That night, with Mel sleeping soundly next to her, Lilia didn't sleep at all. She was too focused on the details she knew about the girl from the emails to sleep. Through her mind were passing mentions that she had made to her life and that kept her awake. She wanted to know more because what she already had she knew by heart. And she resented not having new parts to go along with. She knew that she lived with her parents, that she had an older brother, Zigor, whose name came from Basque history, due to his descendants, and that he had moved to another city to study something. She didn't quite remember what, but he did like it a lot. She also knew that they had a furry cat that was always with her, even when she wrote what she later received.
She had cut her hair, but she didn't like the way she looked. She also said that she liked to go for ice cream at the central city ice cream parlor with her friends. That she cost him literature but that she loved math, and she was deciding whether to study economics or engineering. Her life seemed so different from his, so distant. From what she had narrated, she was about ten years younger than her, but somehow Lilia felt very aware and attentive to everything she could tell her.
Trying to move the least, without waking Mel, Lilia took the laptop out from under the bed and turned it on to go directly to her emails, which she had saved as favorites, and there they were all. She rummaged one by one, reading them again.
The day she went to the beach with her brother who had been visiting. The day she decided to write to the mystery boy, whose name she never mentioned, and that he replied to her message. The day she took a test, she had to take a test on the subject. When she argued with her mother because she didn't like him wearing clothes that were too short. The day she discovered that she liked to swim and feel free underwater. Like a fish, aimlessly, without limits, only the water in its splendor and the complete freedom of it.
Until she found what she was looking for. A reference, The Will Thomas Cruz School, which she and her brother attended, and that her parents had also attended, and that, she said, her children would probably also attend. Lilia wondered if it was the only school in the place, as that might help.
She wasn't quite sure what she was doing when she copied the school's name and pasted it into google. Instantly a range of possibilities opened before her eyes. There were many Will Thomas Cruz schools, and their variants, in different parts of the country. I would need more references.
Undaunted, she opened the mail tab again in the mailbox and returned to her reading, paying attention to any little detail that could serve as a reference. Name of streets, the name of the ice cream parlor that unfortunately he never mentioned, the Brother's Institute ... But it was not until the sun came out, filtering its rays through the curtain of the room that he found something valuable, which he had already read thousands of times before but that he had not realized. Lake Millan, where Lilia used to go camping as a girl with her father and her brother, and which was minutes from her house. She also revealed that when she missed her brother too much or when she argued with her father she would go to that place, just to recline on the grass and look at the sky.
Lilia crossed the name of the lake with the College and got the same result in all the entries that appeared. Michellan. A small northern town, with few inhabitants, but very picturesque, against a fairly large river that many families used to fish and survive. It was not far, it was not a big city, there were thousands of possibilities that the email of that girl with the same name as hers fell into her email box, and yet she had. She was not sure if it was due to chance or if fate, the universe, or some supernatural star was planning something, but when she visualized the place she was sure of something. She had to go.
She looked at the photos of Michellan, trying to imagine fifteen-year-old Lilia walking down those streets, smiling with her friends and her family. She looked at the houses in the photos as if with the naked eye she could discover which was hers. But then a negative thought invaded her mind. She was aware that having stopped receiving the emails did not mean exactly what was wrong but could be many things, such as that she no longer wanted to write an electronic diary. That she was entertained with other things, that her computer had broken, that she was too busy. That she was having a real-life, and she didn't have to write it so that another lifeless person could enjoy it. But before all the possible explanations were more than true and probably correct, there was something that did not let her be calm. The last letter from her did not seem to be the last, but the precedent to many others. If she was starting something with that boy, something told her that when she got back from that meeting, the first thing she was going to do was write to tell and organize her thoughts regarding what she felt about him and how it had been. everything. That was why she wrote, to organize her ideas and put on paper what she could not say or explain clearly. But she hadn't. Why?
