Cheers to the good life Read online

  Bewilderedandlyingonacold,unfamiliarfloor,Iwassurroundedbycountlesspeoplewho were screaming and talking fast, and I barely understood anything. Was I in Romania? In Japan?Stunned,Ilookedaround.Theyallsighed,relievedbymyawakening.Ontopofme,a hugeboxwithadamntoasteroveninside.

  "Someonetakethetoasterovenoffme,forGod'ssake!"

  Those were my first words as Marta. And hearing from myself in a voice completely differentfrommineandwithastrangeaccent,mademerealizethesituation.Iwasnolonger thetopmodelthattookeveryone’sbreathaway...Iwasacommonmortalstretchedoutinan awkwardpositiononthefloor,whichhadbeenknockeddownbyatoasteroveninaboxand killed.Butmiraculouslyhadcomebacktolife...ofcoursenooneknew,thattherealMartha wasalreadyinafreeBotoxsessionwiththelittleangelsandhidinginsidethatchunkofbody, itwasme.LAURA.Anexceptionaltopmodelwithafabulouslifeahead,butadamntoaster hadsnatchedhermostpreciouspossession...hisblessedbody.

  "Marta,areyouokay?Whatablow..."exclaimedtheworriedclerkinwhatlookedlikea small, familiar household appliance store. Ironies of destiny. Laura was killed by a toaster oveninthecenterofNewYork.TherealMarthatoo,butshestillhadtofindoutwhereshe was.

  "Seriously,whydoyoutalksoweird?"Iaskedtotheastonishmentofallthosepresent.But Ispokelikethem.TherewasnowaytopronounceS."Damnit,whereamI?-Whoareyou?"I askedthewomannexttome.Ayoungman,withafriendlyfaceandcleareyes,smiledatme, thinkingmaybeIwasteasinghim."That’syourfriendFelisa,Marta.Stopjokingandgohome, walk."

  I sat up and stared at the damn toaster oven. I had a terrible headache and noticed I was wearingtheugliestdarkbluejeans,wideandthick.MyCowboybootsweren’tveryflattering, nottomentiononthehugeside,andmymasculineT-shirt,thesamecolorasthepants,borethe nameofasupermarketnexttoagrotesquelogoontheleftside.What?Whatthehell?!Marta wasasupermarketclerk!

  "Okay...okay,okay,okay..."Itriedtoreassuremyself.Theyallcontinuedtolookatme strangely.Istoodup.Ilookedaround,feelingmyselfwatching.

  "Felisa,takehertothedoctor.She’stakenagoodblowtothehead,"saidtheclerk,who claimedthegirlwasmyfriend.

  "I'll tell her right now. She’s acting very strange, isn’t she? Poor thing ..." Felisa said exaggeratedly.

  IapproachedFelisa.

  "You,"Isaid,pointingather.,"whereweare?"

  "Intown."

  "IseethisisnotBeverlyHillsprecisely,"Isighed."What’sthenameofthistown?"

  "ValenciaofAlcántara."

  "Where’sthatat?"

  "IntheCáceres,Spain."

  "Cáceres?I’minSpain?I’veneverevenheardofCáceres."

  "Marta,let'sgotothedoctor."

  "No,no,no,no...No,no...I'mfine,I'mfine...takemehome,I'lltakeawarmbathwith foamandlightsomecandles..."

  "What?Youdidn’tpaythewaterbill...latelyyou’vebeentakingabathwithabowlofcold waterthatyougetfromthefountaininthesquare,"Felisalecturedme.

  "Areyoukidding?"Felisashookherhead.Ijustwantedtocrywithmynewbody,withmy newlife.

  "Comeon,I'lltakeyouhome."

  "AtleastI'llhaveelectricity,don’tI?"

  "Yes,yes..."Fornow..."Felisasighed.

  Weleftwingstreet.Itwashotashellandalthoughitwasstillsunnyoutside,theold-fashioned streetlampsfromtimewhenmygreat-great-grandmotherwasalivewerebeginningtolightup.

  Iglancedattheoutdatedwatchonmyleftwrist.Eight-thirtyintheafternoon.

  "Felicity,what’stoday’sdate?"Iaskedmynewfriend,whowasabsorbedinheriPhone.

  "Felicity?WhoisFelicity?"

  "Areyoutryingtodrivemecrazy?"

  "Marta,stopjoking,please.TodayisFriday,July20."

  Conclusion ... my top model body had been pushing up daisies for a little over a month.

  HowlongwasIinthatdamntunnel?

  When we walked in silence for five minutes, we passed by Paseo San Francisco, paved groundinthetownsquare,surroundedbytreesandshrubsthatseparateditfromthesidewalk.

