Hay una parte de esta historia que no sé en realidad por qué me identifico. Pero ocurre. Corté el fragmento por que soy poco original y me gusta citar gente muerta.
“The boys sat there silent and gloomy under the fluorescent lights. They were all afraid of Whitey, all except Roy. Roy sipped his beer grimly His eyes shone with their peculiar phosphorescence. His long asymmetrical body was draped against the bar. He didn’t look at Whitey, but at the opposite wall where the booths were located. Once he said to me, ‘He’s no more drunk than I am. He’s just thirsty.’
Whitey was standing in the middle of the bar, his fists doubled up, tears streaming down his face, ‘I’m no good’ he said. ‘I’m no good. Can’t anyone understand I don’t know what I’m doing?’.
The boys tried to get as far away from him as possible without attracting his attention.
Subway Slim, Mike’s occasional partner, came in and ordered a beer. He was tall and bony, and his ugly face had a curiously inanimate look, as if made out of wood. Whitey slapped him on the back ad I heard Slim say ‘For Christ’s sake, Whitey’. There was more interchange I didn’t hear. Somewhere along the line Whitey must have got his knife back from the bartender. He got behind Slim and suddenly pushed his hand against Slim’s back. Slim fell forward against the bar, groaning. I saw Whitey walk to the front of the bar and look around. He closed his knife and slipped it into his pocket.”
Yo sé que llevo un Whitey adentro. No le daría un navajazo a nadie.. pero hay veces que la desesperación en el silencio nos hace gritar más fuerte. Eso asusta a aquellos que no lo ven, ofende a los que no comparten adentro. Pero la desesperanza subsiste. Y los gritos a momentos se hacen incoherentes, nerviosos, poco trascendentes, furiosos, graves. No fuimos creados para distanciarnos, lo logramos nosotros solos, sin ayuda de nadie. Uno de los grandes logros del ser humano. Nos miran desde arriba… y lloran. Desconsoladamente. ¿Cómo logramos convertir aquello en esto y cómo, por qué?
Y el miedo. El miedo que nos sigue empujando. El mismo que no vencemos. El mismo tabú, evitar el roce. Evitar el cariño. Evitar la trascendencia. Yo no puedo decirte que te amo. Me dolía demasiado. Yo soy uno de “ellos”. Soy insensible. Insensato. Irracional. Me visto, cocino lo que como. Camino como el Rey del Mundo, me salen ampollas en el dedo gordo. I’m no good.
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