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At the hour number nine on a random november night on two thousand eight. On the way home during two long hours of travel. Two long and horrible hours which are being to me as an actual hell.It is funny, because what my parents inculcated to me as a hell is more like I recall from the great Virgil in his “Eneida”, or Dante Alighieri if you prefer the later modifications. Just like that, full of fire everywhere and plenty of teardrops of the condemned souls begging redemption with their screams.
By the way, it also makes me think the evilness can lodge itself in any place with any unearthly form. Nevertheless, if you let me stop divagating and center in the core issue; I don´t see nothing…
Behind the fast movements of my wipers I discern a traffic signal that informs me that, I am still seventy kilometers away from home. Seventy kilometers surrounded by water. It is raining devilishly, so much that the hits of the gouts against my car´s
bodywork barely let me hear the annoying sound from the engine. A can of beer partially drinked in the coaster, a cigarette glowing and being exhausted in the ashtray. The radio, which normally is illuminated and ordering the speakers to spit
music, turned off.
-¡Oh my god!- If the police catch me now, you not even wonder the face they could
show if they see me in that condition.
I am frightfully drunk, with my clothes dirty by mud, for days grown whiskers, and my face; ¡¿What could I say of my face?! Sincerely, seems to be pathetic, but I could not
know how to say to you what is oppressing me the most; If it is the unceasing downpour outside, or the legion of teardrops sprinting on my face. I am crying, and wasted also.
I broke up with her. After a stoutly fight which became into the bad ending, I have got
to run and take the most distressful determination that anyone can take when is in love with someone. The determination of leave behind a person who is loved by you, because you can not stand anymore, because she is harming you, and you now that, if you don`t do something about, you might reach the death.
The path is becoming really lengthy, like a procession in which no one can turn the street and stop to get something to drink, or like an unsmokable movie which you must do a summary. I already know it was my ruling, but I had no choice and now I have to keep on moving until being far away enough to not go back in the first
hypothetical call. Notwithstanding, I would turn back now.
The truth is evident. If the phone would ring at this moment, I surely pick it up. It is not even turned off, not even laid on the ground. It is enclosed by my legs with the screen aiming to my chin, like if I was waiting for her, and wishing to hear her voice again.
¿How can I be acting like that, even knowing within that I don`t want to know nothing more about her? It might be the love that, as the hell does, also disguises itself and,
therefore, confuses.
My cellphone is ringing and it`s screen illuminates. ¿Why am I looking down? Something blinds me. Suddenly I stop hearing the rain and both, silence and brightness become perturbing. But is just one second…
Everything stops with an obstreperous collision. The car`s bodywork has changed the drop symphony to an offensive and rotund sound. Now I am feeling the rain wetting me while it comes into my car trough the place when it was a window before. This is too painful, but in my body I don´t feel any pain at all. My phone´s screen is the only thing that is still shining, and I see her name in it. It is her.
-Sorry, I will not pick up the phone, but I love you a lot. Goodbye…-
"Carlos Conde"
Comments (7)
Nevertheless, the very american Michael Bolton set everything right where it should be : "When a man loves a woman..."