Something was wrong, Lilia could feel it almost the way she felt her sister's breath against her neck. She had to go find her. She now knew where she lived, at least the city. She could ask or just listen, evaluate. She wasn't going to say or do anything. She was just going to investigate and find out that she was okay so she could go back ...
— what are you doing? — Mel asked suddenly, and to her surprise, Lilia hurriedly closed the laptop.
— Mel! You scared me, I almost died! She — she complained, and she added when she saw her angry expression on her. — Nothing — she answered already, beginning to put the laptop under the bed again and then cover herself up to her head with the blankets.
— You were looking at something,— she affirmed with conviction.
— Can't I look at anything now? — She asked, trying to control her voice, but slightly angry with her accusing tone. Lately, she felt that everyone was attentive to all of her actions as if suddenly she was not 25 years old, but 15 again.
— It's not that ...— she started, but she stopped as she sat on the bed. — We're going down for breakfast, today you're going to work and in the afternoon you have a psychologist,— she declared, already holding Lilia's hands between hers, forcing her to get out of bed.
— Ahh,— the girl claimed, she hadn't actually slept at all at night and she wanted nothing more than to stay in bed for the rest of the morning to catch up with the sleep she was beginning to feel. — What if we stay a few more minutes? In honor of the old days, just staring at the ceiling and philosophizing about her life — she tried, trying, in vain, to free her hands from her sister's clutches.
— Not! — She yelled at the other but unable to help but smile. — We have to go to work, we spend the weekend looking at the ceiling and if you want I can accompany you to the beach — she commented and that made the aforementioned sit on the bed.
— Are you talking seriously? — Lilia asked with emotion in her tone.
— A lot — she answered standing on the edge of the bed, looking at her, with a slight smile on her face. — But you have to go to work for the rest of this week.
Lilia made a face. That was a low blow. She knew very well how hard it was for him to get out of the house, talk to people, be somewhere other than her room, and how hard it was for him to return to a work routine with so little time since the accident. She seemed a little brusque on the part of her demanding that but she didn't say anything, she just nodded silently. She got out of bed, only to get away from her judging gaze.
When she went down to breakfast Veronika and Mel were already sitting around the table, facing her coffee cups, and there was a place prepared for her. Lilia walked over to him and dropped into her seat.
— I'll take you to work, will you? — Mel asked, and although it was formulated as a question, Lilia was sure that she was not. Somehow it seemed like she was trying to make sure she got to work.
— Good — she returned without much encouragement.
She didn't feel like going, she didn't feel like leaving the house or doing anything. She missed the life she should be having, or the motive that moved her to move on.
But she didn't say any of that, she swallowed it along with the toast she was eating. There was no point in her telling them something they already knew but were trying so hard to forget. It seemed that they had decided to ignore what had happened to him. She couldn't judge them; It is curious how we cannot understand the pain of the other, no matter how much they explain to us. It will always be his pain, not ours. And words are not enough to describe it; the other person will never feel what one feels.
So she changed her clothes, she loaded some things into a purse and went to the car where Mel was already waiting for her.
— Are you ready? — She asked. Lilia realized that her emotion was not needed, her sister was already excited enough for both of them.
— I am — she answered then without much return. She didn't know what exactly she meant by her question, and she wasn't interested either. She felt that she would not leave her alone until she did a couple of normal things, and she was determined to regain a life that she had already lost.
But tonight she would go to see the moon, even if she had to escape through the bathroom banner. So much acting she had to have a payoff.
She arrived at work on time, but some colleagues were observing her in a strange way as if her presence was totally unthinkable. The way she stared at her and looked down at the second of her reminded him of when he rejoined after the accident. That day Mr. James called her into her office and told her that she did not need to reintegrate yet, that she could take a few days off and come back when she felt good, or come when she wanted. That was a relief, it was so shortly after the accident that she did not feel ready to return to the routine, and even less to work. So she gladly accepted her suggestion. And in the few days that she had come to work afterward, everyone had welcomed her and supported her. No one mentioned the accident or Ian. But now everyone was watching her, even whispering about her behind her back.
