Present
I still long for his pale, grayish skin, the cold and warm sensation gently touching me; his hellish eyes looking at me with tenderness, I long for each of his silences, each of his clumsy actions and innocent questions. I crave him madly, and even if it costs me a hundred lives, a thousand painful deaths, and condemnations, I will return to him. That’s all you need to know.
Thousands of papers cluttered a dimly lit, narrow room, illuminated faintly by a sunbeam that refused to set on the horizon. A beautiful and polished multicolored wooden floor adorned the space, with a canvas on the floor, delicately decorated in what would now be called Picasso's style, in the center.
The truth was that Elisa possessed great discipline and precision in her art. Her work displayed harmonious colors beautifully blended in what could only be defined as perfect: flawless technique, impeccable colors, perfect brushstrokes, and above all... devoid of soul. Yes, indeed, this was the description given by each of her teachers to her work. No matter how hard she tried, no matter the countless hours she devoted to her creations, they always lacked what everyone around her referred to as “soul.” Her art never went beyond being perfect, therefore, it was considered boring, devoid of feeling, and passion.
She didn’t understand what they meant by this, how something that consumed so much of her time, practice, and dedication could be so far from what she wanted to convey. She felt that the effort she put into each brushstroke was more than enough for others to claim that her work had no soul, “cold works,” her figurative painting instructor called them. “How can someone with so much skill be so boring at the same time?” the kind scholar from the university added, twisting the knife.
Elisa approached her most recent painting, a masterpiece that took her about three months to finish. It stood in the middle of her small studio, which also served as her refuge. The huge painting occupied 80% of the available space, and it had been that way since she started. She was sure that this perspective would be useful to break out of the routine and somehow give it a bit of “soul,” which was what everyone demanded.
Inspired by Picasso and the surrealist movement, her work seemed to depict a woman represented with cubist figures that, to the untrained eye, might seem strange and imprecise. However, an expert eye would immediately notice the meticulous work and dedication behind it. The woman in the painting had a curly and abundantly voluminous mane, just like her smile, which for some strange reason Elisa couldn’t capture naturally and elegantly. Undoubtedly, the woman in the painting had a smile that could only be called uncomfortable.
As she focused on this detail, Elisa clicked her tongue with discomfort.
“I need a better model if I want to finish this,” she grumbled, discouraged by her own ineffectiveness in capturing what she desired. She took a few steps towards her bed, avoiding the huge painting with care, and threw herself onto the soft mattress in the middle.
“At least the hair looks good,” she thought. “And the freckles around the nose and cheeks are quite close to reality... but what’s with that grimace, it’s horrible... Ugh! I have to improve it, this can’t be my final submission.”
She extended her slender, pale hand towards the small nightstand, which was tucked away between the bed and the wall like a slice of bologna between two pieces of bread. She picked up something slightly larger than her hand and brought it directly to her face.
“I really look like this,” a soft voice said.
The reflection in the small mirror magnified every detail, and the most prominent one was her enormous mouth with its refined and polished teeth.
“Yes, it’s a fact, it’s awkward,” she mumbled, burying her face in the soft bed. The self-portrait wasn’t turning out as she had hoped.
Elisa had fought with all her might to study visual arts. Her parents never accepted it, and she had to take job after job to save enough money to finally enter university. To her surprise, starting to work at the age of 16 had paid off. By the time she turned 25, she had saved enough to fulfill her dream, of course, after accumulating extensive work experience in almost any imaginable field, many of them temporary, with tedious schedules, highly exhausting tasks, and mediocre pay.
She had always lived with her parents until one day she rebelled and revealed her dream. The two caricature-like accountants by profession and heart were shocked to the point of a heart attack by this crazy decision.
“... but child, how can you think of doing that? We can’t allow you to starve for such a stupid dream,” her mother assured her, her hand tightly pressed against her chest. Elisa knew her mother’s response in advance, but she eagerly awaited her father’s. After her mother’s initial words, her ears refused to continue listening, and her pupils were fixed on the balding man with thick glasses.
“Dad... What do you think?” A sepulchral silence fell over the room.
The bespectacled man opened his thin lips.
“I’m sorry, princess, but you’re not cut out for this.” A brief pause squeezed Elisa’s heart even tighter. “Darling, throughout all these years, I’ve never seen you do anything that captivates me. I’m sorry, but your drawings are boring to me.” Tears rolled down Elisa’s pale face.
That was the last conversation she had with them. That very night, she left home and went with one of the many friends she had made over grueling days of work and unconditional favors that ultimately proved very useful.
After a couple of weeks, through a contact she had made during her years as a real estate apprentice, she secured a small space that was on sale at a laughable price in a prime location in the city, conveniently just an hour away from her university. Without thinking twice, Elisa allocated a portion of her savings to the down payment and used a loan to become the owner of the destined place. She was in debt, but happy with her newfound freedom.
She had to make a few more expenses and armed with a used mattress, an old lamp, an antique chair, and a small electric stove, she set out to organize her new life. All these items had been donated by another of her work friends who were renovating their new apartment. For Elisa, this was a miracle from heaven.
