Snow globe

Writing about homesickness is like having heart surgery. It’s evasive.

My heart is inside a snow globe, on the highest shelf in my room. Usually, the sun illuminates this glass ball, but on the days I shake it the snow falls and I lose myself. It gets cold, dark and unbreathable. I become aware of my loneliness and I spiral down to the freezing ground. I cry without sound, breath or end. I cry because I realize what I’ve forgotten.

I close the curtains and sit on the couch, the neighbor runs down the stairs and the sound of her steps reminds me of my mother. When on Tuesdays she went to the spinning class. But I forgot the color of her sneakers, the ones she only used to pedal.

The neighbor runs because the whistle of a car echoed down the road. The horn reminded me of my father, when he came to challenge me for a tennis game. I wish it was him who was outside, even if I don’t remember the perfume trapped on his red t-shirt.

I can feel the aroma of homemade food in the air. Oh Manuel … my precious grandfather! The smell of your food is so much better, even if I’ve forgotten the color of your favorite oven glove.

I left the house. Walked aimlessly, trying to escape the forgetfulness that devours me without permission.

I hear a phone ringing and I remember the one we had. The yellowish, hanging on the kitchen wall. I forgot the sound it did.

I see two dogs at a driveway and I don’t remember the toys of my pets. In the window of this house is a cat. My Daisy no longer remembers me, or maybe she does and ignores me. Because she’s a cat and a master in disguising feelings.

I stare at the cloudy sky:

– Child, put a jacket on!

My grandmother would yelled at me now … And more upset would be if she saw me like this. I’m sure she would wipe away these tears and snuggle me in her lap. Even if I no longer remember the touch of my dear Carmelia.

Damn … I’m forgetting bits of my story.

I no longer know my citizen’s number, the last digits of my zip code or my sisters’ cell phone number.

I no longer remember the flavor of Mel’s cappuccino, the color of Van’s couch, Sof’s cell phone brand, Elsa’s laughter, Tiny’s smile, Gus’ burps, Marlene’s height or Piu’s choreographies. I forgot how green Anna’s eyes were, the movies I watched with the godmother, the brand of wine I drank with my homies, Sara’s voice when she shouted “lait,” the shape of Marta’s glasses and the company where Rob works. And all the other things I’ve forgotten, not remembering that I forgot.

I run down the road, before the sorrow strangles me:

– Hey Mitch! – Someone screams through the window of a moving car.

I didn’t react, because Mitch only Cunha called me.

Shit! Is this the price I have to pay? The price of courage is forgetfulness? Forget details I once gave for granted.

I know there are new memories, there’s a new world, opportunities and people. But nothing replaces the old, or everything I once lived.

I take a deep breath, run over my heart and listen to reason. There’s still a lot to do here. Maybe this is what happens, the body forgets what it has not felt for a long time. Forget because it doesn’t want to miss it.

I lock the door of my house, fill up the bathtub, turn off the phone and listen to Joshua. Alice grabs the globe and puts it on the shelf. The snow rests on the glazed floor and the sun starts to shine.

I raise my head and work on being happy again.