changing

I used to be that person who never asks for help: a strong woman who is more successful than men on her level, colder than men who she dates, a better driver than men she knows; more interested in politics than boys her age and even beyond, and not cutting the grass only because she consider herself a lady. I am thrown into a world of equations and unimaginable spaces. Within days, im loosing the ground under my feet; I am not sure if heaven exists - not sure about anything anymore.

He likes you, my roommate says. He wouldn’t be helping you for these long hours if he didn’t.

Really? i pretend being surprised.

 (At least these are the skills I can use from my past life.)

Window into others’ lives

The alley stays dark until midday when the sun finally reaches a narrow opening between buildings. I wake up at eight, thinking it might be as well three in the morning or even noon. Who knows? The sounds from other windows say otherwise. Washing machine finishing its spinning cycle, classical music from the flat on the second level, a child demanding attention through a loud cry, they all say otherwise: it’s eight, it’s for sure eight in the morning.

I’m the first to wake up in our kitchen, making it smell like coffee and a toast with marmalade. Barefoot, on my tiptoes, I have my breakfast in the bed, thinking about others’ lives only to forget mine.  

The same old, same old

I can show you around! he says with his strong Spanish accent. Deal! I smile and get on the bus. It’s a dark night, middle of the week – I guess that’s how a student life looks like. All I can think of is getting to the bed.

Saturday morning, it is too early for this city. Walking by the restaurants with empty tables, I wonder when they will fill up with talks and laughs. These few strangers passing by keep looking straight into my eyes, wondering what they can find in them, and then they say Hola and call me Senorita. I smile watching newsstands filling up their shelves with weekend editions. On the walkways, wind mixes leaves with plastic bags; the air gets hotter just when I wait for the traffic light to change. I stare, unknowingly, on the glass windows since they seem to be the only stop sign for me to touch their most beautiful wedding dress. 

When waiting on the main square, I am sure he is already here, looking for me. Churches, architecture, parks, beach, and drinks, he ensures meeting me tomorrow offering to run with me. He is smart, charming, funny, and I am not interested. 

The first touch

Getting out of the taxi, dragging all that heavy luggage - more than airlines permit nowadays and more than woman can carry – but with all the necessities, I am dragging it upstairs, following a little Russian girl into a flat of strangers. Dinner, anyone? I ask considering this male inhabitants’ fridge’s supplies.  When I am leaving after making dinners every night, he, to my surprise, asks, in this formal manner that I know is not just for politeness anymore, who will cook dinner for him now.

I touch his shoulder, but I touch people.

I come over today and tomorrow again, because I need to connect with my family.

I invite him for the beach – wanna go with us?

He smiles with his eyes when I’m there – I know. He’s just too young to know that I know. He’s too young to understand that I understand what he is going through with a girlfriend miles away. I can’t help it – such amazing genetic material!

So I take a break, make him miss me, make him rethink his priorities, invent some old strategies, fight for me. He’s looked through whole econ department, I’m sure, just to see me. But, at the end, I am the one who realizes how much I want to talk to him today. And tomorrow, day after tomorrow…

 

goose bumps

one of the last days - last for too many periods and events - i get up in the morning feeling... good. just good. enjoying my vacation, having time for long breakfast, letting the breeze - fresh, warm, summer breeze - touch my face. goose bumps grow on my arms, breast, and neck. like when a man i like kisses my nape. then, i have this strong desire to... live.

all goes good. besides catching cold in paris, it goes well. in barcelona, summer is not over, so are not the chances for goose bumps. from a morning breeze, of course.