Breathe
By Pamela Cerdeira
I met Pepe one Sunday afternoon, he asked me where I was from, I answered that I was from here, from Mexico City, and he insisted with the question raising the tone of voice, he wanted to know where my dad was from, which was the Spanish town where I was born. I was told not to take it personally, that's right Pepe, I heard the first of thousands of times in a condescending tone, and I didn't take it personally, because at my trembling twenty-four years old, being for the first time at a family meal with my new boyfriend, in which he introduced me to his mother, uncles and grandmother and I introduced myself and my one year old daughter, the inquisitive question about my origin was the least of it.
Pepe lived most of his life with his mother, until she passed away at the age of 99. I have the impression that those who live to take care of others feel obliged to live a long time. He spent the last year with his sisters, it seems even whimsical how life brought that nuclear family back together under the same roof. The way his parents approached his mental condition prevented him from living an independent life, yet his basic skills ended up being highly functional in their home, he always willing, he always reliable, that's just Pepe, the one who drove the car, the one who accompanied his mother to the doctor, the one who bought the cold meats on Sundays, the one who took the kids to the Oxxo after lunch to buy whatever they wanted, and for any child, the adult who leaves the comfort of his Sunday seat to take you to the corner store becomes the most generous person and even suspected of being a millionaire. He buys you everything and even gives you Sundays!
He was the accumulation of little things that build a life, his daily outings to a lonely café, his short phone calls, his watching soccer and inherited fondness for Spanish television, his smoking on the sly and his willingness to answer all my questions. In the cafeteria of a wake he told me how the cold showers silenced the voices in his head, and he confessed to me all about a mysterious and unknown girlfriend named Paquita. It would be hilarious if this text were to reach the mysterious girlfriend and she were to tell us all about her imaginary origin.
Well, Pepe left, and decided to leave at Christmas. It's never a good day to leave, but there are worse dates. #SofiDe6 complained, it was a day meant to be happy, and now she was very sad. #BenjaDe13 replied "You should be happy, it was the best thing that could happen for everyone. Now Pepe will spend Christmas with his mom."
The opinions expressed are the responsibility of the authors and are absolutely independent of the position and editorial line of the company. Opinion 51.
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