7.Split

We used to be always together. Clung into each other like glue on clumsy fingers, treating each other like we came from the same womb, like we were made of the same blood and flesh. As far as I can remember, there were no memories not filled with Amador, Marco and I playing, with the devil-may-care attitude of the children we used to be. I seriously did thought,from the very bottom of what used to be my innocence, that we would always be together. It was an idea dear to me, more than a wish since I never thought otherwise would happen. Thought it did, the familial image we were making all together got split into two as If it was one of those frail papers of an old book.

"I just thought of the past. Remember? We used to be so close" I said, not so much for Marco, my brain all too flooded by flashes of the past and the odd feeling of nostalgia running all through my body up to my slightly aching heart. I could not remember it so well. How we got separated, not all clearly at least. It was like a blurry mix of short movie scenes all coated by cold fog.

We were around seven or more, maybe were we around ten already. It did not matter that much. Marco was with us then the other day he was not anymore. His parents suddenly decided, without any consideration, to take him away from us. They moved to what were thousands of miles away from us for the children we were. Perhaps it was not so wrong, after all Twenty floors below us represented an enormous amount of stairs for our poor weak legs.

So just like that, we did not hear from him anymore. Perhaps not, it was not all so like that. At first, we tried to contact him with the old phone my parents used once every year. A bit desperately, not getting any conclusive response, just some mumbling of his father or mother, stating that he was busy. The idea of him being busy were even more absurd when time passed. We were kids stuck in the four walls of a hundred floors building, there were nothing for us to be busy enough so we couldn't make a simple call. Nonetheless, His parents never left us speak to him, and one day it was our own parents turn to guest in our way.

They stayed put, -as much as I could remember the moment- in front of the phone, brown frowned in a sever look. My father who never looked like anything close to angry then looked at the verge of being infuriated. His face in a mix of disappointment and pain. He looked like one who was back-stabbed by someone they trusted. Obviously the children we were could not get the subtle sadness dug deep into is wrinkles,we got mad, at the incomprehension. Frustrated at the decision adults made without our consent. Once again no world were given to us, and for the kids who already suffered from the ridiculous lack of liberty we were born in, parents taking the few things we had from us without notice made us burst into tears of frustration. Amador yelled of discontent, asking why over and over again, while my parents stayed muted. We did not need to know, they said, all we needed was to understand that Marco's family were not good people and that we should not play with their son ever again.

"Thinking of it, I was not so much of a rebellious child back then, I may have cried of incomprehension, but if it was not for Amador we would have never tried to reach you. Perhaps it would have been best, you would have disappeared of our lives, and your image would have never been tarnished."

Once again it was only for myself that I talked, few worlds accompanied with fusing flash pulled out of my brain hidden space. Imagery of a hot day, father gone and mother to busy to care about what unproblematic children were doing. "Let's go meat Marco," Amador said in the very middle of a game I can't even remember.

I was strongly against the idea, to comforted in my obedience. I rarely disobeyed, I was nothing like a rebellious child, always heard hidden in my books, I was just too busy immersing in a word that was not mind to go against my parents will. Nothing like Amador, a strong fire head who had no choice but to be thickheaded and rebellious, for the sake of his fragile child mind.

"The parents said no, so It's no. I don't want to be punished, and it's not like Marco tried anyway..."

Amador looked mad, offended by my lack of determination to see our friends. We argued, escalating into what we reproached to each other, "You're nothing but a coward" he said,"All you do is reading your stupid book of things that does not even exist!". Sharp words were thrown out of child mouth, we were hurting each other not so much for a friend we both cared about but for what looking for him represented.

The argument came with bruises and tears without anyone stopping us. This fight was certainly the genes of our perpetual micro fighting relationship. It hurt but if felt good. A salvation found in pain. A satisfaction of hurting the other so not to feel pathetic.

When we were too exhausted to keep on fighting, it was decided, the words hurted more then I thought, and my childish pride couldn't bare the humiliation, and I still cared for Marco more then I wanted to admit. So we stepped, without proper plan or stategy, 20 floors away from or zone of confort. We had no Idea, of how different the world twenty floors away from us was.

"That day, I realized how foolish and ignorant we were. We really thought that the four walls of our small apartment were all there was to this world. However, few stairs down or up, were a shocking difference. The way they looked at us, like we were some kind of weird beings. They dressed a bit better, looked a bit more clean. To them what were we exactly?"

Disgust, for the first time, we saw great disgust in people eyes. Like a wall we saw what rejection was, what being a "outsider was". It was all so odd, we did not get it at first, but it hurted, it was painful, shaming us for reasons we did not get. But it didn't stop us from yelling Marco's name, ignoring the perverted curiosity of the neighbors, noisy spoon and pan smashed against each other until Marco's father came out, his wife behind him. They looked at us the same as all the other, but with more, with despise. I felt pain, I felt more humiliated as his mean phrases were spited like acid rain. We were filthy he said, low being that should just stay in our floors, we were pigs, we were at the lowest of what they could consider, we shouldn't try to get closer to their son, we were not the same, us dark skinned were to gross to stay around a clear skinned child. He then insulted our parents, telling how Amador father was just an abusive trash, how his mother was no more than a weak slave. He blurted words Amador probably did not understand, but that he could gasp how painful they were. Amador boiled of anger, tears flooding out of his eyes, gripping my hand so hard it hurted. I can't so much remember what he told me, perhaps something about how my birth was a mistake, how, because of me, my father would have been free of the low life he lived.

"How did it even ended? My parents came? Or did we just ran away, I don't remember. Anyway, You were there that day weren't you, hiding behind your mother. You didn't do a shit, just watched us being shamed. I can't blame you, you were a kid like us."

My eyes finally shifted on his orange curls, they had a different reflection under something else than the generic light of a lamp, tangled both smoothly and chaotically, some white hair sticking out. We never of close distance since that day, out of disgust he always stayed meters away when he was peeking a fight with us, so never could I see up close how much he changed. He looked like he had more freckles, just like me, he had several all over his white flesh, they made his green eyes stick out more. I examined him for an instant, him never looking my way, he did not answer to any of my comments, -not like I waited for him to answer, but I wished to see something on his face, maybe bottled up shame.

"Why did you come with us? You hate us don't you? Each time we see each other you come to pick a fight. All you tell us is how we are inferior to you and your minions. Did your father disappear as well? It's not it right? I remember seeing the carrycot stopping at your floor, I have good eyes, I recognized your father curly hair. Or maybe I was wrong."

Marco finally turned at me, stopping to walk, a mix of exhaustion and annoyance stuck on his face.