Agosto 27, 2003

Mi tia Maruchy

Esperaba ya a mi hermano casi mellizo en la puerta aún faltando cinco minutos para que llegara, quién bien me conoce sabe que el tiempo es un factor que me angustia, odio la impuntualidad o ir contra reloj.
Le he besado y mientras le quitaba las llaves del coche de la mano le prometía no rallárselo y no entretenerme.
He cargado la maleta y demás bultos en el maletero. Mientras pasábamos por debajo de Pza. Elíptica ha aprovechado a que íbamos solas para preguntarme si había alguien en mi vida, he sonreído porque llevaba días esperando esa pregunta. He respondido con un no seco, entonces me ha hablado de evitar las complicaciones, de las marcas que dejan las malas experiencias, de los errores, de saber escoger, de no conformarse y que la felicidad no tiene por qué venir en compañía de nadie. Asentía porque sabía bien lo que decía, pero sus palabras eran tan reparadoras como una caricia en el pelo.
Hemos llegado a Atocha y ante la ausencia de un estacionamiento libre he aparcado ''discretamente'' en zona prohibida, pensando que en el peor caso, una multa más por estacionamiento indebido no se notaría en la nutrida lista de mi hermano.
La estación ha traído recuerdos que he recibido como disparos a bocajarro. Busqué en los paneles el tren con destino a Cádiz y la acompañé hasta los puestos de control, nos hemos despedido y mientras la veía alejarse pensaba que ella, cinco años mayor que su hermana, me había comprendido mucho mejor siempre. Salí de la estación sin levantar la vista del suelo, mientras pisaba mi propia sombra me he dicho que entonces el problema no era la diferencia generacional, a la que he cargado todos estos años la falta de entendimiento con mi madre. De camino a casa, mientras insultaba fuertemente a los conductores imprudentes me prohibí darle más vueltas en mi cabeza a mi madre ya que si la mareaba seguramente acentuaría la probabilidad de discutir con ella hoy.

Posted by Srta.Vainilla at Agosto 27, 2003 10:46 PM
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