Hours passed, or maybe they were minutes. Luisito had lost all sense of time. It was so hot. He felt dizzy and light-headed. He reached for the water container, forgetting it was empty. His heart was beating rapidly, his muscles ached from rowing, and all he could think about was cold water running down his dry throat. Suddenly, he couldn’t take it any longer. He cupped his hands and reached out to drink the salty ocean water.
“No, Luisito!” Elena said.
“It will make you sick, son,” Miguel said as he reached out to stop him.
“Leave me alone. I need water!” Luisito said wildly. His parents exchanged worried looks. Luisito was beginning to demonstrate the symptoms of heatstroke.
Miguel held his son back to prevent him from drinking more ocean water. He knew that his son was suffering from dehydration. He had to keep him cool without letting him drink the salty ocean water. He turned around to get his t-shirt wet and put it on Luisito’s head when he heard a splash and Elena’s loud gasp.
“Ay, Luisito!” Elena yelled, covering her face with her hands. Luisito had fallen overboard.
“Elena, help me!” Miguel shouted as he reached for his son’s hands, flailing in the water.
Luisito’s body was so hot from the burning sun that the warm water actually felt freezing. His feet felt too heavy to move.
“Oh, no!” he heard his mother scream repeatedly.
“Papi!” Luisito cried out as waves splashed into his mouth.
“Luisito, grab my hand!” Miguel said.
Luisito could see his father’s hand like a blurry image between the waves, but each time he tried to grab it, the raft bumped into him and pushed him back.
Miguel reached for one of the oars and thrust it into the water. Luisito grabbed it and Miguel pulled him close to the raft. Then he extended his hand. Luisito felt the current push him toward the raft. He grabbed his father’s fingertips.
Miguel took hold of his son by the waist and Elena helped him haul the boy into the raft. His weight almost caused it to tip over.
Both parents embraced Luisito and cried. Luisito wanted to cry, too, but for some reason tears didn’t come. He kept coughing as his mother massaged his back.
“Mami . . . ,” Luisito whispered.
“Don’t worry, hijo, everything will be fine,” Elena said, not believing her own words anymore.
Luisito laid his head down on the wooden surface and pressed his mother’s hand. They drifted for a few more hours. They all felt emotionally drained.
“Are you feeling better?” Miguel asked Luisito later.
“I don’t feel very well,” Luisito replied with a helpless expression.
Then, out of nowhere, they heard a noise. It came closer and closer through the waves.
“It’s a boat heading right to us!” he shouted.
“No, I can’t believe it!” Elena said, weeping—this time out of joy.
Miguel frantically waved his hands, rocking the raft. Luisito weakly waved one hand, smiling at last.
“It’s the U.S. Coast Guard!” said Miguel joyfully.
Luisito was too weak to get up, but his parents hugged and cried over him. The Coast Guard cutter approached them and its crew helped each one get on board. They gave the family water and warm blankets.
“Sip slowly. It might make you throw up,” Elena said to Luisito when he tried to gulp down the water.
“Where are you from?” asked an officer in a white uniform who was wearing rubber gloves. “The captain of a passing cruise ship spotted your raft and called us.”
“Cuba. Coming for liberty,” Miguel said in broken English. Now he realized why the ship hadn’t picked them up. Several other men asked them questions.
“He is not feeling very well,” Elena said in Spanish, interrupting the conversation and pointing to Luisito.
“No se preocupe,” replied one of the officers, who proceeded to take Luisito’s vital signs.
“He is dehydrated. We need to get him on an IV,” he said to the others.
“¿Que dijo del niño?” Elena said, inquiring about her son.
“He will be fine, Ma’am, don’t worry,” the officer told Elena in Spanish.
He then approached Miguel and asked him many questions about Cuba and about their health prior to the trip. He told the family they were about thirty miles south of Key West, Florida.
Once they reached land, an ambulance transported them to the Coast Guard station in Key West. With Luisito on a stretcher, they entered a white building, going down a long hallway and into a waiting room. Luisito observed many men and women in uniform walking up and down the hallway and into small offices. It made him nervous. He wanted to get off the stretcher.
“I am feeling better already,” he said, but the officer insisted that he not walk. They found a wheelchair for Luisito and his bottle of IV fluid. He was then rolled into a small room.
Immediately, a doctor holding some files walked in. The doctor was tall and in his mid-forties. Luisito was afraid. He didn’t want to be examined by a strange foreign doctor. His father had always taken care of him in Cuba. What if they gave him shots and he couldn’t even ask questions because his English was not very good?
“¿Cuantos años tienes, Luisito?” Dr. Gonzalez asked.
“I am fourteen years old,” he answered. “And you speak Spanish?”
Luisito felt suddenly at ease.
“Si, and I am Cuban as well,” the doctor said. “Now with this IV all the fluids you lost will be replenished.”
“You are Cuban?” Luisito asked.
Dr. Gonzalez told Luisito how he had left Cuba right before the revolution. His family had arrived in San Antonio, Texas, to visit an uncle who played baseball in this country. They had heard of the unrest, and his father had decided to stay a little longer. They never returned to Cuba.
“Oh, my,” Luisito marveled at the thought that this doctor was Cuban and he spoke English. Luisito had heard stories from the teachers at his school that Cubans outside the island were not much better off in the United States, but Luisito saw that Dr. Gonzalez was working in this great big facility and that he had really nice shoes.
“Are they good to you here?” Luisito said, looking around the room.
“Very good, very good indeed!” The doctor smiled. “And we are going to treat you very well, too.”
After Dr. Gonzalez checked Luisito, he was wheeled to another room where technicians took X-rays of his lungs and drew his blood.
“Don’t worry, Luisito,” the doctor said. “This is normal procedure.”
His parents soon joined him. Luisito saw the bandages on their arms where their blood had been drawn, too. He watched from his room as an officer walked down the hall eating a chocolate candy bar. He stared as the officer bit into the chewy, mouth-watering sweet. Luisito knew what chocolate tasted like. He remembered the time he went to Coppelia, the ice cream parlor in Havana, on his last birthday. He had waited in line forever, but the treat was delicious!
Luisito could not believe his eyes. Abuela was right! Her stories about all the wonderful things in the United States were real! If he had gotten hold of a candy bar in Cuba, he would have taken tiny bites of it for days. At that moment, a nurse handed Luisito a bowl of soup. The warm soup coated his empty stomach and he began to feel sleepy. He felt safe at last.