Andres Neuman - Talking to Ourselves

I imagine we’re in the school gym. I’m arm wrestling the jerks and I’m wearing my cap. I twist their arms. Lift them up in the air. I make them look ridiculous. Lying on the floor. Crying like wimps. And my friends all clap like crazy. I try to imagine it and I can’t. The images go all fuzzy. My mind goes blank in the middle of the arm wrestle. Or else suddenly I see they’re winning and they’re bending my arm back and making fun of me. This image is really clear. Them making fun of me. Kicking me. Spitting at me. Then I imagine something else. I imagine a huge truck honking its horn loud. It smashes through the school fence. Destroys the gym. Drives over everybody. Squashing their heads. One by one. Crack. Crack. Crack. And I feel better. And I look in the mirror. Hey, says Dad, aren’t you going to take off that horrible cap?

The delivery takes forever. I thought when we got there, we unloaded and that was it. The guy Dad knows isn’t at the warehouse. It’s a different guy. And he complains about how late we are. Dad raises his voice. The other guy threatens to make him come back tomorrow. And to send a complaint or something. Dad gets furious. He looks like he might hit the guy even. I’d love that. Then he calms down. He tells me to wait in the truck. And he gets out. I wait for a bit. Dad takes ages. This bit of the warehouse is dark. I can hardly see anything from up here. Just piles and piles of crates wrapped in plastic. I look for the phone to play mini-golf. Too bad. I think Dad’s taken it. Oof. I’m bored. I press the horn. Two workmen look at me from a freight lift. They keep going up. And they disappear. The freight lift sounds like a normal lift. It makes more noise when it goes up than when it comes down. The workmen go down again. After that, I don’t know. Suddenly I hear the truck door. I open my eyes. I see Dad arranging some papers. I stretch my arms. Everything okay? I ask. Bah, he sighs, money talks.

It’s getting late. We drive past industrial units. We can see Salto Grande in the distance. Sometimes we pass other trucks. We say hello turning Pedro’s headlights on and off. There’s a ton of machinery. Cranes. Bulldozers. Diggers. Just like the ones on TV only dirtier. We stop at a traffic light. I can see a crane hook inside the sun. It’s like a claw on a sticker. If they lower the crane it’ll get dark all of a sudden. Dad’s phone rings. He doesn’t answer. We speed up.

We circle the outskirts of the town. Dad asks me if we should look for a motel or start driving home. What if we go in for a bit? I say. In where? he asks, the town? Best not, son, there are too many hills. So what? I say. So nothing, he answers, I’m a bit tired that’s all. But it’s right in front of us! I complain, what if I never come back? Dad stays silent. He stares at the road. He blows air through his nose. He crinkles his face. I think he’s going to say yes.

It was time we got out of that cab! The town is awesome. White. Totally white. With tons of shadows. Full of tiny streets and steps. It’s like a maze in 3-D. Sometimes you don’t know if you’re going up or down. Dad’s lazy today. He doesn’t want to lose another race so he suggests we play the step game. These are the rules. When we pass some steps I have to guess how many there are. Run and count them as quickly as I can. And come back and tell Dad exactly how many. If I’m right to within ten steps I get a point. If not, he gets a point. The first to get ten points wins. It must be really cool living here. I run. Count steps. Go up. Come down. I’ve already got seven points. It’s not so easy. Sometimes I cheat. Not much. Just a bit. I leave out two or three steps. Never more. The walls are very pretty, they turn red. Orange. Pink. It’s quite windy now. Dad calls me from the bottom of the steps. I can’t hear him properly. I go up, and down. I run, I count. I try not to trip over. I’ve got nine points so far.

We sit down at some plastic tables. There are old people and kids with dogs in the square. I’m pouring with sweat but super happy. Dad coughs. I order a Coke with a slice of lemon. He asks for a bottle of mineral water. And he takes an allergy pill. I drink my Coke in one go. I ask Dad if I can order another. I’m sure he’ll say no. He doesn’t like me having too many fizzy drinks. But this time he says yes. Mum would be angry. Dad keeps coughing. He tells me the air in Salto Grande is full of pollen. I tip my glass. The ice cubes bounce off my nose. I imagine I’m a spaceship and they’re meteorites crashing into me. Is there ice in space? Or is space made of ice? I saw a documentary about glaciers the other day. But if so, then how do spaceships fly? Or maybe they drill through space as they fly? My tummy is full of bubbles. My tummy could do with a drill. I burp and laugh. I ask if we’re leaving yet. Dad says he prefers to stay here a bit longer. I fold my arms. I’m starting to feel bored. I look around. I see a poster with the Internet sign. I ask if I can go. Dad can’t see the poster I’m pointing to very well. He looks at all the people around us. He hesitates. He tells me on no account to go off anywhere else. He’ll be watching the door. And he gives me a few coins. Cool! He’s soft today.

I go into my e-mail. There’s a message from Mum in the inbox. Another from Edu with photos. And a ton of spam. I delete the spam and read the messages. I reply to Mum. I look for Edu in chat. He’s not there. I look for Pablo. For Rafa and Josema. They’re not there either. I guess they’re all on holiday. I think of trying to find Marina. I like Marina. And she’s almost got tits. She loves writing in chat. She says our classmates are all stupid and don’t even know how to say hello properly. I should practise first. I’ll try another day. I sign out of e-mail. I start listening to stuff on YouTube. The sound sucks. I get up and ask for some headphones. They tell me they’re all in use. I sit down again. What do I do now? Suddenly I remember the movie. What was it called? I type: stallone + truck. It comes up almost straight away. I find out something totally weird. In some countries it’s called Falcon . In others I am the Falcon . And in English it’s called Over the Top . Not that I know much English. But top definitely isn’t falcon. And over isn’t either. What have falcons to do with trucks? Maybe Stallone transported birds in his truck. I don’t think so. Actually you never know what he transports. The only thing he takes with him is his cap. And his sissy of a son. I go into Google Translate. I type: ober the, no, over the top. Two results. Sobre la tapa and por encima . The truth is the English title doesn’t make much sense either. Even though I’ve seen it several times. Who decides what movies are called?

Polyglot lizard, I hear as someone pulls my cap over my eyes, time to go? I push my cap up. I turn round. I ask Dad: What’s a polyglot? He gives me a kiss and says: Search.

The 15th at 19.50h.

The 15th, 7:50 p.m.

The fifteenth at ten to eight.

Do these numbers mean anything?

Do I understand what has happened if I say “the 15th” or “19.50h”? Was reality different at 19.49h? Did the world change during that minute? Why do I reread these figures over and over, I read “the 15th”, I read “19.50h” and I still don’t understand what they mean?

I was going to write, but didn’t.

No desire to read.