The other day was inevitably bad, a day where I would have to go to my parents, pretend they never told me a load of shit, and hug my arrogant brother and his sly wife, who just went on and on about how he had renovated the goddamn kitchen.
Or watching my sister's husband, a shit heir, rub her perfectly round belly.
And of course, I would sit there through this unfortunate occasion, to listen to my father say that I should get a real job.
“Writing is not a career!” he would say, while fully supporting my sister's submission to her goofy husband to achieve a social status of successful and happily married children in the family.
I was a side effect of that perfect life, the middle child who didn't thrive and blossom as she should have.
It was my mother's birthday, I bought her some perfume, I got tired of trying to give her something she might like, becaue whatever came out of me wouldn't be good enough.
My sister was going to have a grandchild, for God's sake, and that was enough competition.
But she could win, put up to five kids racing in front of me, and I would let her win.
When I finally got there, the two perfect children were already there, I could see my dad's gaze turn to me the moment I walked through the door.
“Oh, finally Lauren! always late!”
Said, my brother.
Pedro was a good-looking type of guy, he was charming, nice, and most of the time a shitty cocky.
But I had to admit, he was at least a completely charismatic guy, which disgraced my sister-in-law, who was a tasteless popsicle with long hair.
“It's Pedro, I'm finally here! Are you unhappy yet?” I spoke teasing
“No sis, I was kidding.”
I hugged him tight, he was an asshole, but he was the blood of my blood. The same happened to my sister, she was so beautiful and pregnant!
Giovanna her name, my father always preferred her.
But also who wouldn't prefer someone so sweet and so immaculate?
“Hi Gio, you look beautiful! How the Belly has grown!”
“Lauren is already seven months old”
“Wow, time flies, doesn’t it?”
I said getting rid of the subject, the truth is that I didn't even bother to go to the fucking tea.
I'm a bad sister.
“Happy Birthday Mom!”
I hugged her and handed her the gift, which she made sure not to open and left in a corner of the living room rack. It's okay, you know? Time has gone by since I was shaken by this type of story.
All that embarrassment got bigger when my father didn't exchange a single word with me, and my brother-in-law talked nonstop about the new car he had bought.
My God, what an unbearable thing. I was surprised, of course, my dad hadn't made any nasty comments, and that wasn't like him.
But that's ok, it ended faster than I thought, and it would take another year for it to happen again since it was forbidden to celebrate my father's birthday.
It sounds crazy, but it was like that.
I went to bed early that day, notebook in hand, and read and reread my story.
I analyzed the bodies, and how ugly they were, I linked some images in my head, perceptions of who the author or mastermind of that crime would be, I imagined perhaps that their external appearance reflected their ugliness on the inside.
The next day arrived, another busy day at the office full of things that no one in the world would want to do, and that meant it was my job.
I got up to drink water in the hallway, I saw a tall man pass, with brown hair, and a perfectly tailored suit.
A wonderful bearing, you could see that it was someone important.
I couldn't see his face, it went too fast for me. I just saw the back, the broad shoulders outlined in a black suit.
Well, maybe things got better in the end.