Break Free

Myself and the other passengers are shuffled into the airport through a small doorway in the back of the building. It’s sweltering; I feel sweat running down my spine beneath my red sundress. As I enter the door, I stop short. The room has armed guards at the entrance and small booths, as seen at an old movie theatre, with Custom Agents within. We have no choice but to continue forward, each of us moving into one of the small, confined booths. The agent looks at my passport and begins asking questions in Spanish. I shake my head. The other passengers have quickly moved past the guarded entrance and through the booths smoothly without incident while I remained paralyzed. Another man approaches. He’s armed, wearing a starched green military hat. The men converse for a moment longer, both looking at me. I shift uncomfortably under their gaze.

“You’re part of the music program?” The new man asks. “Yes!” I gush, happy to hear that he speaks English. “You’re from New York? The Big Apple,” he says with a cocky grin. “Yes, well no, not from New York, but I study there…at the Sarah Lawrance College. I’m here to learn. I sing.” I shift nervously, holding my hands, sliding my fingers into one another and moving my hands out and back in their silence, just waiting.

Suddenly the door on the other side of the small booth opens. A young man enters from the outside world and begins to berate the guards. His arms move as he shouts and gestures at me and his watch. Shaking his keys and head, he grabs my arm, still yelling and yanks me through. I look back at the guards watching me and yelling back at us but not pursuing. I’ve stepped back in time. The airport is soggy and looks like the hand-me-down version of a US airport with ancient brown seats and a small rotating belt displaying passengers’ luggage. I see my bright blue, purple, and pink flowered suitcase moving around the belt. I catch it, pulling the man holding my arm with me. I lift the heavy bag off the belt with my one-and-a-half arms, falling on top of it from the awkward motion. “What are you doing?” The man demands, still holding onto my arm. “I’m getting my bags.” I gape, pulling my forearm out of his grasp.

“What the hell was that” I exclaim, lifting my arms in exasperation “and who the fuck are you.” He steps back like I’ve physically assaulted him, shaking off my words. “Miss Williams, I’m Anton from the La Zorra y el Cuervo, and you are late. The guards were just messing with you, hoping you would pay them to let you through without trouble. I do not have time for that nonsense. I’m here to drive you.” He says, turning as he spits out the words, cutting off the sound of his last few syllables.

“O, okay, perfect, thank you! I’m Jessica. It is so nice to meet you. I’m excited about this opportunity.” I reach out my hand, but he ignores it and keeps walking. “I’ve never been to Havana; this truly is an amazing opportunity. I can’t wait to get started.” He stops, gives me a look of disgust and keeps moving without answering.

“Um, I’m starting to get the impression that you might not want me here,” I laugh uncomfortably. “Of course, I don’t want you here!” He spits out. “Privilege, American privilege is what you are.” “Actually,” I say with a pause, “I’m Canadian, from a small rural community in Nova Scotia. I just go to school in New York”. I say this proudly, defending my Country’s honour. “Canadian privilege then,” he hisses. With that, he grabs my luggage and, once again, my arm and pulls me towards an ancient tan-coloured Chevrolet. I roll the window down in the absence of air conditioning and soak it all in. I couldn’t wait to live here for an entire semester and experience real Cuban life. I wanted to inhale the essence of the musicians here, learn their skills and hone my craft.

We pull up on a street with children playing and flapping laundry strung on a line between two buildings. He leads me up a tight stairway, down a dark, moist hallway and through a brightly painted doorway. I look around and immediately rush to the terrace to peak out. I lean over the railing, smelling the salt air and looking down at the children below. “Be careful,” he snaps, grabbing a piece of my dress and holding on so I can’t tumble over the railing. “This is where you will stay. Leave your bags. We’re late,” he says, turning and strutting back out the door. I take in my space; a full-sized mirror is next to the armour. Looking at myself, I wipe the sweat from my brow, try to flatten the frizz in my hair and bite my lower lip to bring out its soft pink colour. “Let’s go,” Anton shouts popping his head back in the doorway, startling me “you can admire yourself later.”

I rush down the stairs and into the street. Anton is already waiting in the car. We drive in silence. He parks behind a round bar with wall-to-wall windows next to a hotel with the sign “Niciona.” Anton pulls an instrument case from the back of the Chevy and then shakes hands with the man at the door, not once slowing down or looking to see if I am still following. Strolling up the stairs, we walk into a bar filled with people, primarily tourists, dressed up and facing a stage, waiting. “Mirana, this is Jessica. Watch her,” he yells to the bartender. A beautiful woman with thick chocolate wavy hair and matching large round eyes nods, and with that, he is gone.