The second she stepped foot from there she wanted to leave, and I loathe her mother and her sister for putting her through it.
— Darling, how are you? — Diana, Mr. James's wife left her in the middle of the walk to the lobbies where they usually changed into her uniform. It was a short journey, no more than ten steps, but now they seemed eternal to Lilia and she almost thanked the woman for showing up.
—Good, — she returned with what she intended to be a friendly smile. She wanted to tell him something about the job, like that she was happy to come back, or that she was eager to do it, but none of that was true, so she kept quiet.
— How glad I am that you are better. It was difficult but it was necessary to overcome it — at her words, Lilia raised her face to look at her and opened her mouth in disbelief. What happened to everyone? Is it that the loss of anyone is no longer respected, or that the bride is exempt from pain? Is there a time limit in which you can be upset and cry for someone? She apparently was surrounded by people who thought so, and that limit was less than two months.
As soon as she heard it she wanted to leave. Rollover on her heel and leave her talking to herself. But she was holding her, very kindly she had passed a hand over Lilia's back and was holding her with her claws.
— James wants to see you in her office,— she said softly as if it were a real secret, but from the way everyone was looking at them, it seemed that the last to know was her.
— Well, I'm going to change and…— She tried to get away from her hand but all she managed was for him to wrap his other arm around her and guide her down the hall, with no possibility of refusing.
— You better go now. Later he will take care of her — he almost dragged her to the place where James spent most of his time and even hit her, as if he could not do it and left, but not before giving her a fake smile.
Lilia gave him a grimace, which she even cared for was a smile. It was a grimace of disgust, and she didn't care if she bothered him or not.
When Mr. James authorized Lilia to enter the place, she was still as is the last time. A brown desk with a computer on top, a couple of tacky paintings on the wall, a shelf of books that she was almost certainly no one had ever read, and a black sofa that had been there longer than she had on earth.
— I wanted to, Lilia! Good that you are well! — Her enthusiasm seemed false — We were all very worried, they have been having hard months and your parents were very bad — She commented as she took clumsy and insecure steps inside. With each word that came out of her mouth, the desire to leave that place increased in absurd amounts. When she stood next to her desk her whole body was screaming at him to leave and her mind was spinning. Why wasn't she in bed?
— It was… difficult,— she replied without any conviction, not because they hadn't been. But because she wasn't sure she wanted to share them with him. Her pain was so deep and personal, her family didn't understand it, how could a stranger do it? How could she tell this person how much he had hurt and how much she still hurt to have lost the love of her life? What did he know about love? Or even loss? She suddenly felt a growing and deafening hatred for him, and for his parents, and for his sister. They all insisted on wanting to get her out of the hole in which she had gotten, as a safe place, as punishment, and as a consequence of the loss of her. But what did they all know about losing someone? What did they know about loving and being loved? What did they know about feeling and having someone, having plans and projects, having a life next to someone, having that person and instantly, not having it anymore? What did they all know about what she knew? She wanted to scream, she wanted to scream at him, but she didn't do anything. She took a deep breath and relaxed her shoulders.
— I get it, dear, it must have been awful.— The good thing is that we must always walk forward — he smiled pleased with her metaphor, and Lilia returned the gesture when inside she screamed What is that supposed to mean?
— But unfortunately, I have no good news. You have been absent from work a lot and we had to call a new girl, Aylen, she is a sweetheart. You sure do like him. — A grimace formed on her face, not for the girl, but for being replaced. At first, she had told him that she could take her time, and later she says that she found someone else to put in her place.
— You see, I can't tell her to leave, she has done a lot and I know you want the position … — she continued, misinterpreting Lilia's silence.
— No,— she interrupted, and that was the first moment in the day that she spoke what she felt and what she wanted, not based on what she was supposed to say.
— How? — He asked, very seriously, stopped his monologue.