She achieved her dream, entered university, and chose an affordable one with a good reputation and excellent professors. She knew it wouldn’t be easy, but she managed to stay afloat between her part-time job and her studies. All her efforts were paying off, and one day, she finally managed to invest in a decent bed and furniture, including a small but useful laptop. So, she no longer had to go to the university or the library whenever she needed to search for something. Five years passed, and she was now at the end of her goal, just a few steps away. She had to make it.
Before snapping out of her own thoughts and the recounting of her own achievements that had led her to be there on that exact day, she only thought that...
“Today is my 30th birthday.”
She was no longer young, and if she didn’t make it now, she never would. She couldn’t keep postponing it; it was time to finish what she had started.
For a few minutes, she stared at her surroundings with hollow eyes until she got up from the bed, rearranged the lamp, and turned it on, finally taking a look at the piece in the center of her studio.
“This time I have to do it right,” she thought. She wouldn’t allow another missed opportunity.
She was no longer young; if she didn’t achieve it now, she never would. She couldn’t keep delaying it. She was an adult, a veteran in her university. All her peers were eager and promising young individuals. Many of them had already had small, and even large exhibitions, with very favorable reviews praising their unique and genuine styles. Despite her great efforts, Elisa never succeeded.
At that moment, a small noise woke me up:
—Honey, are you coming? Everyone is here, waiting for you—.
With a hoarse voice and a scattered mind, she replied:
—Who am I talking to?—.
After a couple of hours and a quick shower, Elisa found herself in front of a trendy bar among young university students, with one of those clichéd and unoriginal names. The letters on the stamp they put on her wrist upon entering read “Anonymous Bar.” She entered. The bar was packed with people who had barely crossed puberty and could hardly be considered adults in every sense of the word. She was definitely a veteran in this place.
Without intending to draw attention, she quickly scanned the crowd. Finally, she spotted her, a girl no older than 20 waving excitedly at her.
—Elisa, sweetie, where were you? We’ve been waiting for you for a while. Don’t tell me you forgot what day it is? You always forget—.
She pulled out a small cake with the words “with love for Elisa” beautifully written on it. Elisa could deduce it was chocolate from its color and homemade due to its irregular shape. It looked good, although its size was surprising. How did that many letters manage to fit in such a small space? Moreover, how did they manage to bring a cake into a bar? Elisa was pondering these matters when the melodious, high-pitched voice interrupted her.
—Sweetie, come sit here. You’re the guest of honor today. Please come— the sweet girl patted the seat next to her, which was now empty.
Elisa snapped out of her brief reverie and sat down next to her with a big smile, saying softly:
—Thank you, Lu—.
—Happy birthday, sweetie!—Lucero, the young girl she had met when she entered university, clung tightly to her in a hug. This girl was small but surprisingly strong. Just as Elisa was about to lose her breath, the little girl let go and kissed her on the cheek. With big, bright, black eyes, she said:
With big, bright, black eyes, she said:
—Sweetie, thanks for being my friend—.
Elisa smiled and replied joyfully.
—Thank you for being so sweet to me—.
After this, the celebration went on as usual. A crowd gathered around the small cake, and the DJ suddenly played the electronic version of the Happy Birthday song. That’s how Lu was, always with big and sweet surprises.
The entire bar crowd turned towards Elisa, and she now clearly noticed that they were on a small platform right in the middle of the venue. A spotlight shone directly on the guest of honor, and the blush on her cheeks intensified completely. Suddenly, the entire bar filled with familiar and unfamiliar faces sang a strange electronic mix of “Happy Birthday,” while the venue’s screens projected an artistic gallery of photos with Elisa as the main actress. It was all so embarrassing.
The ordeal of just a few minutes finally came to an end, and Elisa couldn’t identify how or when a lit candle had appeared in the middle of the small cake. At the end of the song, the only thing illuminating the entire venue was the candle’s light, and Elisa blew it out gently.
Once again, everything automatically returned to normal. The music blared, and people danced with enthusiasm. Lucero approached cautiously and whispered in her ear:
—Did you make a wish?—
—Of course— She said, with an awkward smile on her face.
Lucero immediately knew that she hadn’t done it.
—It’s okay; everything you want will come true. You don’t need silly superstitions, sweetie— she reassured.
Elisa was strangely uncomfortable and happy; she had been thinking about many things. It was the first time in her life that the years truly felt heavy.
—Lu, do you really believe that?— She looked at her expectantly.
Lucero brushed away a cluster of hairs that had gathered on Elisa’s cheek and delicately tucked them behind her ear, looking at her with tenderness.
—Of course, sweetie, you’re the most talented among all of us— she said, leaning her forehead against Elisa’s and speaking in almost a whisper. Her words were soft but so convincing.
After this, Elisa felt motivated enough to fully immerse herself in her own celebration. They stayed at the bar for many hours until dawn broke in the sky. The large group Lucero had arranged for the celebration quickly dispersed, leaving only Lucero and Elisa.
—Sweetie, let’s go to my house. I have a surprise for you— Lucero said with enthusiasm.