  Itwasfullofpeoplesavoringtheirbeeronterracesofthebarsinfront.

  "Wait, we're gonna tell these guys we'll be there at twelve. Or do you plan to stay home today?"mynewfriendasked.

  "What?"

  BeforeIcouldgraspwhatwasgoingon,Ifoundmyselfinfrontoffourstrangerswhowere sitting comfortably on the terrace of a bar greeting Felicity. Felicity? No, Felicia? Not that either...Felisathat’sit!

  "Marta,we'veheardaboutthemessyougotintoatManoli's,"saidawomaninherthirties, dark-haired,withlargedarkeyesandacharacteristicmoleonherrightcheek.

  "Yes, and I'm going with her to the doctor because she's too scared to go alone," Felisa saidworriedly.

  "Howharddidithityou?"theshort-hairedwomanasked,standingnexttothebrunette.

  "Well,ithitmeprettyhard,"Isaid,lookingatthemall,onebyone,andwishingthatsome recapture of my present memory would remember the names of these who seemed to be my friends.

  "I'mtakinghertomyhousefirst,"Felisainformedthem.

  EveryonenoddedandFelisaandIleftthepromenade.Wewentdownfourstepstowhere

  myfriend'scarwasparked.AricketyHondaCRX.

  "Yourpieceofjunkisoverthere,"Felisasaid,pointingtoaveryoldandquitedustyred SuzukiVitara,behindhers.

  "Mypieceofjunk?"

  "Your car. Your car is there. If you decide to go out tonight, I'll pick you up and then if you'reokayyou'lldriveittoyourhometown."

  To my hometown? So, I didn’t live here ... I lived in another town, I had a car which appeared ready to suffer an engine fire at any moment, there was a group of people who seemedtobemyfriends,Felisaseemedtobemybestfriend...Iworkedinasupermarket,I hadnowaterbecauseIhadn’tpaidthebill,wewentoutonFridaynightsand...Whatelse?

  WhatelseshouldIknow?

  "Hey,Felisa...Ifeelweird."

  "Iknewit!Let'sheadtothedoctor,rightnow."

  "No,no...Iamokay.ButIdon’trememberanything."

  "Ofcourse,Marta.That'swhyyouhavetogotothedoctor."

  "Felisa, please don’t understand. I know what I'm talking about but I can’t describe it."

  Felisa's expression grew more and more confused. And I couldn’t explain myself well, becauseIcouldn’ttellthetruth.IfIhadtoldher,shewould’vejustlaughedatmeandinstead oftakingmetothedoctorshewould’vetakenmetothecrazyhouse."Don’task,okay?WhenI askyouthings,justanswerme,okay?

  Felisagotinhercarandclosedthedoor.ShetoldmetositinthepassengerseatandIdid.

  Sheswitchedontheradio,strokedthesteeringwheel,andthenlookedatme.

  "Traumashockonceagain,"sheconfirmedseriously,shakingherhead.

  "Traumashock?"

  "That'showyoubehavedwhenyourparentsdied.Youwereinsuchastateofshock,that fordaysyoudidn’trememberanythingoranyone,yourmemorywasclouded.Youdidn’teven rememberAlejandro’sname!"

  "Who’sAlejandro?"

  My new friend shook her head and with more maneuvers than necessary, managed to get hercaroutoftheparkinglot,andgotontheroad.Shestoppedatatrafficlightandtookaright.

  We rode in silence the whole trip. I tried to figure out how to get out of there and get to my hometown, I sensed that it must be a commute I had to make every day. Ten minutes later, leavingbehind
astraighthighwaywithwideviewsoffieldsandmountainsandafterpassing through a town with little white houses called Las Huertas, Felisa turned to turn left. She brakedalittleandcreptupacurvynarrowroadtoatowncalledElPino,whichtookonlya

  fewminutes.Aswepassedatownsquarefullofelderlypeoplesitting,talkinganimatedlyat thedoorsoftheirhouses,shemadearightturnandstopped.Shegotoutofthecarandtoldme todothesame.

  "Aren’tyougoinginside?"sheasked.

  Ididn’thaveapurseandIhadn’tevenoccurredtometosearchthelargeanddeeppockets ofmyhorriblepants.Itookoutkeys.Theonesformycar,theonesformyhouse,othersIdidn’t know what they were for ... and a cell phone! That could be of great help. I showed her my housekeystriumphantly.

  "I’llcomebylater?Iseleven-thirty,okay?"

  "Sure."

  "Restalittle,andifyouneedanything,callme."

  "Okay,thanks."

