17 Apr Short story third person
It all started as another teenage tantrum. The desire of “going to study abroad” should have been enough to get him already on the first plane on his way to anywhere far away from home.
But it wasn’t that easy. His parents, who sometimes can be good at parenting. They thought the excuse of “going to study abroad” and acquire new perspectives and culture and experiences was just pretty familiar to Hollywood terms, familiar enough to call B*S* and know that he was just trying to get out of home to be “living la vida loca”.
But they were all wrong. His parents were wrong because he wasn’t trying to go away and live his own clichē movie of the typical teenager kid in Europe. He was actually feeling asphyxiated in his own hometown. He never felt like he was a fit for that town. It was either going abroad with the excuse of “studying as an exchange student” or just escape from home. The people, the environment, the way traditional hyper-catolic societies in the south of Mexico are built in a fashion of an all-together cult full of gossips and standards of a standard-life. It was too much for him. On the other hand, he was wrong because they were right. His intentions to go abroad was about anything but studying. He was trying to escape myself. But either way he wasn’t going abroad with their support (at all).
One of those days of ceremonious conversations with his father, when he tried to revisit the theme. He just had enough and said to him: If you’re going abroad, it is not for studying. If what you want is school, food and a roof under which you may sleep, then you have it here. But if you decide to go abroad, you’re on your own – But of course he already knew that… He wasn’t asking support, he wasn’t even asking for permission, he was just doing the formality of letting them know that he would leave.
So, that was it. He had a kind of “permission”. At least his parents knew that he would leave, he started the exchange process but he needed to go to a place with a good security system with free health care (because he had no plans to go with money for that purpose, or any other). A place where he could find a job easily, where the education was good, and most important: A place far away, far enough so nobody would go and look for him, and radically different so he could forget everything, even the language. So the option was clear: Denmark.
He did all the paperwork, the usual stuff and got admitted to study in the University of Denmark. Now, he needed the airplane ticket, a place to stay and of course, some money to start living. He thought that if he could get a job as a student in Mexico, He would do it in Denmark. After all how difficult could it be? ……
He got himself a part time job in Mexico selling insurance packages so he could save a bit of money before leaving. After working 4 months, he saved the awesome amount of $300. But hey, in Mexico that’s serious money! – Not really. And in Denmark, one of the most expensive countries in the world (would worth specifically less).
In some way, he persuaded his brother in law to buy him a very expensive ticket to Denmark (the most expensive airplane ticket he has ever paid in his life). About 15 years ago international travels where not so usual, specifically not to Scandinavia, so the “cheapest” ticket was about $1,000. Now, back then, and in Mexico, that is REALLY serious money. His brother in law always had a good heart – and a crazy love for his sister, and his sister for him. So it all worked out and he already had a ticket to Denmark!
Next step was where to Sleep. He really didn’t know anyone in Denmark… Who does? So he remembered that once of those days where he had lots of booze with random people in college parties. There was this guy who mentioned about “coach surfers”… a place on the web where you can find random people (kind of like the origin of Airbnb and less of a craigslist) where you could sleep on their coach for a couple of days. Either for free of very cheap. So that seemed like a “thing” and so he did look for that website and started to post his request of a sofa in Copenhagen Denmark for a “latino student” – Of course he was going to play the latino card here… Juanes was just the bomb in the north of Europe. And so it was Gael Garcia. And it worked…
A couple of wonderful ladies replied to him, offering a sofa to stay in. So he chose the one that was closer to his school and that was it. He had his airplane ticket, his student visa approved, $300 in my pocket and a place to stay at least for a couple of nights. Everything seemed like it was turning well but of course he never knew what cold feet would mean until the previous night…
Just after he packed my best clothes, his most beloved possessions, a few Mexican candies, pictures of his family and friends, his cologne and his best shoes, the reality hit him in the face, and hit him with everything. In a few hours he was going to the other side of the world with just a suitcase of worn clothes not suitable for Scandinavian winters. With enough money to feed him one day and with the promise of someone in the other side of the world offering him a coach for a couple of days. Whatever small money his parents had, they already used it to buy him some coats and snow boots, food, and two bus tickets to Mexico City and the international airport. Literally his parents didn’t even had any money left for a proper meal.
About him, he had nothing more than a bunch of dreams, faith, suppositions, and the best faith in humanity, the universe, Jesus, Sponge Bob or whatever that it would work for him. At that point he just needed something to believe in, and even praying to Walt Disney would give him a bit of courage.
After the reality hit him, then the reality transformed into panic, anxiety, and of course lots of fears and tears. It was impossible to stop anything… He had made a huge mistake just out of a tantrum and spent his families slim savings on a whim. I remember that he started to cry so loud and so desperately that he heard some steps coming from the next door. Then saw the pale light in the corridor. The same pale light that, if turned on after 2 AM, meant troubles or some horrible news. And this time wasn’t the exception…
The door to his room opened slowly, the pale light shown the Silhouette of his mother whom that night in particular, seemed very tall, strong and intimidating. He couldn’t see her face but he could see her shadow and the way she was standing. She always had some rough attitude and a way of standing and walking, which gave her the nick name of “la celadora” (the she-prison ward)…. And back then she was precisely honoring her nick name….
F** Denmark and my fear. He didn’t know what fear was to me, until he saw his mother… “La Celadora’s” shape, standing there in the entry of his room like the Minotaur… Quiet… with the door’s knob in one hand. And the other slowly starting to look for the light switch on his room’s wall…
Shit was about to get serious… If reality hit him in the face a few minutes ago. His mother “La Celadora” was about to make it literal…
