Hi all students- how are you, a short story for you.
La Milagrosa
The wind pierced through my Joe Fresh twenty percent down filled jacket as I walked to Reggaton class. It was no where near the quality of the Canada Goose jacket that I needed on that cold Calgary night. Once a week I made my way to the 4th street Havana Dance Company where I would follow behind Jose and his beautiful shoulders.
I stood at the top of the stairs that led down to the studio, which created a night window for all pedestrians to see in. I felt excited and content: a rare combination of peace that I felt everyday in China, but in Alberta, only when my foot hit that worn, wet, soiled carpet.
Coming to Calgary was based on emotion; the recruiter made me feel good by offering me my first teaching job. I also had to pave the way for “our” new life; one of which didn’t involve windsurfing.
I don’t know if he didn’t want to or couldn’t come to Cuba that March Break. I gathered clothing to bring in donation, spending time picking fashionable items for the women, but when I stepped into the streets of Havana they were dressed way better than me. Jose’s mother and I enjoyed Coppelia ice cream at CUC cost. When I got back to my casa particulare, arranged for me by others, I gave the papers and the money to the mother. Jose had trusted me with copies of his passport, banking information and deeds to his business and condo. My hostess also took my passport for safe keeping.
For two nights my hips swayed next to Raphael’s and the party flowed through me. At the beach, the five car Bahamas marketing spread that haunted me on my C-train commute was suddenly right before me. I was living the dream without him.
Then Christ decided to join my party. He came in the form of hard small white roundish objects- in a bag. “Oh it’s just present for Jose. It is Cristo for your skin- made out of crushed egg shells- to put a cross on you.”
Panic ran through me. I wasn’t prepared for this prize. I prayed to God that night. I didn’t know appearance from reality. I prayed for knowledge the next day at Cristobal Colon. “La Milagrosa,” I said to myself, “you are a ’ miracle worker,’ am I being used?
I thought I could reason the answer to this question, but a spirit stepped in to tell me otherwise. It informed me that my own Cristo was having dinner with Buddha next to a Black Spruce.
