"Cry hydrates the eyes"
But what kind of normal person tells the first time that crying hydrates the eyes? Yes, nobody. Nobody except him, of course.
I don't say anything, I just limit myself to cleaning my face and leaving it without a trace of the water from the supposed hydration that he made inside my eye.
But what hydration do they need if I hydrate them very often?
"Look, I know I don't know you at all, and I also have no idea how heavy your bag is, but if you'll allow me, I'm willing to help you with the weight to make the road lighter." He says, and he offers me his hand to get me up from the dirty and cold tile.
I don't know why he said that, but I do know what he's talking about. But my big question is, how does someone who does not know you want to take on the job of helping in something that does not correspond to him? It is very silly of you to ask such a question, and want to commit without first seeing the content. Will I let you help me carry this large baggage; I will let there be and discover what is inside to know about what is charging? Will he regret on the way for carrying something that was not his responsibility? His offering is very bold and rash.
The questions are so many that I don't think someone like him is capable of existing. I refuse to believe it.
But then he is there, with the sweet and sympathetic face of him saying silly things, not mocking, and above all wanting to help even a stranger. All of that makes me question what I suppose it could be. I don't know who he is, I don't know what he wants from me, I don't know what problems or distortions he and his life will have. I don't know what he's afraid of, and I don't even know if we share the same love for piglets? But something that if I can be clear is that I do not want to know, and I do not want him to know that he is the one I carry in my luggage. It is safe.
His hand is still raised in my direction so that I took it and stood up. He took it a bit hesitantly while those beautiful Tahiti colored irises observe me trying to discover what is happening inside me, trying to want to pierce me and reach the depths of my being, his eyes are like the tide of the sea, they can give you tranquility ( but for some strange reason they also manage to disturb me), so I quickly look away; the quality and soft hand of his join with mine fitting perfectly like lost pieces of a puzzle, the touch of him is so warm that if possible I would make a blanket to keep me warm when the cold wants to destroy me. Yeah that sounded too weird, it's a relief he can't read minds, or maybe he does?
With a bit of strength and momentum in the blink of an eye, I am standing in front of him. We are a thousandth of a distance and although he takes me a few inches more, I can feel his breath and how it mixes with mine, due to inertia and protection I step back a bit, but I cannot find my purpose because the bathroom door is it opens abruptly and surprises us both.
And there in front of us is Master Harry, Jones backs up and walks away from me.
"Oh, guys, so good to see you." But what are they both doing here? He exclaims with effusive calm.
"Oh, I was washing my hands, master," he answers with a broken voice and nervousness. I understand why, being in the boys' restrooms is forbidden, and for a teacher to find you in a situation like ours (not that we have been doing something wrong, unless moisturizing the eyes and then shaking off nasal fluids, be something bad). But Professor Harry I know that he is not someone who judges at first glance, or makes wrong assumptions, he knows me, and the surest thing he thinks is that something bad happened to me. I don't ask, but I know, am I some kind of mystic being? No, none of that, simply knowing a person for almost more than 3 years makes you know on some occasions how he will think or act in certain situations. Almost no one comes to these bathrooms, so for that reason alone it has served as a refuge for a long time, and it is fortunate that it was he who entered and not the director because otherwise, we would be in big trouble.
"Have you already told him?" The professor questions, and when his gaze goes to Jones, I know that he hasn't asked me.
Jones denies and he looks at me again, and for some strange reason, I feel that they speak of me in a language of gaze that I do not know.
The teacher turns to me and says the following:
"Kamila, because you're doing a little bit bad in my classes, I thought you could use some help, you know it's your last year — pause, and no, that is not what I think it is, that it is not, please— and well, considering Jones is pretty good, I have asked him to be your class tutor and until you better stop being."
And no, I am not a good luck magnet and this is not my year. The teacher knows about my problems and he has understood me and I know that he wants to help me, but for this it is impossible, this is difficult and no, I don't want help.
So I move from My head frantically from side to side referencing that I don't agree at all. I see how Jones next to me tenses at the discomfort and the teacher with his eyes begs me not to be stubborn and accept. But no, I can't.
"I know. But understand that you need it to get into a good university, and I can't help you due to lack of time, take it or leave it. It's up to you. But before....."
I don't let it finish when I rush out of there. I run away, just as I always do when I feel in danger. Surely you should call me Kamila doesn't talk just runs away Campbell. What looks good on me, doesn't it?
I can't take it anymore, it's as if the world is coming for me, it's as if my heart wants to leave its place and my lungs no longer want the same oxygen. Not being in control of many situations of not even being able to say a single word, overwhelms me, it overwhelms me, and it is so distressing. That the best and easiest way I can find is to run away, call him a coward if you want. I do not know when it was that I arrived outside of school until I feel like the cold air seeps through my nostrils, and until that moment when I feel that I can breathe more calmly (although I feel like I ran a great marathon), is that I realize that I have left my things on the floor of the cubicle of the BOYS BATHROOM.
And, ah, blessed are you Tuesday the 12th.