I always had trouble falling asleep because of the very humidity that this city of thieves radiated. The nights were always dark and stingy with those who barely knew it was midnight, it was this that drove them to insanity after every day of silence to tell them and remind them of those words and memories that cocked their heads so much. That was how my mother reached madness without my realizing it.
The first phase was acceptance. After informing her that she had been put in charge of four more projects, without my mom being able to object, there were more folders that she began to carry. In the house there began to be more papers with tables titled "Budget" and "Market Research Results", mugs with an abstract shape of an animal at the bottom, and blue and black pens that were magical because they never ran out of ink.
My mother had become a "maquinita". She worked and melted into her own world to finish her worksheets and fill in boxes. Everything was going perfectly according to her schedule until, after so many days of early mornings, sleep overcame her sense of responsibility and she lost a whole day's sleep due to mental exhaustion. That's how everything collapsed.
Thus began the desperation phase as she turned to Vodka to heal her sorrows and stress because her work was no longer something she wanted to do, it was something she had to do. She stopped saying me "Good morning, Ni" or "Sweet dreams". Everything was a "ya" "it's ok", "yeah yeah". If once four people had lived in the house, now it felt like only three since one had isolated herself in her own corner in order to survive the crushing pressure.
Those three people were my grandfather, grandmother and I. We were like little confidants who told each other secrets and laughed in the dark so as not to wake the others. It was between those that my grandmother began to tell me stories.
"It's late, go, go to sleep. " she would tell me as she pushed me to my bed.
"Ma, go on then"
"Nothing, nothing. Go to sleep, miss."
However, I always managed to convince her to stay by my side. The ritual was simple. I would melt into the sheets until my nose was covered, my grandmother would run an egg over my face, cross me over, and begin to tell her stories.
"What story will you tell me today, Ma?"
"Hmm...a new one, it's called Splinter and Knife."
" That's a title you just made up, isn't it?"
"Maybe it is."
"And how does it begin?"
"Once upon a time... "
My grandmother had a peculiar way of telling stories. She always liked to start in medias res. She never introduced the characters, she simply went straight to the problem and then contextualized it to give it a twist and an ending that was usually sad and made me feel bad.
"And they lived happily ever after. Now, now, go to sleep. "
"But... "
"Nothing, nothing. "
She always told me a story. She didn't wait for me to fall asleep, she waited for me to finish the story. Then she'd go away and close the door, leaving a small light that always bothered my eyes. Without being able to help it, every night I approached that little light to see what was going on, but that night was a fatal mistake.
"Hija, it's already late. You can finish it in your office..."
"No, Ma. I have to finish it."
"Stubborn, stubborn, you will be."
"Stubborn I'll be then. Did Niss fall asleep?"
"Yes," my grandmother answered dryly. I could tell she was angry."
"You got angry, don't lie."
Little by little the conversation was getting darker (or maybe it was my eyesight getting used to the strength of the white light). My grandmother was shouting and so was my mother. At one point I could not understand the words of any of them because they spoke like a chorus at the wrong time. It was total chaos.
- You don't understand! I took on this responsibility, I have to fulfill it, it's my duty. Besides, I will earn money, it will help us. You too, with your business.
- Business doesn't matter! Your health! Your health comes first! Do you have wax in your ears? Have you seen yourself in the mirror, confianzuda?
It should be noted that this was not the first fight. It was possibly the tenth of the month. I wish I had had more physical and mental strength to be able to interfere in this discussion. However, I barely understood half of what they were saying. What could I have said?
After that, I am left with only fuzzy memories of how I stayed up late watching TV while waiting for dawn to break and understanding my mother's pain (which is why my grades dropped).
Besides, of course, my grandmother's stories. How do I remember them? The answer is simple, she was diagnosed with Alzheimer's after the age of 72. That in itself says a lot.
The same stories over and over again, the same ending. They changed a few words, but the story was the same. Did I tell you that I was repeating the story? No. I was still interested to know if I would end it differently, even though I knew that wouldn't happen.
But just as all her stories came to an end, so did the times of telling me stories at night.
My mother discovered love, and I was just coming of age, but not money. So the only option was to move in with her.
Leaving behind all those stories my grandmother used to tell me.
Note: Nisse was taken to the hospital due to the impact of the blow. There were no injuries. C.E.N.T.R.R.A.L. is waiting for her to recover, as well as Mr. Ramirez and Miss James.