  Felisa gave me a quick hug, hopped into her car and went before the watchful eye of all octogenarians who had nothing else to do, but gossip about everything that happened around them. I remembered my neighbor in New York, Anthony, and I thought how much he would havelikedthattown.

  Scanningmysurroundings,theskylookedspectacularandmyhousewasn’tbad.Curiously,I opened the door. The first thing I could see was the stairs leading up to the second floor. A spaciousdiningroomwithfireplaceandnexttoit,twobrownleatherarmchairs.Totheleft,an archway leading to a long corridor that led to a room, a small bathroom and in finally, a narrow and outdated kitchen. I climbed the stairs. Three more bedrooms, another bathroom morespaciousthantheoneonthegroundfloorandasmallhallwayleadingtowhatwouldbe my favorite place. A large terrace overlooking the roofs of other little houses scattered throughoutthevillage,themountainsandaskythatatthattimewaspink.Inthebackground,far inthebackground,Icaughtglimpseofavillageontopofanalreadylitmountain.Thispeeked mycuriosity,asitwasspectacular.AsIlookedtowardthedoor,IsawanenvelopethatIwas notmomentsbefore,whenIwentoutontheterrace.Ipickeditupandsatonthefloorwithmy backagainstthewall.

  "TomyDearLaura"

  Immediatelyandwithgreatcuriosity,Iopenedtheletterandpreparedtoreadituncertain ofwhoitwas.Alittlehelpfromheaven,maybe?Ihopedso.

  DearLaura,

  It’s not easy to go back and live in someone else's body without having learned anything abouttheirlifealongwithitbeingsodifferentfromwhatyou’reaccustomedto.Ifeelthatthis has been what you have been living. It happens to a few, but it happens. A majority of those who have to return, start from scratch, a new life from the womb of their mother; But this wasn’tthecasewithyou.You’reconfused,withhundredsofquestionsandalreadymadelife thatyoumustfollow,rememberingmoreofyourpreviouslifethanthisone.Itwillbedifficult,

  but you will adapt, I’m sure. Now, you are Marta, an orphan born on November 9, 1983.

  You’veworkedasasupermarketcashierforfiveyearsandwithoutanyclosefamilymembers.

  You live in a small town and everyone knows you. Simply greet everyone, and you will discovertheirnamesandlivesasyougo.Asyouadapttoyournewbody,itwillleadyouto theplacesyouknow,toyourroutineandinafewdays,withoutknowinghow,youwilllead Marta’slifeasifyouhadalwaysbeenyours.

  Check out her mobile phone, Marta's social networks, look at the pictures hidden in the chestunderthebedinyourroomandavoidaskingquestions.Never,underanycircumstance shouldyoutellanyonewhathashappened.EveryonethinksthatyouareMarta,theywouldnot beabletoconceivethatanothersoullivesinher.Thereareveryfewwhobelieveinmiracles, spiritsandtherebirthofsouls.LetthemaskpoorNapoleon,whoforyearshadbeenlockedup inaLondonmadhousewhileinhisexecutivebodyforshoutingtothefourwindsinthathewas the real Napoleon Bonaparte inside another body. Do not make the same mistake as he and others.Andmostofall,usethistimeyouhaveinordertolearneverythingyoudidn’tlearnor value as Laura. It is, among other things, your mission. Pay your outstanding debts, which is onewaytohelpyouwillfindthepeaceofmindyoucravesomuch.

  Butthislettergoesbeyondawarning,Laura.Youhavereturnedtotheworldwithatouch frombeyond.Youcanseethingsthatnooneelsesees...youcanseetheotherside,theside you'vebeenon;Andtherefore,tothepeoplewhocrossandtheirspirits.Donotbeafraid,they can’tdoyouanyharm.Noteveryonewillbenice,butyoucantrytohelpthem.Bestrongand believeinyourself,inyournewbeginning.

  Iwishyouthebest,Laura.

  Withlove,

  Claudia

  P.S.CheerstotheGoodLife

  Iwasparalyzed.Ididn’tknowwhethertogetup,takeanaspirin,andbegintodiscovermore aboutMarta;Orsittherefortherestofmynewdays.Claudia,thetwelve-year-oldgirlwho hadsatwithmeonabenchinCentralParkthedayIdied,hadwrittenmealetterfrombeyond towishmeahappylifeandwarnmewithanunprecedentedmaturityforherage,Ofmynew life.Alifethatwasnoteasytopaint.Seespirits?Arewekidding?Itwassomethingthathad alwaysterrifiedme...ifIcouldn’tevenseeIkerJiménezintheFourthMillenniumShow,how wasIsupposedtoseethedead?

  "SaintPeter,whenwemeetagain,I'mgoingtogiveyouabeatingthatwillslamyouright down to the ground!" I shouted, pointing to the sky, which was already darkened into a wonderfulsetofcolors.

