I.

Thinking about life, I think of vast expanses of our universe, which lead into planets and moons that circulate our sun that is floating within vast developments of nothingness, and somehow, God, whoever, had to plant me here in Florida.

“Why does Florida suck so much?” I asked my mother. “I’d much rather be in Wyoming or something, because look outside the window. There’s no charm. No character. All the houses look the same, potted palm trees by the mailboxes, off-white stucco walls. Plastic adobe roofs for miles—”
“We’ve heard your spiel about the wrath of Florida since you could talk, mija. I told you— hate if you want, but it’s what you’ve got. When you turn eighteen and scamper off like a tramp to college life in Europe, I guarantee that you’ll regret leaving Miami and your heritage life behind. You’ll mess your life up after a wild night on some white boys’ plastic IKEA furniture and call me on the phone begging me to help pay child support from the aftermath. Why did you break up with Gabriel? He was such a nice boy, cariño…” Shaking her head, she walks out of the dimly lit kitchen.
Because of my love for traveling, especially to Europe, my family thinks that I am too good for them. I don’t conform to the norms of Hispanic society, because in my family, life is laid out for you. You marry the neighbors’ son at twenty three, after graduating from Miami Dade Community College, and spend your nights working shifts at a cafe with a useless diploma collecting dust on the dining room table. I want to go to Europe and see how life is in Madrid compared to life in Miami. I want to go to Buenos Aires, and London, and try to compensate for lost time spent trying too hard, and not voicing my thoughts when I need to.
Pushing open my door, I do my daily routine checks before I go out. No Gabriel? The scene is safe, for now at least. Kinda sucks that you have to check outside your house everyday for your ex-boyfriend. It’s hard to live with the fact that I dodged the bullet once. If only my mother knew that Gabriel created this life for me. A life where I have to live with the burden of bruises and blows to my body, and my soul.

II.
Sighing, I pulled open the door of my car and slid inside. There were raindrops coating the windows, reflecting my mood. I wanted to forget all of the past, and begin life as a new person, without Gabriel, without my mother.
“I have to tell somebody” I whispered to myself.
That’s when the obsessive nature of my feelings decided to take over, and in the distance I could hear the peals of thunder reverberating in the distance. Tears. Screams. Starting the car, I drove at breakneck speeds through the small streets of Miami. These streets would normally be bustling with people, with the chatter of Spanish hanging in the air, and the sounds of Cual Adios or Piensalo blasting from sidewalk radios. Oddly, I missed it. As much as I love the rain, I wished that the sun would rise again on my city. I wanted the rain to leave and the bright reds, blues and yellows to return to the sidewalk tiles. Wiping my tears away, I turned the radio dial on my car to 94.9, Con Hits en Miami. The announcer, speaking in rapid Spanish, announced that they were playing canciones clásicas, classic songs. The all-too familiar opening notes of the song Cielito Lindo, played through the speakers of my car. Humming along to the tune, I smiled. I slowed the car and then pulled into the parking lot of my favorite Cuban café, El Gallito, in Little Havana. Since I was about a 20 minute drive away from home, I knew no one I knew would be here. Locking my car, I walked into the little café, sounds of bells welcoming my arrival. Instantly, I felt more than comfortable amongst the hushed whispers of Spanish and smells of coffee. Taking a seat by the window, I stared off into the rain. I thought about my mother, who was worried for me, but took pleasure in my pain. A cold, stiff hand on my shoulder shook me from my thoughts.
"Cheyenne, babe, why are you here?" a familiar voice lazily drawled in my ears. 
"I’m not your babe, Gabriel. Why are you in Havana? Are you stalking me? Oh my god, are you going to hit me in public?" I stood, throwing his clammy hand off my shoulder. Pacing back and forth, I started questioning everything. Why had I come all the way to Havana? I could have saved gas back at home. Had Gabriel followed me?
"Hermana, I work here now. Mamá asked me to make a little extra money for college. Something that you clearly need, Miss Europe," he sneered.
Hermana? Since when was I his sister? We were clearly acquaintances. Nothing more.
"Well, Mr. Miami, at least I have a plan in mind with imagination to back it up, something that you clearly lack. I may not have money now, but I have a year to get my life together. I’m going to Europe to get away from you,” I fired back.