I sit down on a stool at the bar. “Mirana,” I say. “Yes, Doll,” she says, placing a drink in front of me. “Where am I? What’s going on?” I ask as I sip the bitter mint drink I’ve been served. The strong taste of the rum makes me cough. She laughs. “Just watch, Love. You’re here to watch, absorb and learn” She nods toward the stage. Anton is there setting up. He pulls a saxophone from the case and assembles the pieces with a reed in his mouth. I look at my tormentor, really look at him for the first time since I was rescued from the airport. His skin is dark, and he has thick curly hair. He has on an old t-shirt that might have used to be black but is now a soft shade of grey with baggy jeans filled with holes. He places the reed on the mouthpiece and tightens it. Bringing the strap over his head, he blows into the instrument. Warming up his tongue, he releases a string of notes. The crowd hushes, and he begins to play. The song is catchy, people start to sway with the music, do do do, and occasionally they whistle and shout “Juanita.” Antons moves into the front, and his body dances as his mouth and tongue work together to make the most incredible sounds. Each note is clear and strong and carries throughout the room. He closes his eyes, swaying his hips, playing from memory while feeling every vibration. It goes on like this all night, Anton playing, moving, and performing while the tourists clap. Mirana shuffles quickly between them, serving drinks, presenting them with a huge smile and laughing at their inappropriate jokes.

I spend the entire evening trying to memorize the words so I can sing the songs to myself later. Finally, after hours, the crowd clears out of the club, and Anton begins to pack up his equipment. I spot Anton’s reed and let out a gasp. “You played all night on that!” I reach into my bag and pull out a brand new box of reeds worth $44.99 at home; these are invaluable here to a woodwind player as they are challenging to come by. “Take it,” I say, passing the box to him. He looks at me in surprise for a moment, he holds the box and appears to consider giving it back, but instead, he swallows and says a curt “thank you” and asks if I am ready to go.

Jessica crawls into her new bed, utterly exhausted. Anton didn’t speak to her on the way back to the apartment. When they arrived, he pushed open her door and said, “tomorrow I’ll pick you up, and we’ll practice, be ready for 8 am”. She only nodded. It was already well past midnight into the early morning hours, and she needed to sleep.

-

Anton watched the crazy “American” girl walk up the apartment stairs. He could tell she was tired from the way that she was dragging each foot up the stairs as if they weighed so much more. He couldn’t believe he was stuck with her as his responsibility. His brother Carlito was the one who started the music exchange program. He was always the one who welcomed students, showed them around and arranged their private lessons. But Carlito was not feeling well; his appendix ruptured only days before she arrived. From his hospital bed, he begged Anton to go and get her. To fill in for him until he was better. The Havana Music school received a lot of funding from these exchange programs. By offering their classrooms and musicians to overseas students, they were able to keep their own learning and with supplies for their crafts. Keeping Miss Sunshine happy was essential to Carlito. Anton knew he needed to be kinder but had never agreed with the program. But then, when faced with a box of new reeds, all his principles crumbled. He couldn’t help himself; he wanted them and needed them to continue playing and improving. His saxophone was his life; more than that, it was his way of life. So he regretfully took what she offered and silently hated himself for it.

He knew it was cruel, but the following day Abton showed up early. He figured he would start her off with an understanding of the dedication it takes to succeed in music. Even if it meant dragging his tired ass out of bed too. He made his way up the stairs, a paper coffee cup in his hand. Resting his head on the railing for a moment, he let a big grin crawl access his face before banging loudly on the door and letting himself in.

I’m a stupid man. He realized his mistake immediately. Jessica was still in bed, and she wasn’t wearing any clothing. The lace of her underwear was barely visible, leg sprawled out over the side of the bed on top of the blankets. She sat up with fear in her eyes. The moment she spotted him, her expression changed to absolute fury.

-

How dare he! How dare he just let himself in. I held the blankets up to my chest. I had been too tired for pyjamas the night before, so I had just removed my dress and crawled under the sheets. Now I was in a predicament. He wasn’t leaving. He just stood there frozen with that stupid look on his face. I check the clock on my nightstand and see the time. It is half past seven. “You arrogant son of a bitch! Get out! Turn around!” I threw a pillow as hard as I could at his head. He ducked, raising his hands in defence “okay, okay, no more pillows. I’m sorry. I’m turning around now”. I glared at his back as I rose from the bed. Still clutching the blankets around my body.

