My father tells my abuelo he’ll leave the island and never come back.

He watches the massive, other-worldly cruise ships pull out of Old San Juan Port miles and miles away. They take so long to sail over the horizon.

MI PADRE BY EMMELIE CORA 34THPARALLEL MAGAZINE ISSUE 100

My father, just a boy back then, dozes on the beach under the palm trees on a sunny Sunday afternoon. His sister and brother call for him to play with them in the water. He pulls his hat over his eyes. Coconuts fall near him with soft thuds. Stray dogs sniff his pockets. Sometimes he watches the massive, other-worldly cruise ships pull out of Old San Juan Port miles and miles away. They take so long to sail over the horizon.

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My abuelo drops off my father at the army recruiting office in Cayey. He looks ahead in dark sunglasses as his son with a black eye and only a book bag gets out of the car.

My father tells him that if this is what he wants for him then he’ll leave the island and never come back. He won’t call, won’t write, won’t visit for Christmas. He won’t come back for anyone’s…