“So you’re too scared to report me, and too stupid to avoid me. Our paths always find a way to cross, don’t they? Maybe we’re meant to be back together, Cheyenne. Your mother loves me. Your father trusts me. I think you’re pretty nice too, so why don’t we forget about the past?” He slung his sweaty arm around my neck. Pushing it away, I sat back down in my seat.
He might as well call me hermana. We constantly find ourselves fighting, like brother and sister. It’s because we know too much about each other, we’ve grown up together, and we act the same way. This is how it was when we dated. We’d get into fights, stupid fights, and then he’d get angry all of a sudden and be the first one to throw punches or slap me. I knew, even though we were standing in the middle of a dimly lit cafe, that he would try to abuse me. I was too scared, too worried to tell him to stop. I began to gather my belongings and rushed out into the rain, without buying a single thing.
“Cheyenne,” he said, running to my car door.
“Go away, hermano. We will never be friends.” I quipped.
“Cheyenne, can’t you just drop it? What I did wasn’t that bad. Chill out, would you?” he said, opening my car door.
“Wasn’t that bad? What you did ‘wasn’t that bad?’ Because of you I have to live with bruises on my body, all because you can’t handle yourself!” I screamed.
Throwing my bag into the passenger seat, I slammed the door hard, tears gracing my face. The shadows of the rain danced against the windows just like the shadows of the scars on my body.
“Cheyenne” his voice bounced off of the glass of the windows like the rain.
Shoving the keys hastily into the ignition, I started the car. I pulled out onto the main road with tears plummeting down my face. I drove on for hours, with no sense of direction and no clues where I was going. I eventually drove my car home, parking it in the driveway. The rain was still pounding every crack in the sidewalk and it was like Miami was crying along with me. The Murillo family was sitting across the street on the front porch, a small dusty radio sitting on the front porch. The music that emerged from the radio was overshadowed by the sounds of thunder.  They waved to me as I cautiously opened the door. No one was home. Perfect. Running upstairs, I forced the screen to my laptop open. I cautiously opened the browser, but quickly switched it to private mode. Typing into the search bar, I typed ‘flights from Miami to London’ into the search bar and hit enter. Instantly, flights from various airlines filled my screen. Obviously, I knew that there would be no way for me to buy a plane ticket. Scanning flight dates and times, I realized that there was a flight leaving tomorrow morning at 5:45 in the morning. That was perfect. I usually woke up around then to get ready for school, and my mother and father left for work at 5:00. It was all too good to be true. I started grabbing clothes, toiletries, and everything that I might need for my trip. I planned on coming back after a month or so, to give my mother time to calm down. Halfway through open drawers and closets, my heart stopped.
“How are you going to get on this flight?” I said aloud.
Scanning my thoughts, I remembered Josefina, a girl from my school who worked a summer internship for Delta. I remember how proud her parents were of her, and our whole family went over to her house for a going away party in her honor at the beginning of the summer. She would know what to do.
Cautiously, I pressed my ear to the door, making sure that the house was still as silent and as barren as it had been upon my arrival. Picking up my phone, I scrolled through my contacts until I found her number. The phone rang only once before she picked up, and I could hear the sounds of children and static radio in the background.
“Hello?” She said, with warmth in her voice.
“Hola Josefina. It’s me, Cheyenne. Can you do a massive favor for me?” I asked.
“Sí. Depends on the favor though.” She added hastily.
“Do you still have your uniform from when you worked at Delta over the summer? I really need it. And your badge.” I said, worry creeping into my thoughts. What if she didn’t lend it to me? What would I do then? This was the only plan.
“Yes, I have it… But why do you need it?” Her voice was muffled by the sounds of children yelling in Spanish.
“Listen, Josefina, you have to promise not to tell anyone. I can tell them myself when I need them.” I said anxiously.
“Cheyenne, what is it? I’m babysitting my sisters and the Rivera’s children. You know how hard they are to take care of.” she said, hushing the voices in the background.
“Yes, I do. But I need your uniform. Because tomorrow morning, I’m going to London.”
“Cheyenne!” She shrieked, causing me to move the phone away from my ear. “How the hell are you planning on getting there?”
“With your uniform. I plan on faking as a flight attendant to get on the plane.” I added.
“That’s crazy! What will your parents think?” She said, shocked.
“They won’t care. Mamá has been trying to get rid of me. I don’t think that my Dad even knows how old I am.” It will take a few days for them to even notice I’m gone.” I said.