I find a t-shirt and a pair of shorts. Dropping the blankets, I bend over to slip them on, and as I do, my eyes catch Anton’s in the mirror. “Didn’t get a good enough look the first time?” I spit at him while shimming into my shorts as quickly as possible. “No, I… I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to…” he just keeps stuttering and blushing. I grab my purse and walk toward him. “Where’s mine?” I ask, motioning towards his coffee. “I uh…” I cut him off, not letting him finish and instead say, “let me guess, you forgot?”. I grab the coffee from his hands and march out the door. On my way through the doorway, he grabs my arm and whispers, “I’m really sorry, I didn’t think. I shouldn’t have surprised you, and I shouldn’t have come into your private space”. He says it sincerely, holding eye contact with me and waiting. “It’s fine, but you can buy me breakfast,” I sputter out, turn and tramp down the stairs.

We pull up in front of a small cafe. All the windows are open. Round tables are set up with a view of the ocean and are close enough for the locals to chat and mingle as they eat. A curvy woman with a flower dress, braided hair and a wooden spoon welcomes them. She speaks Spanish to Anton, gesturing with the spoon passionately. “Mama, Mama, stop. This is Jessica, Carlitos’ Jessica. She only speaks English, please”.

“Who is Carlito?” I ask the moment she leaves. Anton sheepishly looks at me and says, “my brother, he runs the Havana music program. He was supposed to pick you up at the airport. He should be the one taking care of you, teaching you. But he is not well, and the school needed the money, so he asked me to fill in”. I consider his words and say, “you’re a moron.” “And you have a filthy mouth, Blanquita,” he responds.

I snort, making the coffee I stole from him come out my nose.” Yeah, I guess I do,” I say seductively while wiping the coffee away from my nose with the sleeve of my t-shit. “This is truly one of the most beautiful mornings I’ve ever experienced. Thank you for taking me here”. He looks at me with surprise. “I’m sure that you have experienced much higher dining.” “Actually, The Town I’m from isn’t exactly diverse, and the coffee, the coffee does not taste like this,” I say the last part with my eyes closed, enjoying the final sip. He is staring at me when I open my eyes, so I stare back. He is beautiful. It is not just his face, silky hair, or perfectly toned body. It is his way. The way that he moves through the restaurant, talking to the patrons and placing a hand on his mother’s back, offering his help. It is the way others look at him.

The breakfast was huge. Never in my life have I been served so much food. I sit back in my seat, thoroughly satisfied and ask, “what now?”. He laughs and says, “now the work begins. My studio is not far from here. He Leads me down the cobblestone streets, always a step ahead. He doesn’t speak, just moves us through the crowds.

He reaches back and takes my hand to draw me closer to him. I don’t mind following; I focus on his shoulders. His loose-fitted shirt is rippling and sticking to his muscles from the intense heat. He stops suddenly, and I walk directly into his back. My face is buried into the shoulders I was just admiring. He smells musky but in an agreeable sort of way. I stay too long, and he awkwardly extracts himself from my grasp.

“This is it,” he says; I can’t help but hear the pride in his voice. He unlocks a door and brings me into a large room with wooden floors and big mirrors. There are instruments strewn throughout the room. “I’m going to play,” he says. “I will play, and you will sing.”. An alarm chimes through my body. “I can’t just sing; I need to prepare. What if I don’t know the music?” I stutter. “Then you will make it up. Just feel the music and sing what comes into your head,” he says as though this is the most natural thing in the world.

He pulls out his saxophone and begins to play a slow, melancholy song. I take a deep breath, close my eyes, and let the sounds of his music fall over my body. I start to sway my hips back and forth. He’s circled around, playing the intro again. I know where the music will go next, so I open my mouth and begin singing.

“I’ve been working.

Working so hard.

Eight to Five

I don’t get any rest.

-

My body is aching.

Aching, leaving me scarred

I feel you touching my thighs.

Leave me alone. You’re a nasty pest.

-

I need a pension, a salary, and some dough.

I sense the tension, a malady; it’s my family’s veto.

-

This is no life,

Jess, what are you thinking?

Walk away

Grow up so you can reset

-

I can’t be your kept wife

I love the singing

The next gig will pay

I won’t settle; I have my mindset

-

I need a pension, a salary, and some dough.

I sense the tension, a malady; my family is letting me go.

-

I feel the fire

I hear the cheering

I will have my day

My haters can lust….”

