Daydreaming

It happens more often now; while I am driving, during meetings at work, waiting in line at the cash register in the supermarket… pretty much everywhere and all the time. I daydreamingfantasize about the possibility of a life that’s certainly not mine, but it looks exactly as I wish it could be. It did not bother me at first, but now I am a little concern. For the most part of my adulthood I was a charismatic type of guy. The kind that would talk to strangers on the street for no reason, very extroverted and even funny, as I recall some people call me. That’s not me anymore. I have changed for worse I guess. Since this new dreamy character took over, I spend most of my day in silence, sort of gone, living in a different reality; the desired truth. The biggest problem right now is that I am not sure I see this as a problem at all. I really like my alternative reality. In this world waking up in the morning makes sense. The best I can describe it is comparing it to when I was a kid and we gather (girls and boys of the same age) by the little park in front of the building we used to live to run around. We used to take turns in the role play of life pretending to be doctors and lawyers and politicians running for president. This new person I became is like a copy of that boy that played games back then with the only difference that now I am playing all alone.

It happens more often now; I fantasize about the possibility of a life that’s certainly not mine, but it looks exactly as I wish it could be.

 

Círculos

 

Papalote y HombreAyer en la tarde cayó desplomado un papalote en el patio trasero de la casa. Me encontraba en la cocina mirando a través de la ventana cuando lo vi pasar. Enredado entre las matas de rosas lo encontré; intacto y sin siquiera un rasguño en el suave papel rojo intenso. Por dos horas esperé  sentado en la terraza con la esperanza de ver llegar un niño en su reclamo. Nadie apareció. Hoy me desperté temprano y fui hasta el parque. Pregunté a los muchachos de las patinetas y las canicas si sabían de alguien que hubiera perdido su papalote. Nadie me supo decir. Caminé un poco más adentrándome en la ciudad hasta el jardín donde se sientan los ancianos. “Aquí no empinan papalotes porque hay muchos cables” me dijeron señalando a los postes de electricidad y seguí caminando. Recordé entonces que tres cuadras más adelante había un placer vacío donde a veces jugaban pelota los chicos de la secundaria. Pero no había nadie. De camino a casa entré por casa de Manolo, un buen amigo de la adolescencia que ya estaba retirado y pasaba todo el día ahora sentado en el portal tomando fresco. “Préstame tu carrete de hilo de pescar” le dije desde la acera. “¿Eh y eso? En esta época no pica nada en el río” me contestó sin vacilar. “No, si no pienso pescar… hoy vamos a empinar papalote.”