Wanting to Stay

As she ate her first- and probably last- traditional Chocorramo chocolate covered vanilla cake of the year, she tried very hard to focus on the delicious flavors of such a wonderful invention, attempting to ignore her feeling of absurd emptiness. She even sought comfort in observing the children half playing half fighting in the waiting room of the airport-the one closest to her hometown. But, having failed at both endeavors, her last resource was to concentrate on her new book. Unsuccessful at that as well, she allowed herself to delightfully listen to as many regional accents as she could grasp (and take into her heart) in the few minutes she had left before boarding the plane.

Inside the aircraft she felt strong, safe; she was now absolutely convinced she could leave this time around without making a scene. After all, airplanes are neutral territory since they all smell and look the same and don’t really remind anybody of a place in particular. Her confidence in her drama-free departure lasted for about two and a half minutes when the newly installed personal televisions automatically turned on to what? No, no the safety flight instructions ladies and gentleman. The TV right in front of her, the same one she could not turn off, made sure to remind her very clearly through a well thought out national pride and tourism campaign that she was leaving the land where "dolphins look like they have been painted by children," where you can live in eternal Spring, where magical cities look like a movie scene, and where the only risk people face is wanting to stay.

She began to fall apart from the moment she saw the first image of the incredible pink dolphins, the colorful flowers, the amazing architecture, and the beaches she never gets tired of visiting. And, let’s don’t forget here the campaign’s soundtrack elegantly reminding her of her adventurous and happy childhood years learning to sing and play all the traditional tunes... She could not control her emotions anymore, throat closing, eyes watering, TV on- there was no escape at this point. And right there, only half a second before the army of tears began its steep descending course, a little girl in purple shirt, skirt, sandals, and nail polish sat next to her and asked:

Little girl- Why did the atoms say goodbye?

She- why?

Little girl- Cause it was time to split!

She laughed pretty loudly, and then smiled at the little girl making sure to save this magical scene in her imaginary memories box.

Now sitting on the New York City Subway Transport System she,once again, attempted to focus on her book, finishing the story she never really paid attention to at the airport that day. The story narrated how the main character had gone out fishing early that morning with his dad, as usual. However, this time around, the dad inhabited a green and silver Thermo bottle, or rather, his ashes populated that container. She cried, and quickly wiped her tears hoping nobody had seen her. Then she allowed herself to pleasantly pay attention to all the languages being spoken around her, making sure to deposit in her heart all the wonderful as well as the interesting sounds before boarding the plane that every year takes her to that place where dolphins are pink, and she eats her first- and probably last- Chocorramo of the year.

Released on Probation with Voluntary Surrender

Sooner or later Rebecca was going to get attacked in that elevator. She just knew it. She got in - unusually early that day after leaving work at 3pm to meet an old lover. The elevator: empty. Then, four floors down, the unwanted stop on the sixteen floor occurred. He got in, about 5’11,’’ 180 pounds, and very built. His hands presented two visible scars, and looked pretty bit up. Rebecca unconsciously reacted by immediately moving to the back of the tiny and half-elegantly decorated Federal Probation Office 1920s wooden elevator. I say half elegantly decorated because the ‘modernizers’ of the lift had done a tremendously awful job at mixing metal and wood in that vertical transport system. Her breathing pattern had gotten slightly altered - she unpleasantly noticed.

‘I cannot believe it,’ she said to herself. ‘Why do I have to ride the same elevator as all the offenders that are currently under Federal Probation?? I mean, this job- come to think about it- should at least pay me more, considering the risk. Thankfully I learned Spanish back in high school. At least I will know what he is planning...”

The elevator ride turned out to be as intense as trying to decipher why loving someone can, sometimes, be completely unpostponable, volcanic, and unfeasible all at once. Each fourteen-second stop on every floor felt like an abysm. He, little by little, stepped back closer to her, head down and constantly moving his hand in and out of his right pocket. Then, his wrist began hitting the left wall, three times exactly. His puffy winter coat almost touched Rebecca’s left arm at this point. She was very nervous, still pretending not to have noticed his odd behavior while in reality closely and anxiously following his every move. Exactly two milliseconds before his wrist hit the wall for the fourth time- she will never forget- he quickly and aggressively turned around, and said to her in perfect English: “You look exactly like my daughter would have looked at your age.”

Rebecca’s system froze. Her brain tried to process the incident, but her soul wouldn’t let her. Instead, she leaned against the back of the elevator while its doors slowly closed making that particular ‘we may break this time’ sound. And there she stood, completely alone, with no ammunition to understand what had just happened, with no direction whatsoever, her mind completely detached from her body, somewhat paralyzed, and definitely not ready to leave. Ironically, Rebecca had just experienced what ‘offenders’ feel when released on probation with voluntary surrender.