14

IN THE TOP of the ninth inning, the Marlins scored another two runs, adding to their lead. Then, in the bottom half of the inning, Papi shut the door, setting the Yankee hitters down in order—one, two, three—and giving Miami a two-games-to-one lead in the best-of-seven series.

Every time I’d listened to Papi pitch before, I was sitting alone. Lots of times it was as dark as it was right now. That was because I was usually in the stairwell, hiding the transistor radio and the fact that I wanted to hear anything about him at all.

“God willing, we’ll be in Florida before the team flies back,” said Uncle Ramon. “They could sweep the next two games in New York. Then they’d arrive in Miami as World Champions. That’s how I’d like to see my brother after all this time: walking off a plane as a World Series winner, maybe even MVP. We’d be waiting in the crowd, right up front. I wouldn’t want him to know we were coming. That moment he first saw us, I know the look on his face would be priceless.”

I tried to imagine that scene the way Uncle Ramon described it. Only every time I did, it changed when Papi’s eyes met mine. That’s when the crowd disappeared, and it became just me and Papi. I could see him opening his mouth to speak. But before he ever did, that vision froze up solid and then faded to black.

“Maybe they’ll have a big parade,” said Luis. “It would be like a double celebration, the Marlins winning and our freedom. We could all ride in a brand-new convertible, waving to the fans along the streets. And I mean new—as in this century, not from the 1950s. What do you think, Julio? What a way to raise our cool factor, first week in the States. Girls will treat us like pop stars.”

I loved Luis. But sometimes he was absolutely clueless as to what was going on inside of me.

“All of that sounds great,” said Gabriel. “But Julio and his father may need some space, some privacy to resolve whatever the time apart has put between them.”

Uncle Ramon quickly jumped in with his take on things.

“I want to make it clear to you, Julio,” he said. “What your papi did in leaving, that was all about family. It was about you, your sister, and mama. It wasn’t a selfish thing. It was about your future, all of our futures. He did the hard work, took the chances. Now it’s our turn. He never abandoned you or any of us.”

I could tell that Uncle Ramon believed every word he was saying. I could hear the pride he had in being Papi’s brother. And I didn’t want to insult him by not having the same pride in being Papi’s son.

“I know he still loves me,” I said, turning off the transistor.

“That’s right,” said Uncle Ramon. “Remember, Julio, he gave you his name. I’m sure he looks in the mirror and sometimes he sees you staring back.”

I glanced into Gabriel’s rearview mirror. For some reason he’d left it hanging over his head, maybe to convince people this ’59 Buick wasn’t going to be traveling anywhere else but down a dirt road in Cuba. Staring back at me was my own face, in a small, wide frame. There was nothing to see behind us anymore. There was nothing outside the windshield up front either, except for the hope of where we were headed.

“How come I didn’t get your name?” my cousin asked his father.

“Because your mama, since the time she was young, dreamed of having a child named Luis,” he answered.

After a few seconds of silence, I looked Luis up and down and said, “It’s a good thing you were born a boy. With that name, you would have made an even uglier girl.”

Uncle Ramon burst into laughter.

“Oh yeah? You never heard of Luisa? That would have been my name,” said Luis, beginning to blush a bit.

“Sure, we’ll call you that from now on,” said Uncle Ramon, wiping a tear from the corner of his eye. “Just make sure to shave the fuzz on that upper lip.”

“Don’t worry, muchacha, there are plenty of razors in Miami,” quipped Gabriel, with a widening grin. “Waxing parlors, too.”

“Ha-ha. That’s so funny,” Luis muttered, sulking.

That put an end to all the talk about me and Papi.

My legs were starting to cramp from being in the tight space of that rear seat. There were shooting pains in both my hamstrings. I didn’t have room to completely straighten them, though. So I clenched my teeth and dealt with it, feeling like they were two giant rubber bands about to snap. I kept changing positions, putting one leg over the other and then back again. Only it didn’t help.

Finally, I found a tiny comfort zone with my left elbow resting against a wooden box of supplies and my right knee jammed up against the back of Gabriel’s seat.

Luis was complaining that his foot had fallen asleep.

“Everything’s pins and needles,” he said, leaning back until he was practically shaking his foot in my face.

That forced me to rearrange myself, losing my good position.

“I hate the feeling of being numb,” Luis said.

“It’s better than cramps,” I told him, annoyed.

Then I went searching desperately for that comfort zone again. But no matter which direction I contorted my body, I couldn’t find it.

The choppy waves continued to slap at us. And after a while, the rocking they delivered started to take on a rhythm. I’m not sure exactly when I drifted off. I just remember opening my eyes sometime later with everything quiet inside the Buick and my legs feeling stiff as boards.

Luis was sleeping across from me, his two hands tucked beneath his head like a makeshift pillow. In the front seat, Uncle Ramon’s head looked heavy, sinking lower every few seconds as he gazed into the darkness beside Gabriel.

I didn’t want to disturb any of them. So I pressed the transistor up to my ear, keeping the volume as low as possible. I was hoping to hear some of the postgame comments and maybe even an interview with Papi. But that was all over with, and there was just a deep-voiced announcer wrapping things up.

The Marlins’ clubhouse was positively brimming with confidence after tonight’s game. The feeling in there was electric. Coming into the Series, there was a lot of bravado on the part of the Miami players. The wild-card team talked big about taking down the mighty Yankees—baseball’s Goliath—with a slingshot of slap hitters and a single stone. But now I think they truly believe it’s possible. A lot of Miami’s younger players are gaining confidence and poise under pressure from the leadership displayed by the team’s veterans. Reliever Julio Ramirez was keeping the team loose by having his three-year-old son, “Little Smoke,” stamp his feet on a Yankees cap. Then there was . . .

I couldn’t listen to another word after hearing that.

I closed my eyes tight, shutting off the radio. Suddenly, it felt like there was a crushing weight on the center of my chest. Without looking, I would have believed it was Papi inside that Buick, jumping up and down on me in a pair of new spikes.

Pretending to be asleep, I sat there in silence, struggling to keep my tears on the inside. I already understood that this weight belonged to me alone. And that if I told Uncle Ramon about Papi’s kid, it would fill up every moment of us being out here, sinking me to the bottom even faster.