one other truck held a used refrigerator in the back. Other families bought souvenirs from trips; hers brought their grandparents’ old fridge home. There was a ratty yellow striped tarp over the stand, and she kept fixating on the piece that was lopsided over the edge. They hadn’t eaten in a while, and the peaches were as delicious as they had heard. The juice dribbled down her chin and onto her shirt, and she felt just peachy: warm and fuzzy. The glow of the setting sun cast a golden hue inside the truck. The sky was honey and fire; it faded away like melting butter. Her dad...

               She picked at the skin around her fingernails as she stared out the window. She didn’t realize how long she had been doing this until she noticed the crimson bloodstains around her left thumb. The slight iron smell invaded her senses, and she stopped. The endless grassy fields merged into each other, and then they were peppered with soft yellow flowers until even those morphed into a carpet of sand that drifted into the glittering ocean. She slipped her hands in her pockets and closed her eyes. Staring out the window did little to calm her anxiety. She focused on her breathing. She thought that life was passing her by as quick as the scenery changed outside her window. As these thoughts sped through her mind, the rhythm of the train’s slow chugging lulled her to sleep. Unwanted suggestions of running away from her problems invaded her dreams. The long forlorn whistle of the train woke her from her fitful sleep in the middle of ...