February 3rd, Antonio's birthday, it was already too many years without celebration, Christian wrote via Facebook to his friend Alexander, he asked him in a shameful way if there was the possibility that he could give Antonio a birthday cake, since it would be the first meeting of the year and maybe the only one. Alexander kindly added $10 to the bill. It was a small amount for him, but he was aware that it would go a long way - after all, not only would they buy the cake, but also a bottle of some liquor that was available and on sale, which would undoubtedly be a common joy, because it had been more than three years since anyone had even tried the alcohol they sold in the drugstores.
Christian knew that the others knew about his idea, in an accomplice way they all went to Antonio's house, there were his two sons, one of them was very hyperactive, he was always playing with something, that time he had a faded tennis ball, he was doing backhands with a kind of wooden paddle, his brother however was calmer, he was playing something on the Cuatro, a passive melody that transmitted something that I don't know if a child understands, but without a doubt he knew how to transmit it.
His wife, Louis, saw us arrive from different points and his countenance went from grey to sky blue, he had been pleasantly surprised, after all he had not seen any of them for a long time, he invited them all in, for Antonio it was an impressive surprise, he was an undaunted writer, his passion for writing essays in his free time was impressive, he wrote about what he knew best in this life: History.
We interrupted him, in the best way that history is interrupted, with the news of a party, we all hugged him, this time we said few words, they were certainly more lucid faces, not more cheerful but more lucid, everyone sat in the living room, the children came and accompanied us, Antonio had a guitar at home that he never learned to play, something that Agustín curiously did, so it was "Agustín's guitar", which had 3 years without being played by himself, he took it, with the age they were, their adolescence was marked by Mexican rock in a bitter splendour, a beautiful happy birthday song by a band whose name I prefer not to remember, was played, everyone sang along as some part made them feel alluded to, the children saw us and did not understand, they were not obliged, there are things that are exclusive to children, there are things that are exclusive to adults, and things, as in this case, that are exclusive to friends.
Agustín told us about his life, he told us that he was finally expecting a child, at this point in his life, with the world on his shoulders, we were all very happy for him, it was one of his great dreams together with his wife Angélica, she had not come because she was feeling ill, she asked Agustín to send greetings to everyone, after so many years, only memories remained.
After a while in the company of words that are not worth remembering, they sang birthdays, they hugged each other, certainly happy even if they were not in fullness, life had improved since that day in that square, things were better, it was not the best life but, there was the right to be happy again.
Agustín, who was the most excited of the night, had a terrible surprise: he arrived and the door of his house was smashed, he entered, his wife was on the floor, with the pallor of a Poltergeist, he understood, although in a state of shock, that he had just lost his whole life, they had taken everything material, his wife and his unborn child. He called to see if there was anyone in the other houses, there were many in that state, it had been a massacre, now he was alone... The police arrived, they took the statements and Agustín could not see the body of his wife until the next day it was delivered to him, he had to go to Christian, he himself on hearing what had happened burst into tears together with Agustín, why after such a pleasant afternoon, had life collapsed as if it were anything?
Many things had to be prepared, Christian offered his room to Agustín, he went in and with 3 sedatives he was able to sleep, what would happen next was a total unknown. Is the world a constant uprooting?
Dead pages, good days, catastrophic nights.
- Ken Scamander