alone

 

19 de octubre, 2024

I.                Sometimes, it is hard for me to start writing. I don’t have any particular direction in mind, but now feels like the moment to put pen to paper. I sought refuge from the rain in this large and inviting café in a shopping center located on the edge of Ciudad Vieja. It is well lit and spacious with a small tree in the center. The chairs and tables are a mix of greens, oranges and warm colored woods. I drink my hot chocolate in peace as I read my book and watch the baristas make drinks, prep sandwiches and heat up tamales. My feet feel more tired than I think they should and eying the road, I brace myself for the last little bit of my stroll.

II.              A small girl throws her small ball into the empty fountain near the church. She climbs in, grabs it, and gracefully hoists herself up and out of the red basin. She runs away and then rushes back, giggling alongside her friend. They toss jackets and the ball back in and follow their belongings. It seems they have found the ideal place to play—their whispers echo as the plastic ball bounces around, sonorous sounds floating in the air the way a trickling fountain might. They are absorbed in themselves, in their play, in their joy.

¨Patojas!”

Their mothers call. Out they go, wandering away, done with their shenanigans for the day.