Chapter 28: Chapter 28
Both faces stop at the two of us as soon as we walk through that door. Mom greets, refocusing on what seems to be mixing in a steel bowl on the counter and I feel Dad's wide grin getting closer and closer to me, until I come rushing up to him and melting into a warm hug. As I part and turn around, I notice that Oliver is still standing by the door we just entered through, watching us with a somewhat strange look. I ignore that, hugging my father again, watching as my brother throws his backpack on the floor causing a cloudy noise and leaves the room.
I enter our bedroom several minutes later. It consists of a small room with walls colored in a worn light blue, which were blue when this room was only Oliver's and I had not been born. At least that's what mom told me.
He is found sitting on his bed with a Lego robot in each hand, brutally beating each other. Although he noticed my presence, he does not look up and continues with his "things".
May: I hope you find yourself a place to sleep this weekend.
Oliver: Why? (He asks without looking at me).
May: Because my friends come to sleep.
He gives a somewhat ironic giggle even looking at the two plastic figures in his hands.
Oliver: This bed is mine, let your friends sleep in the living room.
May: Dad left me (I comment with pride and superiority).
Oliver (looks at me and snorts): Obviously, as he always does, favorite daughter.
May: You are jealous.
Oliver: From you? (Laughs) He passed.
May: You were always jealous of me.
I add thinking about leaving, but after seeing how his gaze suddenly transforms upon hearing my last words, I keep still.
Oliver: YES, I ALWAYS WAS SO WHAT? Since you were born, you are the spoiled little girl of the family and all because dad always dreamed of having a daughter (he says piling up the words and begins to imitate with a high-pitched voice). Who is going to have a birthday party? May. Who will have the biggest bed? May. Who is the "role model" for how you study when you just open a book? May. ALL OF YOU, ALWAYS YOU (his eyes reflect a mixture of hatred and resentment). I swear I try not to hate you, but I was fed up.
He ends up throwing his robots and leaves the room, while both toys smash when they hit the wall and fall shattered on his bed.
My pillow begins to rumble against my ear, waking me up. I rub my eyes. Did I dream a real memory? Because what I just saw actually happened. It was when I was seven or eight years old and we were still staying in the country house. What would you call that? A camouflaged memory or something? And why am I supposed to just dream it? Whatever it was, it was weird and unusual.
I separate my head from the pillow that won't stop vibrating in an unpleasant way and I bring my hand under it, taking my damn cell phone. 07:03 AM What kind of moronic maniac would wake me up at this time? I laugh at myself when I change my mind so quickly about the sender of that message after reading the contact's name and I leave the bed with all the laziness in the world. A little water on my face seems to wake me up a bit. I go back to the room, putting on a white robe over my pajamas and I reread her message for the last time, leaving the room: "I'm about to go sleepy, will you come down?"
If they told me that the house is an abandoned mansion, I would believe it, because it seems as if there is not a living soul staying here due to the permanent silence of the corridors, although that climate is ruined when I pass through my brother's room and the sound of his snoring reaches my ears. If so now, I don't even want to think about what it will be like in old age. I make a grimace of disgust imagining him ugly and wrinkled and walking downstairs trying to keep quiet.
I head for the back door at lightning speed, unaware if the maid is around or not. The truth is that at this moment I am not interested. I yank the door open and, just like the other time, the icy breeze coming from outside seems to freeze me alive. I sigh, rubbing my arms and a wisp of white smoke comes out of my mouth, drawing before my eyes above the white snow that covers the garden.
I am relieved to turn my face and meet his only inches away, thinking that I will no longer have to walk.
May: Good morning.
I say leaning my left shoulder against the wall.
Samuel: Don't you want us to go in? (Touches my cheek) You're freezing.
May: No, they are going to see us. I'm fine.
Samuel (nods): Whatever.
She exclaims, sticking her back to the wall and then I see that her blue bag is lying on the ground, next to her feet.
May: And how are you going to go?
Samuel: I'm going to the end of long-distance buses from here and buy a ticket (sighs). I just hope it's quick.
I watch him when he speaks, while his eyes remain fixed on the garden that narrows before us. He wears the same black pants from yesterday, except now accompanied by a white pullover with red and black stripes, covered by a dark leather jacket. A gray wool hat covers her head, although her hair sticks out from the edges of it, exposing much of her tousled brown bangs. I imagine him like that in the terminal, sitting on one of those uncomfortable and rigid metal benches, waiting endless hours for a trip that will take many more. I let out a sigh.
May: I'm going to get something.
I say, turning around, but he grabs my arm.
Samuel: No, stop. I have to...
May (I interrupt): It's a second, wait for me.
I respond and then open the door, ignoring him and bolt upstairs to my father's room.