Love is a tough thing
Yesternight the phone rang as usually at 2 a.m.
It was her. She’s used to call me whenever she wants because its the only way to stay in touch. Her name is Belia and is the second in a family of nine women and three men. All of them congregated around our big old grandmother, Alicia, 94. In 2018 Mom fullfilled 70 while the youngest reached the age of sixty. For me, they’re oaks that time does not bends.
I heard her voice asking me about everything — usually moms do that — And I started the briefing of how things happened to me this day. Between yawns and sips of the glass of water to my right of the bed I tell her all. On the other side of the line she listened quietly. Sometimes she asked me for details (did your girl friend called you back?, for example, when I broked with her about three years ago).
When I’m finished my story, she took a deep breath and gave me her blessing. Then hung the call. There was an empty noise. I went to sleep with a smile on my lips and a tear about to fall on my face. For two years, the phone rings at the same time she died.
The precise time I didn’t got her call.