A MOMENT WITHOUT ME (Introverted story)

She is so beautiful, she has big and clear eyes, long hair touching her shoulders. She is wearing a white delicate blouse that exalts her features. She is the only thing in the room, with her perfume that, slowly, mingles between the noise of the bar and the distance. That space which separates us is nothing else but a table.

I feel inhibited, alone again, with the certainty that this feeling is going to finish.

The odd thing is that after seeing those grey eyes I forgot who I am, I don’t remember anything else than me thinking about her. My inmanent identity has been lost. I think that I am a bus driver who has come here to drink a coffee. No, that’s wrong. Actually I am a greengrocer but, why am I in this place? I don’t know who I am, what I do know is that I am here for serving her and all my being belongs to her.

Thinking about the possible and the impossible, thinking that somebody loves me that much or even more than what my silence can hold, makes me forget who I am and creates this parallel reality that is much better than the usual one. At least for a moment, I don’t have neither memories nor restrictions, I am my wait for her, the witness of her presence. But, this hallucination I have already lived. I am sure that once, though I don’t remember when it was, it has existed.

I don’t remember, but she surely knows something. She is sitting at the table watching through the window, in front of me. She doesn´t stop watching me, perhaps I am attractive, perhaps I am badly dressed or perhaps I have a defective face.

Let’s see, it’s better if I think a little. I have normal feet and hands, the clothes that I wear is elegant, trousers are black and the shirt is white, nothing wrong, in this way I can look nice. I just need to see my face, I should go to the toilet and look myself in the mirror but I don’t want to leave my place. The teaspoon of the man next to me is blurred, but it doesn’t show anything strange, I am clean, shaved and my hair looks very nice, so why is she still looking at me?

I know that my name is Walter because of the man who is now gone and waved me at the moment in which I saw her. The unknown man asked me not to forget the party because there were lots of guests, perhaps I am an important person, famous. And if I am, am I be a good person or not? Would I be involved in something shady?

No, I don’t believe so. Besides, is she the only one who is looking at me and pays attention to me, she seems to be passionate and impatient. The effect that I produce in some people is incredible. Now she is calling me. I feel as if I was floating on a sea of doubts, my nerves are behaving anarchically, but slowly I am getting closer. She seemed to feel the same as me, she was trying to find out the right way  to talk to me, and in silence she did, with a simple gestureI am just one meter from her, and her perfume isolates us from that inhospitable place. Her lips start moving before mines and they said,

-Sorry, can I have the bill, please?- she said.

After such a current of fantasy and oblivion, and of existing just for her. Finally I was her servant and she a customer. The first six words of that phrase marked the approach and the distance, they also took us back to the reality, but the last word alighted the hope of, in another time, meeting again in another way.

Picture on top: “An Edward Hopper wanna-be” by Rosemary Sheel


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