The Red Umbrella

It was my fifth day at Kendall. I felt like a prisoner, counting the days of a sentence, waiting for my release. The only good moments were when I got to see Frankie, but other than that, I just couldn’t get used to life at the camp. There was never any real privacy, and we weren’t allowed to leave the area surrounding the girls’ camp. Not that there would be anywhere to go. We were in the middle of nowhere, surrounded by a scattering of trees that housed millions of mosquitoes, and they seemed to be the only visitors we got.

“Good night, Lucía.” A couple of voices called out in the dwindling light. The sun had gone down about fifteen minutes earlier, and since the lights were always turned off at exactly eight o’clock, most girls were already in their assigned beds, chatting until total darkness set in.

“Hasta mañana,” I answered as I walked past the rows and rows of bunk beds. I had chosen to change in the bathroom so I could have a little bit of privacy, and now I was one of the last ones getting into the room.

I thought about Mamá and Papá. Back home, we’d usually be finishing dinner at around this time. Were they eating right now? Would they spend the rest of the evening outside on the porch, trying to keep up appearances? When would I get a letter from them? I knew that all the mail was checked and read by the Cuban censors, but how much longer would it take?

As I approached my bunk, Angela rolled over to face me. In the dim room, I could see she was waiting for me to get closer.

“Psst, Lucía,” she said. “I have something for you.”

“¿Qué?”

“I took an extra one. You really need to be here on time.” She handed me a large sugar cookie and a carton of milk.

“Thanks.” I tossed the carton and cookie up onto my bunk and took two steps up the ladder.

Even though Angela was younger, she reminded me a little of Ivette. They both always looked out for me. I peered in between the rungs, down at Angela lying in her bed.

“Good night, Angela. Te voy a extrañar.”

“I’m going to miss you, too, Lucía. Good night.”

I climbed up to my bed and looked around for the cookie, to make sure I didn’t smash it as I crawled in, but it was gone. Had it bounced to the floor? I glanced down, but the floor was bare.

Then the covers moved. Something was there. I was about to scream when I heard a familiar “shhh.”

I pulled back the rough gray sheet completely. Frankie lay there grinning from ear to ear, eating my cookie.

For a moment, I was glad to see him, then I realized what he’d done. I glanced around to see if anyone else had seen him. The nightly crying had already started, and everyone was too lost in their own memories to pay attention to me.

“What are you doing here?” I whispered, hoping that the whirring fans overhead would drown out my voice.

He pulled the cover back up over his head, only letting a small corner of his face show. “I had to see you. Lucy, I can’t take it anymore. I want to go home.”

I crawled into bed, pushing him against the wall. “You know we can’t, Frankie.”

“Lucía, is that you? Are you talking to yourself?” Angela asked from below.

“Yeah, sorry. I was, um, I was just praying.”

“Oh, okay. No problem.”

I signaled for Frankie to keep it down.

He lowered his voice some more. “I won’t stay here, Lucy. I just won’t. There’s a new boy who sleeps in the cot next to me. He snores and in the morning he makes me fix his bed. He says I’m gonna be his servant.”

“Don’t worry. I’ll tell Mrs. Eckhart.”

“No!” Frankie said in a loud whisper.

I quickly covered his mouth with my hand … and waited. No one seemed to stir in the beds around me. I peeled my hand away from his mouth.

“Lucy, nothing’s worse than a tattletale. I’ll get clobbered by the other boys. That’s why I didn’t tell Mr. Ramírez.”

“Mr. Ramírez?”

“I told you about him. He’s the one in charge of the boys’ side. Lucy, write to Mamá and Papá. Tell them what it’s like over here. They can send us money to fly back.”

I thought about the letters I’d written every day to my parents. Telling them it’d been a mistake to send us here. That we wanted to go back. How all those letters were still sitting in my suitcase, never to be mailed. I thought about how the one letter I’d sent told them everything was fine, that we were treated well and to please let me know when Ivette got back from the brigades. That I needed to apologize to her.

I shook my head. “I don’t think …”

“Why?”

“Papá and Mamá have enough to deal with. We shouldn’t make them worry about us, too.”

“Then let me stay with you.” He gave me his sad-puppy face. The one that used to work on Mamá.

“We’ve been through this before.”

“I’ll hide. No one will know.”

“How?” I pointed around the large room. “I don’t have any privacy. There’s fifty girls sleeping in here. You can’t just stay here every night.”

“Fine, but at least tonight. Please. If I leave now, I’ll get caught.”

He was right. We’d have to wait for everyone to fall asleep. “Okay, but you have to go back before the morning bell. By the way, how’d you know this was my bed?”

Frankie smiled. “I snuck in while everyone was at dinner and looked for your suitcase. I guessed that you were up here.”

I gave him a kiss on the top of his head. “I’m glad you’re a good guesser. If not, Angela would’ve been quite surprised,” I whispered.

Frankie curled up next to me. Having him there made me feel so relaxed that I was able to fall into a deep sleep for the first time since I’d left Cuba. I started dreaming about all the things I’d left behind. Silly things like my pink pillowcases, my record collection, my award for being the best speller in sixth grade. I could almost taste Mamá’s picadillo or arroz con pollo, the café con leche she would make us every morning. I could hear Papá’s car engine as it pulled into the driveway or how his shoes sounded coming up the staircase.

The memory of his footsteps sounded so real that they could have been right next to me. I turned over, and through half-closed eyelids I saw two shadowy figures by my bunk.

“Mamá? Papá?” I muttered.

“There you are!” a woman’s voice grumbled as a large hand pulled Frankie by the leg.