  Isighedandsmiled.Igotupoffthefloorandtookatourofthehouse.Ilefttheletterinthe drawer the entryway table in the hallway and walked into the room that had a window overlookingtheterrace.Itwasthebestroominthehouse,soIassumedthatitwasmine.AndI

  wasright.Beneaththebedwasalargeredvelvettrunkthathidhundredsofoldphotographs.I searchthoughthem,butnomatterhowIexaminedthem,therewasnodoubtingit.Inthemwere peoplewhohadtohavebeensixfeetunderformanyyears.IsawMartaasachildwithher parents, in all the pictures she always appeared serious, and always sad. I turned on an old laptop on the nightstand. Beside it, a little notebook with an email and three passwords.

  Fortunately,Martahadabadmemoryandhadtowriteeverythingdown.Somethingthatwasn’t a problem for me. I doubted there was a Wi-Fi connection but ... Hey! It was a miracle, it worked!Therewasinternet,althoughitwasjokebecauseitwassoslow.Desperatelyslow...

  Before logging in to her Facebook, I logged into mine, Laura's. When someone dies, your Facebook wall is full of cheesy and tacky messages saying things like: "If heaven has Facebook, you're sure to be smiling when reading all the messages we sent you" ... but how manydidIhave?ZERO.OnlycommentsonmylastSelfiewithpoutylipswhichread"RIP".I closedthebrowserfeelingpissedandoutraged.AndIloggedintoMarta’sprofile.Whatasad andboringprofile!Sherarelypublishedanything.Shehadbeentaggedinphotographswhere the poor girl wasn’t favored in the best light. Wait! That means I wasn’t very favored in the best light! Immediately, I ran to take a look at myself in the mirror. Oh, brother ... maybe I couldgetsomethingoutofthis,forsure...butMartadidn’thavemakeupinthebathroom.Not evenahairdryer.Nothing.Itookoffmyglassesthatdidn’tsuitmeatall.Hereyeswereavery dark green color, but they were barely visible with those ginormous glasses. Her nose was fine,nottoosmallortoolarge,normal...butithadtoomanyfrecklesandherskin...inpoor conditionandwithmorewrinklesthannecessary.Therewasonestraygreystrandamongher darkbrownhair,alittleundernourishedandup
kept,withastraightandlittledefinedcut.Iput my glasses back on because without them I was blind as a bat. I could see myself naked at anothertime,itwouldbetootraumaticformeafterseeinghowmyfacescreamedforagood cleansingscrub.

  Iwentbacktomyroomandopenedthecloset.Threeshirts,twoblackandonewhiteall verybaggy.Twoold-fashionedbluejeans.Someblackleggings.Threejerseys.Ablackjacket and a jeans jacket in a style from the 1990s. Two pairs of shoes without heels and a pair of sneakers.Nothingelse.

  Iopenedthebedsidetabledrawer.Martaseemedtokeepeverythingthere.Itookouther bankbook,updatedtwomonthsago.Balance:50eurosWHATTT!!!???Thatwasaboutonly

  $53.00Americandollars.IalmostgaveintocallingCarla,mypreviousmother...andaskher forallthemoneyIwonasatopmodel,whichwasnotexactlyasmallamount.IfIcouldjust addfivezerostothatsorryandpatheticbankaccount.Isearchedandsearchedformorebank books, but nothing. It was just that one. I only had 50 euros (53 dollars) ... and 5 euros in a shabbyfakebrownleatherwallet.Iwashopingthatbyrefreshingthenotebookthatwouldgive me something more ... I was satisfied with a zero, one single zero! In an envelope were the payrollstubsfromMarta'sworkinthesupermarket.EighthoursadayofworkfromMondayto Saturdaytocollect...Itookoutonepayrollslip.Iputitdown...Ilookedattheceiling...I went back to looking at the payroll ... 600 euros! I dropped on the bed. I thought about the beatingIwouldgiveSaintPeter.Ilookedattheclock.Itwasteno'clockatnight.Iwentback to the sink and turned on the faucet ... it was true, there was no water and my hair and my armpits screamed for a good shower. As I went downstairs, I heard my grandmother's

  unmistakablelaughter.Well,fromLaura'sgrandmother.AndIwasn’tgoingcrazy,herlaughter filledtheair.Forreal.

  Iwenttothekitchentryingtothinkpositive.MynewstomachgrowledasifIhadn’teaten inacentury.ButwhenIopenedtherefrigerator,mypositivethoughtsvanisheduponseeinga miserable,lonelybarofbutterandacoupleofyogurtscontainersthathadexpiredmonthsago.