Invisible Partners
By: Linda Villamarín
It's one of those days when I go to work without wanting to go, without wanting to talk to anyone, without wanting to listen to music. Today I'm just a spectator of a reality that doesn't interest me. I sit myself in one of the uncomfortable and hard bus chairs and observe all the people around me, as never before, holding the gaze, detailing each one, and for a moment, this space becomes another place, a small universe in which everyone has a life created by me.
There’s a sea of heads in front of me, floating without order, like rocks that adorn the river, rocking slowly and staring at nothing or out the window that moves the same, always the same, painful and slow routine.
In front of me, she is so molded that I can't see her soul, victim of a fake, uncomfortable and unnecessary fashion. I can barely see little glimpses of themselves. I'll call her Paula; she's got Paula's face. She has a lilac plaid shirt and a pink backpack, a ponytail, glasses with a girlish frame and a childish expression on her face; it makes me uncomfortable. She's got a passive face.
There are two men next to me, two friends with the look of university students who talk to each other half the trip, then laugh and the other half remains silent. If not for the existence of colors, it would seem that they are uniformed. The same style of jeans, jacket, backpack hanging over one shoulder and conformism with life.
At the bus stop enters a man dressed fully in green, from his hat to his shoes. He looks like an elf, small and wise. I don’t know if it’s because of his look, but I suddenly feel that the magic gets in here too and a delicate bell sounds with every step he takes. I look out the window so I don't look like the bus stalker. I don't get a chance to focus on anything; I just pretend that my mind also lives in the reality of routine and that I don’t care about anyone else at the bus.
What will their stories be? Paula the passive, the men in uniform, and the elf.
My invisible traveling companions.
Paula looks at her phone and smiles. Apparently, she has a soul. Her phone is soft lilac. That's to be expected. She puts her phone down and becomes thoughtful, looks at the ground, like someone meditating on a situation without observing anything in itself, wants to smile but is contained. Will she ever scream? She looks like she never curses or combs her hair. I bet she has a noisy laugh.
The elf sat down, and I can't see him anymore, maybe he disappeared, maybe I was the only one who saw him.
A woman in the uniform of a funeral home quickly passes me. She went unnoticed on the bus, like the death of the absentee. I hated her a little and then let her go with her gray aura to the bottom of the bus. It was like the black cloud just passing through and never came to stay.
The men in uniform, now seated, still don't speak to each other. They both have headphones on, they are side by side, but without saying a word, without looking at each other, without hearing, maybe they can touch their knees and feel each other, so they know that the other is still there. I know I'll forget them tomorrow. They had the perfect ability to disappear, for themselves, for the rest of the bus, and for me. Their appearance was unnoticed and almost invisible, but they do not know that they have accompanied me all the way to my job.
Men tend to be good at disappearing. They disappear like Paula, who left the bus in small steps as if she were jumping puddles. They disappear like the elf who was never there, and they disappear like I hope to do it in a moment too.
I know I will never see them again and I'm overcome with such unnecessary nostalgia that I laugh; I laugh alone, and they don't know that it's because I'm saying goodbye. Farewell to the magic bells of the elf, I hope he dresses like this every day of his life. Goodbye Paula, hopefully someday you will shout until your ponytail falls off and you let us see your real soul, Goodbye to equal men, I know I will find more of you on the road, as a sect of equal men who are everywhere.
Goodbye to myself because I arrived at my destination and now if I must concentrate, stop dreaming and landing. I say goodbye to my imagination until tomorrow.