Feline Smile

[Hey, I tried to call you! On Sunday we are going to Plaza Galerías, the whole class is gonna be there at 5pm. You must come hahaha… Hope to see you]

I got her message on Facebook a day after dreaming about her. It’s been a while since I met with my high school classmates, but the truth is, she the cause of my nerves.

I arrive before the hour and I sit down on a bench far from the meeting point. Although I get along well with people, there are only a few that I can talk to without feeling compromised and endure those annoying silences.

I wait and pretend to text to cast light glances. It is 5:00 in the afternoon and until then there are no signs of her or the others, so I go to the meeting point in full view of everyone. I think is the wrong day or time.

“I’m stranded like a cat in doubt.”

If I was late and they followed the plan, I will have to meet them in the mall or call my friend to find us; or avoid the effort and retire. I look at the crowd, hoping to see a familiar face; I imagine observing myself from that bench, and how absent-minded I look at the entrance as the last chosen player. Anyway, I’m trapped, and I only wish I wasn´t there.

“What the hell is going on where are they?”

It is 5:30 when she leaves the mall to meet me, with her green eyes and a feline smile she hugs me. She is a little smaller so her head reaches my neck and I can smell the minty scent of her hair. Honestly, I don’t remember how much we talked that afternoon, I suppose it was nice for our looks and laughter.

Forty minutes later another one appears, greets my friend but does not recognize me; closes his eyelids halfway as if he expected to give him a proof of being companions years ago. I don’t care and smile.

Her best friend arrives and with a kiss recognizes me. She came with another classmate, and like the other she has forgotten me. I really don’t care.

We stayed until we realized that we were all. I feel sad for her, only few came.

She was one of the most popular girls in high school, not because of the cheapness of being the “Hottest girl.”

“Sorry, it’s true. There is no scam greater than popularity for the beauty of youth.”

Of course, she is pretty with fine, soft features, kitty lips and ears sticking out of her black hair. Her skin is light without being white, thin with a little but firm peach butt; sometimes its big or small, fallen or raised, it all depends on her clothes. The same happens with her tits, they are like a pair of cupcakes; I just need milk to enjoy them.

“She is not perfect, but authentic in its entire being.”

I’m sure the reason for her popularity is her personality; she adapted very well, one day she could talk about video games, board games, comics and the other day I would see her on the basketball or volleyball field.

She was an awful student and more than once I had to get her out of the detention room. I’m don’t remember when we became friends, but I know the day we met.

It was when the volleyball fell onto the grass and rolled towards me, where I was resting.

“Hey! Can you pass me the ball?”

I raise my arms from my eyes, and I look at her standing on the field in her white uniform; behind her everyone awaits my answer.

“You come.”

“Please!” Said with her hands on the waist.

“I’m not your damn ball boy,” I covered my eyes.

I even feel his presence standing there.

“Forget it,” said one player, “he is a loser.”

I see askance and find him on the other side of the field. I get up and pick up the ball.

“Be careful, he’s already mad!” He mocked supported by the laughter of others, even she covers her mouth to laugh.

I throw the ball in front of me and jump hitting it in the air, it shoots over the net, passing the players and it goes down. The guy who screamed throws himself and the ball lands inside the field.

It wasn’t the best of all shots; I was more encouraged to hit the guy than make the play. It was enough to impress them.

We bought coffee at the Flor de Córdoba and wandered around the plaza aimlessly in the stream of people. My friend proposes to go to the billiards, I thought that would get high hopes, but each one makes an excuse to leave.

“Okay, so what are you here for? “

We go alone, we had a great time and a lot of fun; ordered French fries and drinks, and we split the bill.

She beats me two of three games; then we play a shooting arcade, as a team we fight the demons that try to kill us, if they beat us, we will start separated in the game until we meet.

At night we exchanged numbers and said goodbye. We will take the same bus, only in opposite ways from the city. She waits in front of me distanced from the avenue.

Safe Creative #2004123637530

Please leave your comments if you like to contribute to improve the translation of this story. I’ll be very greatful.

Publicado por

Carlos Reeves

Soy como cualquier otro que le gusta leer y escribir, no estudié literatura y tampoco sé de grandes autores. La razón por la que comencé a escribir es porque desde niño tomaba esos cuadernos Scribe de hoja blancas y dibujaba todo el día. Esos personajes y escenarios empezaron a tener una narrativa, entonces tuve que escribir sus historias y saber dónde terminarían. Tengo problemas para concentrarme, si un colibrí vuela por mi ventana me la puedo pasar observando cómo se alimenta de las flores, incluso si se va, pareciera que me lleva con él a un mundo imaginario. Soy perfeccionista, escribir es un trabajo duro. Poseo una rivalidad contra las palabras y los renglones que conspiran en mi contra, paso horas editando y leyendo para aplacar su rebeldía. Antes me limitaba ocultarlos después de escribirlos, temía que lo leyeran y vieran semejante lío. Pero todo cambió cuando descubrí que hay personas que pasaron por las mismas rebeliones. Keanu Reeves, Steve Jobs y Scott Fitzgerald. Soy un soñador, no un escritor.

Responder

Introduce tus datos o haz clic en un icono para iniciar sesión:

Logo de WordPress.com

Estás comentando usando tu cuenta de WordPress.com. Cerrar sesión /  Cambiar )

Google photo

Estás comentando usando tu cuenta de Google. Cerrar sesión /  Cambiar )

Imagen de Twitter

Estás comentando usando tu cuenta de Twitter. Cerrar sesión /  Cambiar )

Foto de Facebook

Estás comentando usando tu cuenta de Facebook. Cerrar sesión /  Cambiar )

Conectando a %s

Este sitio usa Akismet para reducir el spam. Aprende cómo se procesan los datos de tus comentarios .