Hoy nuestros cuerpos se hicieron extensos, crecieron hasta el límite del mundo y rodaron fundiéndose en una sola gota de cero o meteoro. Somewhere between asleep and awake, Amara lies at the edge of a swirling landscape of pillow, blanket, and sheet. She imagines her state to be a marriage of the waking and dreaming world, where the real and unreal coalesce peacefully. The illuminated darkness deprives the room of color, leaving only outlines of the room’s contents intact. Her usual flurry of emotions has subsided this deep into the night. There is something comforting knowing that nothing of any consequence could happen. If she fell asleep right now or stayed awake another five minutes, no difference.
She stares up into her ceiling fan. With enough focus, she can catch sight of one of the blades and follow its rotation. If she lost concentration, even for a second, the whole enterprise would have to be restarted. Not that a lapse of focus or losing one’s sight of a singular fan blade amounted to anything much. Though she could never ascertain if it was the same blade when she returned. Amara was the type to get caught up in such uncertainties, not now though.
Sleep–alarm–morning–shower. She turns the knob from cold to hot. Frigid air is seeping in from outside the edges of her floral-patterned curtains. She pulls them closed as tight as she can. A shower had always been her escape from it all: complete isolation where nothing is felt but the tapping of water on your back and the sound of water drops against the porcelain interior. Complete sensory control. She turns the knob from hot to cold. She runs shampoo through her hair, hoping she could wash her thoughts away as well. A cute metaphor, the shampoo washing her thoughts away, she thought. She smiled as she watched white foam swirl into the drain. She turns the knob from cold to hot. The impending doom of leaving the shower becomes apparent as she washes her knees. A cold world beyond her control awaits her on the other side.
She turns off the water. She opens the curtain and a naked Muslim man with only a turban on stares at her. She screams. The man pulls from behind him a full bottle of cognac. He downs the drink with one swig. She still screams. He then coughs up a snake that slithers out of the room.
The ceiling fan is spinning. Only a dream. Amara loosens her grip on her bed and rolls over. I will never understand why I am the way that I am. Entre tú y yo se abrió una nueva puerta y alguien, sin rostro aún, allí nos esperaba.