The INS agents wouldn’t let me open any windows. But even through the tinted glass, I could see the light in people’s eyes, and how much less weight they carried here. They were young and old, black, white, brown—a few even had hair dyed crazy colors, like orange and purple. But none of them seemed afraid of being who they were. And I just knew that back in Cuba, people would think twice about standing out from the crowd, thinking there was always a chance of getting in trouble over it. “Julio, what if we see your papi walking around?” asked Luis. “We could jump out of the car and yell, ‘Surprise!’ I swear I’d kiss his feet for getting us here.” Before I had to come up with a reply, Uncle Ramon said, “El Fuego’s not going to be walking in the streets, not today. He’s going to be at home, resting for the game tomorrow night.” But I began to wonder—what if we did see Papi on the street? Would he be holding the hand of his new son?