“I don’t know why I’m doing this. Come over to my house now.” She said, hanging up the phone.
I grabbed my keys off of my desk and ran outside to my car. It was pitch black outside, and the rain was coming down harder than ever. I put the keys into the ignition and eased my car out into the storm. Josefina’s house was not far away, but I was driving with caution because of the storm. I hadn’t thought once about the consequences of my decision. What about school? Family? I didn’t care. I’d finish senior year in London, after I settled in. I had enough money for a hotel for about a week, and then I would try and find an apartment or a boarding home. Pulling into Josefina’s driveway, I yanked the keys from the ignition and ran in the rain to the front door. Knocking, the flimsy wooden door opened, welcoming me to a home filled with children, their screams echoing down the staircases and sticky fingers on the doorframe. Josefina kissed me on both cheeks and pulled me in a tight embrace. Josefina and I had never been extremely close, but we often helped each other with homework assignments or babysat each other’s siblings. I wished in my heart that I wasn’t leaving. I wanted to sit down and get to know her better.
“Hermana” she said, handing me a weathered paper bag.  “Keep this safe for me, please. When you return for good, I want it back. This uniform means a lot to me, it shows my accomplishments in life. I may not get much further than this.” she looked longingly into the bag that was in my hands.
I looked down at the floor. I felt selfish for running away from my problems instead of facing them head-on. I had no plan once I got to London. I had no plan once I reached the airport. I was just going to have to dive in. Hugging Josefina one last time, I vowed that I would come back and return her precious uniform. I walked back into the rain, and the shutting of the car door was muffled by the thunder.

III
Around 1:30 am, I woke up. I quietly snuck into the bathroom, tossing all of my toiletries into a single bag. Zipping up my suitcase, I looked around my room. This had been my resting place for seventeen years, and I was throwing it all away. I took out a sheet of paper and began to write “Dear Mamá…” but I trailed off. There was nothing that I could say to my mother. Although I loved her dearly, I feared she did not love me quite the same way. My father barely knew my name, let alone my life. My parents had been absent, and here was I, heading out to be as absent as my parents. I scratched out a mere sentence on the paper.
“Off to IKEA.”
I signed my name and stuck it on my door. Slipping on Josefina’s uniform, I studied her badge carefully. I made sure to do my hair like hers, and eagerly snuck my small bags downstairs. I opened the window - the front door creaked loudly when you opened it, and eased my belongings into the darkness of the early morning. Putting my items in my trunk, I headed for the airport. I had completed step one of my journey. Now the next step was to try and get onto my flight. I parked my car in a long term lot and ran inside, my heart pounding. I was praying that nobody tried to talk to me or call me out. I ran to the gate and walked to the side door, pulling out my badge. I realized that since Josefina only worked here over the summer, her pass may be disabled. I cautiously slid the barcode against the pad. A red light flashed, and instantly, my heart sunk. This was the end for me. Forget Europe, forget leaving.
“Need any help?” a chipper voice woke me from my thoughts.
Stammering, I muttered a “Yes please” before handing over my badge to the woman.
“Josefina?” she asked, hitting the badge against the pad a few times before the light turned green.
“Yes, that’s me, I mean, thank you” I said, breathing a sigh of relief. I rolled my suitcase down the long gateway as passengers filtered behind me. I looked over at the kind woman’s name tag. It read Mary Herman.
“Thank you Ms. Herman, that keypad is truly a difficult situation” I said, laughing.
“Indeed. I’m glad we were both there at the right time” she said, smiling. “We’d better go, the plane is almost full with passengers.”
I studied the people on the plane around me. Lots of people looked Hispanic, like me, and had on short sleeved shirts and tanktops. The hushed tones of Spanish hovered in the air, and I breathed a sigh of relief. I guess it was hot in London this week, and with all these Spanish speakers I knew I would be just fine. Helping my newfound friend Mary conduct a final safety check on the plane, we were given an all clear sign. The pilot slowly pulled the plane out of the gate, and my heart was filled with joy and happiness. I was gone. Miami was no longer home. I had left my culture behind to experience a new one. I began planning out future years in London, Milan, Amsterdam, and more. Looking out the window at the tarmac, the co-pilot’s voice came loudly through the speakers of the plane:
“Hello, and welcome aboard Delta flight 1109 to Mexico City. We hope you enjoy your trip.”