The New York Street

Un blog lleno de historias





Un hombre que parece ser mi abuelo. Tiene el pelo engominado y la apariencia de un tipo «suave», viste una camisa bien ajustada, de un color elegante; y unos pantalones que le sientan bastante bien. Debe de tener unos 90 años, se le ve «parado» y jovial. Su cabello es blanco pero por aquí y por allá aún tiene algunas hebras grises. Mi abuelo me aconseja sobre  la vida y las decisiones que un hombre tiene que tomar.

Lástima que no recuerde ninguno de sus consejos al despertar.

Me despierto con brusquedad y me doy cuenta que mi abuelo ha muerto, un día como hoy, hace 20 años ¿Coincidencias? Nunca tuvimos una conversación como la de anoche durante mi sueño; y nunca lo vi morir. Supongo que algo de aquella culpa todavía me perturba.


There is a theater performance were I kept going but I can’t stay until the end.

Rachel’s sister performs, Laura and other people that I don’t know. I go for a walk with them. We are a big crowd. We are walking on a sidewalk when I felt that somebody knocks on my leg. Sitting on a corner, in shorts and a white t-shirt, there is Mane. She greets me with a big smile. She looks relaxed, like when she went to watch the football games in Mayorazgo.

Outside the school I see the teacher Castañeda, walking slowly towards his car. A big golden minivan. He is mumbling «It is good to be a permanent teacher». I stay a few feet away to see him leaving. When he leaves I am able to see a huge sign printed on the side, two big orchids, and the name of a flower company. «He is the delivery guy,» I think. That makes me sad. The minivan has only one big wheel at each side.

Apparently, one of the teachers is Mr. Monghelli. I remember having seen him entering in one class. In the dream, the idea makes perfect sense.

I enter to the school. I have to take the stairs. It is a black iron staircase. The school is empty, only the acting students are there, sitting around a drawing table, working on a essay that they have to finish.

I go out. There is a big field, full of swimming pools. The swimming pools seem to have been dug on the ground. The water is crispy, there are some leaves and grass floating on the water. I walk, looking at all the pools, when I bump into a couple of friends. One of them have his car parked next to the pools. He offers me a ride. I ask him if I have time for a quick swim. He accepts.

I took off my T-shirt. However, precisely at that moment, the people have finished their gym classes, the waters are murky and there is no room to swim. I kept walking around the field, looking for an empty and clean one. All the pools are full.

It seems that I start walking towards my friend’s car when I felt that someone is throwing rice at me. Standing at a certain distance, there is a group of young men from Yauca. One of them is holding a pair of binoculars. They want me to move my ass because I am ruining the view. I yelled at them, jokingly, that they are a bunch of perverts. Some of them don’t like it, and start reciting loudly some of the lines in my poems where I have references to sex.

I kept walking, listening, interested in hearing them, declaiming my poems.

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