writingcamp + My Crazy Love / Mi Loco Amor

Doomed to regret

ST: I can´t breathe - Bea Miller [Specially dedicated to all of those who suffer anxiety and all its disorders]

I try not to focus on my teacher talking about parents and how we should be grateful for having them. I can see her whole body swirling in a fuzzy image, which actually doesn´t feel strange. What is making me nervous is her speech. Her son just died and let a family of two children alone. She blows her nose, which has an incredible green stuff hanging from her fins.

“That´s why you should keep in mind that you won´t have your parents forever. They might die today, or tomorrow, or the day after tomorrow, or in a month. You´ll never know. And you´d want that the last thing that you did for them was something good, something really good that´d made them proud.”

My teacher keeps turning around and her noses becomes oddly big, even bigger than herself, like she´s going to become into a giant, dripping nose which mucus will drown us all.

“You don´t know what you have until you lose them, haven´t you heard that? That only feels accurate when you lose someone, when they´re already dead and you cannot crawl into the soil to tell them how much you loved them. That´s why each second of each day of each year, you must appreciate your loved ones... before you lose them.”

The mucus falls down onto the floor and it rapidly floods our classroom´s floor. I can see scared children lifting their legs, screaming, but our teacher doesn´t seem to stop. I´m crying, too, my short legs seem to be way larger than I remember when I was seven. My teacher looks directly at me and I can feel her strange rage against me. Her mouth is drooling a dark matter that floods towards me like a conscious, winding snake. I try to scream, but I can´t. When I look down on my desk, I can see that all this time I´ve been scribbling large circles so hard that my pencil has destroyed the thin paper. I know these are just circles, but I keep scribbling as if this is of any use against my teacher.

She´s now in front of me, crying the same black matter, similar to my ink. I just can´t stop scribbling. Something in my head wants to explode, I can feel it, but the only thing I can do is scribble! I can´t keep it inside me, please, someone help! My teacher grins and takes my hands out of my doodles. I tremble.

“And you´ll definitely lose them, and it would be all your fault that you couldn´t prevent their deaths. That´d be your fault.”

The image changes and I can see myself in front of my dad´s grave. His name, Chris Temple, is written down with a fresh, blackish ink. The handwriting seems childish and awkward. I see my own hand holding a black pen with which I condemned my father to dead. I kneel down, but I can´t cry. The only thing I can do is.... Scribbling the grave.

I open my eyes, my head  spinning around and my mouth all thirsty, like a hungover, but it is nothing like that. I repeat the words in my head again and again. You´ll definitely lose them, and it would be all your fault that you couldn´t prevent their deaths. My dad´s grave, which was nothing like the real one, and the harsh voice of my teacher, as it was God himself who told me that it was my fault. I put my hand on my chest and close my eyes. My breath is fast and my heart is running a race it didn´t want to start. I know it. It was my brain´s fault.

—You´re compulsing—I tell myself while I concentrate in the pace of my breath, how the air fills my lungs and feeds my blood cells, my life cells. Then, my heartbeat slows down—It was just a dream—I promise myself.  It wasn´t my fault.

But... wasn´t it? My dad was in his way to his job, the job that he got for me to have a better life, with a higher income and stability. I could just tell him that I didn´t need that, that I was good. Or I could make him delay a little bit, just as I always did at breakfast, talking nonsense about school. Or I could pretend I was sick so he´d stay pampering me a little bit more. I just... could safe him. My hands start to tremble once again. Even if I had lost the compulsion of scribbling, it is coming again. f**k, no, please. I don´t have time to do this again. I look around to find a notebook and a pen. I need to...

—Hey, you Morgan, kid!—I hear from downstairs—Don´t you have school? Why are you sleeping, you lazy?

It´s grandma again but, for once, I´m relieved. My thoughts slow down and I can turn my attention into other thing. I rush to the stairs to find distraction and try to act like everything is fine.

—It´s my vacation—I tell grandma, who´s watching TV— Don´t you remember?

—Ah, was it? I didn´t remember.

I smile.

—You sure you didn´t remember or you just wanted to wake me up so I prepare breakfast?

Grandma smiles back.

—Me needing you to prepare breakfast? For God´s sake, nobody would eat your food in their five senses, unless they want to throw up—I nod, though I don´t think she´s honest. She just doesn´t want to admit she´s the lazy one—But... now that you´re here, you can try to prepare some sandwiches and I´ll help you to assest them. Someday you´ll have a boyfriend and you´ll want to prepare something delicious for him to like you.   

I knew it. But I just sigh and head to the kitchen.

—Do you live in the 20th century?—I murmur.

—What do you mean, kid?

—Tch.

