lunes, 27 de junio de 2011

A bad night at the Museum

In the beginning he saw a wide blue circle. A black, deep line creased the surface and bifurcated at the edge, close to the perimeter. A soft reflection, a hardly perceptible density showed that the blue circle was behind another transparent surface, a glaze becoming progressively more visible, bright and rigid just a moment before cracking.  

He opened his eyes, left the blue pot with the dried caramel he was fixed upon on the table, stood up painfully and went to the bathroom. In the mirror, his long, tangled hair framed his thin face with a severe halo. He was seventeen but he looked so much older.

He took his jacket and opened the door and squinted to protect his eyes from the sun, but instead he found only the street lamps lighting the parking lot in a regular pattern.

He hastened down the four stories, walked following a narrow corridor between two housing developments, crossed a street and came out onto a highway. The noise of the traffic was to too loud for him, so he took a bottle and smashed it against the wall to restore balance.

He took the train, and went out the station. A black dog ran across the street and disappeared. Lights became brighter, night came. 

He felt trapped in the space under the halogen lights opposed to the thick darkness. He entered a store where a girl was reading.

-What’s your name? –she asked.
-Gabriel –he answered.

His name was not Gabriel. He saw the opaque face and the eyes peering at him behind the glasses and kindly declined her invitation to coffee. He browsed through an art magazine. There was an opening at the Museum of Modern Art and he decided to go there.

The bar had not opened yet, so he went to see the show and he saw, in front of the foamy marionettes, a slim neck following the strong chin, the sculpted cheekbones and the long, elegant nose. Suddenly, he wanted to be with that man, to own him, to be with him posing on the cover of a romantic novel.

He followed the man through the galleries, but the man ignored him. He then went to the bar, took a pair of red wine glasses, drank them in one gulp, went away with a third glass on his hand, said hello to some acquaintances, told them some funny stories, saw the man approaching him unpleasantly surprised, extended his hand in greeting, went looking for more wine, spoke to some strangers, got drunk, went to a party with two of the stranger’s acquaintances, bought some beer.

That night he dreamt of meeting a ravishing woman at a coffee shop. She accosted him with questions he could not answer, and before he could mutter anything she went off laughing, leaving him in the middle of the street, his arms and legs dismembered, covered in blood, crying.  

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