*** I wake up with a headache and my eyes can’t seem to open. I wait to hear the usual sound of loud birds that woke me up every morning in my old house. But everything is quiet except for a gentle drone of voices coming from the living room. I’m completely disoriented and desperately want to go back to sleep, but the bright mid morning sunlight glares at me through the YKPFQY HQTEKPI OG VQ ſPCNN[ QRGP O[ G[GU In the living room, Mum’s looking through our stuff while Matias lies on the leather couch drinking a yogurt, all the while asking a torrent of questions about our journey and whether or not this is going to be our new home. His little seven year old mind seems to struggle with the situation he’s trying to make sense of. I wonder if he realizes this isn’t a trip. We’re not going back. The thought makes me feel a bit sick. A sizzling sound is a welcome distraction coming from the kitchen. Dad’s making breakfast. I’m told to set the table, and I begin to hunt VJTQWIJ VJG MKVEJGP VT[KPI VQ ſPF VJG RNCVGU +V feels odd, knowing that this is my house, but I have no idea where the plates are. I don’t even know what they look like. We eat our scrambled eggs on the crystal plates through which I can see the tropical design of
the tablecloth. The plastic sticks to my forearms so much that I have to put a napkin under my skin. The cutlery feels big and clunky in my JCPFU CPF VJG ƀCXQT QH VJG QTCPIG LWKEG KU DKVter and commercial. I suddenly remember how only a week ago, I woke up at my grandparents’ house to a glass of freshly squeezed orange juice. I wonder if the shops in this place will UGNN DKI QTCPIGU VJG MKPF VJCV FQP V ſV KP [QWT hands and that are bright orange and green; the kind that get sticky with sugary juice when you squeeze them; the kind that are so sweet, my mother would give it to me cut in quarters and chilled on a hot day. *** It’s a hot morning and I realize that the pretty, ƀQY[ NQPI UNGGXGF UJKTV + IQV HQT O[ DKTVJFC[ was the wrong choice for today. The synthetic material rubs against my skin, and sitting by the minuscule balcony on the faux leather sofa, I wonder if this is what living in Europe is like. Is it all minuscule apartments and unbearably hot days? Perhaps it's expensive ham wrapped in paper packages and bitter commercial orange juice? Someone rings the doorbell and I’m startled out of my reverie. A blond woman with tightly coiled hair is standing in the doorway. I shyly say hello, and tell her my family’s still getting ready. Her accent is sharp, and it reminds me of the movies I’ve watched set in Spain. In fact, this is what I thought everyone would sound like, but no one had that accent when they spoke to us yesterday. Once again, I feel disoriented. She introduces herself, and tells me her name. It’s Soledad, loneliness in Spanish, but she wants me to call her Sole. I tell her my name, and then sit back down on the couch, not knowing what else to say. She smiles an easy smile, not at all
34 * tribuna marzo 2020 iG.indd 34
17/03/20 9:52 a.m.