—Tell me what did you mean.

—That idea of women cooking for men is so old-fashioned and stupid. Why would I want to cook for someone I like? If I want to impress them, I should just buy something expensive and useful so they remember me each time they use it.

—What do you mean? You can conquer a man´s stomach before their hearts, that´s the safest way.

—Ridiculous—I mumble while taking out the last ingredients for the sandwiches.  

—I can hear you!

—I know! I wanted you to hear!

—In any case, Morgan, cooking is not about genders, it is part of the life of any woman.

—What do you mean? That you´re so old-fashioned that it makes me laugh—I say, placing some tomatoes in a wooden table to cut slices.

—Your father was the best at cooking, he even overcome your skilled mother. And he was so sweet. He tried to cook her favorite dishes when she was pregnant with you. When I told him that that was your mother´s duty, he told me that he wanted to do so, and that he would find out your favorite dishes way before you were born. Your mother hated carrots, but she suddenly liked them with you in her belly and hated it again after you were born. So your father was right! You actually love carrots!

I lift the knife against the first tomatoes but my hands are trembling again. I can´t forget the dream of my teacher shouting that it would be my fault... And actually one of them died. I cherished my father a lot, I always hugged him and tried not to make him angry in spite of my mischievous personality, and still he died. What did I do wrong? I still don´t know and I will never know, it doesn´t matter what happens now. I sigh and leave the knife aside the table.

—Hey, grandma, I hate tomatoes, so sandwiches won´t have it.

—What? That´s not true! You like tomatoes.

—But I´ve changed. And I also hate carrots, so I don´t want you to mention that again.

—I don´t believe you!

—Well, I don´t care if you do.

***

When I arrive at the bus station, I can see my friend Mizuki waving at me, smiling. I open my arms widely and run towards her. She immediately shrinks and turns around, but I don´t care. I hug her tight while she growls.  

—You know I hate hugs.

—But you know that I need hugs.

—Who needs hugs? It´s not like water, food or air—Mizuki tries to escape from my arms, but I´m taller and stronger, so she doesn´t have a choice.

—Physical contact is a need!

—This must be illegal. It is stalking.

—Oh, you cranky granny!—I say as I lay my arm over her shoulders, walking this uncomfortable way.

—You´re such a nuisance.

—If so, why did you accept to come with me?—Mizuki blushes and bites my hand. —Ouch! That hurt, you know?—I scream as I step back. Mizuki grins.

—Because I thought you´d kill me if I didn´t, you know? I thought you are that crazy!—I laugh out loud.

—Crazy?

—Yes, and I hate you.

—Really?—I asked brightly—Say it again, please!

—See? You´re crazy!

—It´s ´cause I can hear your real thoughts. What I hear anytime that you say that is “I love you”.

Mizuki´s face is so red that I think she will explode soon. She always talks about how much she hates  relationships, specially one of friends. She thinks that she will forget me as our ways will divide, wanting or not, for that´s how life works. “People are temporary”. She also said that she saw us separated in the future, that she didn´t see me in her life. But I know she´s so fond on me that that´s impossible. I also love her and that´s why I keep teasing my rogue best friend.

—You have a strange idea of love.

—I know, right? Anyways, Mizuki, I wanted you to read my future.

I see Mizuki´s eyes brightening. Was there any thing that Mizuki liked the most, it wouldn´t be other than cards reading. She fishes her bunch of cards out of the front pocket of her bag and shows them it to me thoughtfully, though I cannot see the faces and personalities that, according to Mizuki, holds our future. I see the perfect half moon and the sun attached to it at the back side. The colors are dark and attractive. I smile, I just wanted to help her chill, but she´s actually in her role of mystery reader.

—Choose three.

—I know—After one second, I take the first and the last card from right to left and what I think is the one exactly in the middle—There you have.

Mizuki turns the cards up and analyzes them.

—Okay, soy you got the Lustrous, the Mongrel and the Cup of Hearts...—I nod.

—So.. what it means?—Mizuki frowns. I feel this is oddly fun—What is it? Am I gonna die?

—It means that you will regret it. And that it will hurt so much... you´ll rather be dead.

—Huh? Regret what?—Mizuki lifts her shoulders.

—I have no idea, I just tell what I see. It can be from the flavor of a sandwich that makes you fart to lose something that you love...

—Ah, I see. I don´t have to worry about it.

—I didn´t say that... You just... won´t know until it happens.

—Yeah, got it. It doesn´t matter...

—Hey, listen to me. You should be aware of whatever is coming.

—Like an outdated sandwich?

—Well, yeah, I guess it can be a sandwich and nothing more.

I laugh, though my hands are already trembling.