— I don't want the position. I don't want to work in a place where the pain of others is not respected. Where death is treated with total contempt. Ian didn't go on a trip, Ian died, he's not coming back. And I can walk forward but he will continue without being. And you — he made a gesture towards him and all the people outside that glass room who were sneaking their eyes on them, — or this job is going to make me forget about that. He — He released everything that he had choked in his throat since he stepped foot in that place.
— But I wanted to, time passed and you weren't coming ... — he tried, with his best face of confusion
— It's been two months! — Lilia yelled indignantly.
— T-two months? — He stuttered, and he watched her as if a second head had sprung up.
She looked at him just as open-mouthed. She adjusted the backpack on her shoulder. She was going to leave and she was going to leave him talking to himself. She couldn't stand another minute breathing the same air as such a cold and mean person. That he will miss work for a few days because someone had died, that he put some things aside while he tried to recover after an accident ... nothing mattered to them.
— Lilia, it's been seven months.— I heard him as he was turning to leave, and he stopped in his tracks, staring at the white door and the clock hanging on the wall. It was 9:47 in the morning. Veronika would be at work, giving piano lessons to some hyper-energetic children, Roberto in the office, facing the computer while he counted the hours to go home, and Mel facing some architectural drawing trying to fix a non-existent defect. Everyone had gone on with her life while he had stopped, but oddly everything kept happening. Two months ago she had the accident and sometimes she felt like it was two years ago, and other times two days. Time had become relative but she knew he was lying. He could only be lying, to deceive her.
— In your account, there is already the deposit of everything that belongs to you. I even put the vacation pay so you can do something ... — She didn't let him finish, she turned a second to see him before leaving.
— You're lying,— he snapped in a high and good tone. She was lying and he knew. Nothing else interested him.
Lilia left that place floating on a cloud, but not as a good thing. It was not a cloud of love, but a cloud of bewilderment and uncertainty. The voice of her now former boss echoed in her mind. Suddenly time had slowed down, and things were happening differently around her. She saw how everyone was watching her, she saw her faces but they didn't seem to make sense. She clumsily walked to the exit and opened the glass door. I don't know what she expected to find outside, but it sure wasn't the sun shining like welcoming her to a new life. Nor was it the group of people who walked and chatted among themselves, realizing his ignorance of her discomfort and pain.
She held back tears as she walked a couple of blocks. Two? Five? Twenty? She had no idea how many, or how long it was before she leaned against a wall and closed her eyes. She looked for him in his memories and tried to find just the last smile of him, when they were in the car when that lantern illuminated them from the side, and she saw him for the last time. It had been such a short time and she felt it like a century ago, and sometimes like yesterday. It hurt so bad it might as well have been today.
She took a deep breath and kept walking. He had to get home, take refuge in the room, and hide from everyone and everything. And when he was finally in front of his house, he faced the front door with disinterest. He looked for the key in his wallet and entered without care, ignoring the other rooms and walking straight to his room, but when he entered the first thing he saw was a mural that he still owned with photos of the two of them. He was everywhere, and yet he was no more. It was so ironic that he was still alive in the memories of him, in the apologies and excuses of others, but that he himself was no longer there.
He approached the mural with hatred and took out everything that was there, he made it fly away across the room, if he had to leave, let him really leave, let him leave completely, completely, without leaving a trace, without leaving her behind. her. He also threw the clothes from the wardrobe, more than one, almost all of which reminded him of moments they had had together. The shirt he was wearing the first time they went out, the cowboy who got wine-stained, the diver who had his perfume on, the scarf he liked to wear. He was everywhere. He tossed the blankets off the bed because now they didn't seem to have the security of this morning. He was about to throw the laptop away when he remembered something. The only thing that he wasn't tied to Ian and that was his own. That he hadn't shared with anyone and that he hadn't tainted himself with the memories of him. The emails he received from the girl Lilia, her story, her life, which had nothing to do with his.
He needed to find her.
Make sure it was okay.
See what had a life.
He had to look for that girl to find himself.