I looked at the horizon one last time, keeping in my heart the beautiful memories I had left behind over all these years.
The wind slid through the tall grass and brushed against my cheeks as if it, too, wanted to say goodbye, and for a moment I wished this moment would never end. In front of me, the faces of my friends and family blurred behind restrained tears. Yet, strangely enough, not a single word reached my ears.
As I hugged them one by one, I felt the emotions I was trying to hide emerging, one after another.
I tried to be strong.
I swear I truly tried.
But I couldn't…
The words I had once spoken with such pride were now impossible to articulate. If the younger version of myself could see me at this moment, she would surely laugh out loud.
Wiping the tears that were sliding down her cheeks, my aunt took a step forward and, without looking directly at me, got into the car.
Not long after, it was my turn.
I remained standing next to the door, unable to move my hand… memories of my childhood passed through my mind, all those mischiefs and headaches I had caused together with my cousins.
Perhaps noticing my hesitation, my aunt started the engine and, with a gentle gesture, urged me to get in.
As I fastened my seat belt, I remembered my own voice, years ago:[1]
"What a nightmare… why do I have to stay here? Mom, take me with you.
You promised you wouldn't abandon me… why do you always take so long?
If I behave well, will you stay one more day?
You said the same thing yesterday…
You couldn't come.
Work…
Please…"[2]
Each memory left a bitter taste in my mouth. At first it was hard for me to adapt, but thanks to the people in front of me, I was able to live the best experience of my life.
A soft smile formed on my lips.
My aunt started the car… while I looked through the mirrors.
I watched as the figures grew smaller and smaller, until they became mere stains on the horizon.
I was afraid. I couldn't deny it. That place was my home, and those people were my family.
…
During the trip, my aunt tried to comfort me. She spoke about trivial things, about how the reunion with my mother would be, about how quickly time would pass. I nodded in silence.
The truth was that I had already resigned myself… or at least that was what I wanted to believe.
Even so, I smiled at her.
A fragile smile, and a little melancholic.
After a few hours, we arrived at the airport.
The noise, the voices, and the constant movement made me feel even smaller. My gaze remained fixed on the bustling airport… I never thought this day would come, and when I finally faced reality, my eyes filled with tears.
"Why that face?" my aunt said, forcing a light tone. "Anyone would think you're about to meet your worst enemy and not your mother. You'll make her sad if she sees you like that."
"Well, that…" I wanted to argue, to tell her that it wasn't that simple, that it wasn't only about leaving, but about everything I was leaving behind. But she interrupted me halfway through the sentence.
"You're going to be fine!" she exclaimed, placing a hand on my shoulder. "Don't feel sad. I'm sure that when you arrive, you'll forget about us."
She said it with a wide smile, one that revealed the wrinkles time had drawn on her face.
I returned the smile.
But I didn't answer.
---
It would be six hours by plane until I reached Denver, the place where I would be living with my mother.
I hadn't heard from her in three years, and although I tried to keep my composure, the truth was that I was nervous. Very nervous.
She had had to travel for work reasons and decided to leave me at her sister's house while she arranged a place where we could live together. At the time, she said it would be temporary. A few months, maybe a year. After that… she simply stopped caring.
Finally, last week she called.
She sounded excited, as if those three years did not weigh as much.
She told me that she had spoken with an acquaintance and that she had managed to enroll me in a prestigious university. An opportunity that, according to her, I couldn't waste.
She also mentioned a problem with transportation.
At first, I didn't give it too much importance. I thought she was referring to a simple delay, a pending formality, any of those minor inconveniences that usually arise.
But then she began to hesitate.
She said that the campus was far from the apartment she had managed to get, and that the bus system did not cover that area well. That she had tried to rent a car, but the prices were higher than she expected. That perhaps she would have to share rides with someone… or depend on schedules that were not yet defined.
"But by the time you arrive, I'll have it solved," she assured at the end, hurriedly, as if she wanted to close the subject before I could ask more questions.
(Sigh)
My mother had never been especially careful with details.
Nor with decisions.
I sighed in silence.
In the end, I didn't have many alternatives.
…
When I crossed the airport doors, I didn't feel relief. Nor excitement.
Not even curiosity.
Only a strange sense of exhaustion. I just wanted to lie down and bury all my worries.
I dragged my suitcase across the floor without looking for any place or any face. I wasn't in a hurry. After three years, a few more minutes wouldn't change anything.
That was when I saw it.
A large sign, held with both hands by a woman who was smiling too much.
"Welcome to Denver, my Sarah."
I stopped.
I read those words only once.
And looked away.
I was no longer a child.
I hadn't been one for a long time.
And, apparently, my mother had forgotten that.
I felt a stab of secondhand embarrassment.
It was unnecessary and childish.
But I said nothing.
Olivia —my mother— appeared right after, with a nervous smile and bright eyes. There was a quick, awkward hug.
After those empty greetings and a few hollow phrases, I got into her car without asking any questions.
As soon as I closed the door, she began.
"How have you been? Have you been eating well? You look thinner…"
The questions piled up one after another, without giving me time to answer any of them.
I only nodded from time to time.
Not because I felt like talking, but because there was a trace of discomfort I couldn't let go.
[1] "After these points: what follows are words derived from the protagonist's memory."
[2] Here ends the memory.