I was curious about him, not only because he was cute but because he was different. I wanted to sit next to him, calm him down, touch his hair, his face, his arms, wonder what he could hear inside. I was flattered by his attention. That was me, flirting, in love, at six years old, walking around the magical worlds that I had created in my head with the soundtrack of my first cassette: “Boca Rosa” by Angela Carrasco.
that I had already read all my academic books for the year before the first day at school, I only had to focus on learning the multiplication tables, designing dresses and houses, and “making money”. Yes, money. During our break, I would open my lunch box as soon as I stepped out of the classroom, devour my cookies and drink…show more content… I would feel, see, hear, smell, taste, breathe fear in my anxious heart. If I watched a TV show with the dramatization of any famous local ghost stories, I’d feel the long nails of the ghost touching my back under the sheets at night. My mom would teach at university during evenings and I wouldn’t be in peace until she would come back. I would wait for her lying on the living room couch, while creating the worst scenarios: Maybe her car got stolen? Maybe she was assaulted? What if they stabbed her? My little sister would ask me to leave the room when they were watching shows such as 911 Rescue, because then I wasn’t going to let her sleep that night. If my crying baby cousin was having any reaction to vaccines, and I’d heard his tongue was purple, I’d start vomiting convinced that he was dying. I had nightmares about being followed, about being naked in public. If I didn’t like one person, I would dream in a room with twins of them. Every tragic story that I’d hear in the news or real life, I would relive in my mind and dreams, only changing the subjects to my loved ones and me. I was afraid of danger, of pain, of loss. A sense of foreboding invaded me often. After many…show more content… So I had to look elsewhere. I’d find something to buy every day in order to spy the cute-but-nerdy guy attending the paper store a block away from my house. I’d lend cash and buy tickets for parties that I could never attend from that blonde Dominican-Spaniard guy at my English school in exchange of his phone number to soon realize he only wanted my money. I’d flirt with the ugly ones just for the sake of it and training. One time, I set up a Secret Santa. The slip of paper with the name of the guy that I liked never went in the little brown bag were girls were picking from. And for him, I had a treat before my sweet and thoughtful gifts: He picked his recipient from a special little brown bag where every slip of paper said “Laura”. His lack of excitement, cold reaction, and following careless gifts didn’t affect me. I was
