Yes, I wanted to help Carlos. But I also wanted to go home. I knew that I had to return to Mrs. Lola’s house before dawn or I was running the risk of staying in that town, because my sister would leave without me, I was afraid that they would abandon me there.
The atmosphere was humid and cold. I felt pain all over my body as if I had performed a complete workout routine. I wanted to open my eyes, but I was so tired that I could not do it. However, I was slowly waking up, but I still felt very sleepy. My heart was racing, and a strange feeling came over me and warned me of the danger around me. At that moment it seemed to me that I had a horrible nightmare, my body felt extremely heavy, and I could not move freely.
I had no idea how I could escape the bedroom, since we were all sleeping in the same room. I knew it was already nightfall, although the room had no windows; It was dark when we went to sleep already. That night I felt very hungry because I did not want to eat more, because I was afraid to eat the food prepared by Mrs. Lola. Little by little I started to get nervous. I did not want to miss the time when Pepe comes to say goodbye to Mrs. Lola, and I did not want to miss the opportunity to be outside the room to be able to follow him. I did not have a watch and I did not want to ask the time because I did not want to arise suspicion about my plans, so I got the idea and I asked my sister, “Can I turn off the candle that you left burning in case a blackout should occur? The candlelight won’t let me sleep. “
Two shadows were reflected on one of the walls, one was the shadow of Mrs. Lola and the other was the shadow of a fat hen with a long featherless neck. It seemed as if they were facing each other like they were talking. The flames of fire that came out from under the comal lit up the interior of the kitchen causing the shadows on the wall to move in undulating motion due to the heat from the flames.
I ran without stopping until I got to the room where we were staying in and my sister began to laugh at me because I still had foam on my head and without allowing me to say a word, she grabbed me by the arm and led me back to the water stack where while using a washbowl she began to pour lots of water down my head, saying; “This is because you fear water and by doing this maybe you will learn how to bathe yourself.”
I continued to daydream about the adventures that I could experience when exploring the surroundings of the river, when the bus stopped abruptly pushing me forward while my head hit the back of the seat in front of me. My sister laughed at me and then said, “Good thing you woke up with a blow that happens to you because you are vomiting every time we travel.” Then she began to walk towards the exit of the bus, carrying my niece in her arms and I was walking behind her, because we had reached where we needed to get off.
I have been asked several times, If what I write, are real stories or fiction? And in response to the question “I just smiled.” Then I let them define whether it is a yes or a no, if they want to believe what they are reading so immediately I ask: What do you feel as you read? Is it a real emotion or a product of your imagination? By reacting this way, I do not intend to be rude or pretentious about my stories, the truth is that if I give a concrete answer, “They would not believe it is possible to see how reality can become fantasy and they would doubt how fantasy can exceed the limits allowed by the truth, to become real facts through my lifetime”.