An Impossible Journey
Sitting in the living room he had left as a child, Timothy (who now went by the name “Leo”) told a story that seemed impossible to believe.
That day, the current really had swept him away. He screamed, but the waves were too high. Just as he was losing consciousness from exhaustion, he was spotted by an old fishing trawler. The crew didn’t speak English; it was a vessel heading toward Cuba.
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Due to a severe head injury and shock, little Timothy had lost his memory. He didn’t remember his last name, his address, or even his native language. The fishermen who saved him were afraid to contact authorities due to legal issues. One of them took the boy in, raising him as his own son in a small, remote village.
“I grew up knowing I didn’t belong there,” the young man said, gripping his mother’s hand. “I always dreamed of this room. The blue wallpaper. And this hat.”
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Only two years ago, after a high fever, fragments of his memory began to return. A city name. A street. His parents’ faces. He spent every penny he earned working construction to travel back to the States and find this house.