Un relato de Ruben, ministro honorifico de la Lineadivertida, y emoticon donde los haya; premiado en el concurso Boh en Inglaterra:
Hostel
When I kissed Kate, I knew that she did it with the same desperation that drove her through the country. Whatever she was running away from, she spoke about it with every move, like she wanted you to stop her, to rein her in back to the territory of the homebound souls.
Although I was on my way to Boston for a job interview, I felt an urge of blind compromise. It wasn’t tenderness or condescendence. Envy if anything; I envied her carelessness and the sense of freedom that oozed out of her eyes without making them wet.
We talked until late and Kate told me how she still had some of the Northeast to explore before crossing over to Canada. Apparently, she did it just as other people got married or had children. Living errantly gave her the security of having none.
There was a whirling cadence in her tone when she said that “home was any place where a bed awaited you”, underlining playfully the word BED.
When I woke up in the hostel room she wasn’t there anymore and it came to fulfill my prescient fears before succumbing into oblivion the night before.
Later in town I rang the office bell, hands slightly trembling before the interview, and when the lock whistled itself open the sight of Kate took my breath away without entirely surprising me. Hair tied back had replaced the well-studied recklessness of the helpless traveler.
“Would you wait here a second please?”
Ruben Diaz Dominguez
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