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Looking out at the tide that was coming onto the beach at Guanabacoa, the thing that struck you the most was the colour of the water. It wasn’t the usual beautiful shade of blue that you’d expect from a country in the Caribbean, it was more than that. Take Lapis Lazuli; add a bit of indigo & you’d get how the water looked. In other words it was absolutely gorgeous. But as the water went onto the equally scenic soft fine white sands the boy sitting on the wall, which overlooked he beach had only eyes not on the tide but what lay beyond it. The only thing that was there was a tide, which grew larger and eventually became mile of ocean. But this boy could see much farther than that. He closed his eyes and there appeared the fishing villages of the Florida Keys, the town of Key West and a little further on he’d be in the heartland of America. The land of his dreams and the biggest infestation of his paradise, the city of Miami. For America wasn’t just another mere country and Miami just another city, it was Jose Molina’s fantasy, dream and burgeoning opportunity. It was a way, the only way of freeing himself of the misery that he saw in Guanabacoa, the knowledge of being in a place where no matter how hard he tried, he would always be just another nobody. Who would fade into the crowd and live just another pointless existence. For Jose, just thinking of Miami, conjured up images of a life that was rewarding and filled with limitless success. The land to realise the ‘American Dream’ a place where all of his hearts desires would be realised. As he stepped of the wall and made his way back home, the wonderful smile that had appeared on his face was soon banished. “Get out of the way you fool are you blind?” Shouted a taxi driver. Unbeknown to him, Jose had stepped onto the busy beachside road, realising his mistake, he quickly put his head down and walked onto the pavement on the opposite end. He glanced at the car, which had so nearly killed him. It was 1950’s old’s mobile. Made of chrome, which was rusted, painted in garish green and the exhaust was spewing out fumes, which surely wouldn’t paint a smile on the faces of environmentalists. He stood there, the glance turned into a stare. That car was everything that was wrong with living in Guanabacoa and Cuba. Being stuck in a continual timewarp and a life, which simply kept on going backwards. Jose put his hands into the pockets of his raggerty shorts; he was wearing and finished the lightly disrupted trip. He lived in the old city, where the city floor was cobbled stone and the houses were narrow colonial buildings built by the Spanish. In the old city, Donkey carts mixed with the aforemented 50’s Cars. Young men moustached and in their 20’s stood on the street corners, next to the crumbling brickwork, for reasons I do not know but probably suffering from terminal lethargy could have been a factor. Jose opened the mahogany door and went into his house, walking straight into the living room. He sniffed his nose, the smell gave away what tonight’s meal would be. Asado, from lamb, followed by pasta. Jose walked into the kitchen and there he greeted his mother Roberta. “Where were you?” asked his mother. “Oh I just went onto the beach, there was nothing to do.” Said Jose. “Well then go into the living room and call the family, dinners ready.” “Yes mama” replied Jose. After walking to the bottom of the stairs and bellowing at the top of his voice for his father and brother to come down from upstairs, he sat on the well used couch that was in he far corner of the living room and switched on the small TV, whose screen looked like exploding every time it was turned on. Looking around the room, it would be obvious to an outside observer the stork of wealth had passed the Molina family. The bulb hanging from the grey ceiling barely shed any light onto the room. The carpet originally of the colour blood red, looked like the pieces of a broken jigsaw puzzle, the carpet’s knots had come out of place, plus it let out a pungent odour. The wallpaper was white but had big, black unexplained blotches and finally the windows were probably the only things that weren’t disfigured. Except that is for its frames, which had holes, with seemingly colonies of creatures inside them, which you could see for yourself, if you were, brave enough to take a closer inspection. Setting the food on a ratchety old table the family began to tuck in. Roberta the matriarch, thin and light skinned ate her Asado slowly and carefully. Manuel Molina, Jose’s father was more rambunctious, tearing into his food as if he had a death wish. And Francisco, or Frank as he was commonly called, Jose’s younger brother, simply just fiddled around with his food. “Frank!” Shouted Roberta. “Eat your food properly.” “O.K, O.K.” Retorted Frank. Pulling the same pained expression, that’s seen on the faces of teenagers all around the world, when there’re either bored, or have just been on the receiving end of a telling off. “Great meal ma.” Said Jose. Breaking into a smile, simultaneously leaning back onto his chair and balancing it onto the wall behind him. Manuel got out his chair and placed his gluttonous rear-end onto his favourite corner on the couch and began watching TV. Within a couple of second’s only silence emanated from his section of the room as he became transfixed and totally focused on the happening in the little box. Jose got up and walked out of the living room, into the room, which he shared with his brother. After burping, he looked into the window and the brilliant light of the setting son, which peeped over the housed in the old city and the ocean, which lay further on. “Incredible.” Signed Jose. With all he hatred that he felt sometimes for Guanabacoa, because of the lack of opportunities, he still couldn’t simply take any notice of the natural beauty that the city sat in.
Approximate Word count = 4204
Approximate Pages = 16.8
(250 words per page double spaced)
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