-

Suddenly the music stops. I look up, startled from my focus, finding Anton staring at me. “What?” I ask. “That was kind of heavy stuff. We might have something we can sift out of all that.” He smiles at me then and begins to play an upbeat riff to lighten the mood. The beat reminds me of a Bollywood number which makes me think of something. I run over to my bag and pull out my jingle skirt. I started belly dancing classes when I moved to New York. I felt like Babe in the city. I needed a way to make friends and help my confidence. I fell in love with the skirt’s chime and the music’s rhythm. I embraced my body and articulated my hips. He laughs but keeps playing, and I let go, leaning my head back and smiling as I do hip rolls. The joyful sound of my scarf fills his beloved studio.

-

Anton struggles to keep playing. He wants to laugh; he has never seen anyone dance like that. Her body is both sultry and candid. Her voice was incredible, but the merriment on her face as she danced in that ridiculous skirt was something else. He watches her movements with pleasure, knowing his music has brought her this moment of contentment. Perhaps she is not as privileged as he had imagined her. The words from her song and the ache that she felt to be seen made him question all his preconceived notions.

-

I collapse into the chair next to Anton, still laughing. “I could use another one of your Mom’s coffees,” I exhale. “I have something better than that,” with a mischievous smile he pulls a bottle of rum from under his chair. “This, my friend, will let us play into the night” “oh, now I’m your friend,” I say, laughing as I grab the bottle and take a swig. He lifts his eyebrows at me. “What? I told you I’m a Canadian girl. How do you think we stay warm?” we both laugh, and he looks at me for a moment longer than felt comfortable.

-

There is a moment; I feel it. This woman is full of life and beauty. Jess had surprised him. Her excitement for life made him want to experience it all with her. “Would you like to keep working on your song?” he asks. She let's out a huge sigh. “I think I must stretch my legs and have some food first. The rum has gone straight to my head,” reaching her arms over her head. “Would you like me to accompany you?” I ask her casually but wanting so badly for her to tell me to come along.

“Come with me,” she says so quietly that I almost don’t hear. “I will show you real dancing .”She slowly places her hand in mine and follows out the door.

-

His hand is warm. I feel the callouses on his fingers, hard and dry from playing his sax. The warm breeze feels good after the heat we generated in the studio. I follow his pull, taking in the lively streets and all the smells and sounds. We arrive at a charming patio with lights strung throughout. A live band is playing, and tables are set up with candles on top. I stop to smell the roses, various colours that crawl up the trellis. Before sitting down, he reaches for me and says, “Miss Jessica, may I have this dance?”. I let him lead me to the floor. He nods to the musicians and then wraps his arm around my waist. His posture is straight, with those powerful shoulders lifted, holding my body against his. We flow together. His forehead presses against mine. Then the music stops. The moment passes as I take a sip of my cool drink.

-

I sit across from her and watch as she bites into her sandwich. Her face immediately lit up in pleasure. Every new experience fills her with joy. Being close to her allowed him to feel it too. I want to touch her again so badly. But instead, I listen while she talks. I watch her plump pink lips talking and taking another sip. She brushes a piece of her blonde hair behind her ear. I stroke that ear. She leans her cheek into the palm of my hand and lays her hand under mine, holding me there. “Should I walk you home?” I ask. She only nods and stands to leave.

We arrived much too soon. But then Jess pauses in the doorway; she turns to look at me, pressing her back against the wall. “What time should I expect you tomorrow,” she asks innocently. The sly smile on her lips is too much. Before I can think, I kiss her. At first, our kiss is light, but quickly it turns urgent. I press her into the wall. She lets out a moan that is the most desirable sound I have ever heard.

-

Anton moves his lips down my neck, kissing softly as his arm wraps around my hips, lifting me and bringing me closer to him. I wrap my legs around his waist as he bites my ear. I nearly come right there on the sidewalk. Suddenly feeling exposed, I place my hand on his chest. “Anton, stop .” He moves away, respecting my space and giving us both a moment. “I’m sorry,” he gushes, I would never want to make you uncomfortable..” he is so flustered, which makes me laugh. “Anton,” I repeat his name until he looks at me. “I just thought you might like to come inside?”.

I remove my shirt and pin him to my bed unapologetically. His eyes drift down to my lace pink bra, no padding. I don’t need it. My nipples are hard, and I feel them pressing against the fabric. I begin to grind against him, and the tightness of his jeans grows as my shorts ride up, exposing me. His hand slides between my legs. He holds me to him tightly as I’m filled with his warmth. We pulse together, intensity building. I collapse on the bed next to him in fulfilment.

The following day I stand in front of the mirror looking at myself. I feel different somehow, more myself than I have felt in a long time. I can’t even begin to fantasize about the remainder of my semester. It was off to such a pleasurable start.