Lucia Carretero Sierra
I romantizise my life out of proportion and then write about it.
Dogs to the Rescue
It was a rainy Monday afternoon back in March 2020, when the Covid-19 lockdown had just started in Spain. The timing of this story is important since the Spanish government had just passed their tough restrictions, where you could not leave your house unless it was for work, shopping, or walking the dogs. Living by the seaside in a very small town meant that when you were going for walks, you would rarely see another human being. I would also try very hard to avoid doing so, which is why that afternoon I took the very rocky path near the cliffs of Cabo de Palos.
Our seemingly normal family of five got in the car that day knowing that it would be another difficult ride to school. Juan, my stepdad, must have hated his life to extremes I’d never understood, as it didn’t matter what day it was, every morning he’d wake up shouting and finding something to complain about. Sometimes it was about his shirts not being ironed properly. Or the breakfast not being to his standard. Or the news. Or the weather. Or me. Mainly me if we are being honest. Once he was so upset that I was having breakfast next to him with dirty nails, that he crushed his cup on the wall and asked me to leave the house. Little did he know that all my dreams were about me walking out that door and never returning.
The ground isn’t soft, yet it brings satisfaction to walk it barefoot. The soil is cold and damp, making Sandra’s feet predominantly aware of the freezing sensation traveling from her soles to her thighs, to her neck. She’s barely wearing anything, but her shame, her old scars, and her shadows. The air is damp and its humidity gets impregnated on her skin like a stamp while she looks around grasping her breaths.
My New Year Promises to Myself
Since early December I have gone back and forth trying to write the perfect New Year's resolutions. Being on the verge of the big thirty is making me feel like I need to turn my life around and get my things in order. So for over five weeks I have just been writing and deleting things off my to-do list for the new year. I thought I actually had the final list, and then I woke up yesterday with the certainty of someone's who's just seen the light and I sat down for two hours and wrote the following (and definite) promises to myself for this 2022.
The one about the romance of a trip with a stranger
I was working behind the bar of the Green Man in Soho, London. Having come from Spain just a few months earlier, as well as having just turned 18, had put me on this forever lasting state of self discovery and adventure hunger. I wanted to experience everything that life had to offer in all its forms and I wasn’t afraid of anything. So when this fifty year old local who would come to the bar often, offered me to spend Christmas with him, I accepted.
The farewell trip before our divorce
I want this trip to be never-ending. I look at the scenery in front of me, and fear the moment we’ll reach our driveway, park our Devil’s Red Citroen Berlingo and she’ll take her luggage and head for her new life. I fear the moment I’ll stop seeing long empty roads stretching across different climates and at different hours, because when that moment does arrive, I’ll be going home to an empty bed. A bed without Sophia and her extravagant ways. A bed without her messy hair all over my face, her legs intertwined with mine, and her left arm always reaching for my left hand. She hates being the small spoon, and for twenty two years she’s ruled my world, the color of our bedsheets, and our sleeping positions.
25th of September 2016.
The day I made love for the first time was the 25th of September of 2016, at 23 years, two months and 7 days. I won’t use the term ‘losing my virginity’ at any point in these words. For many of us, losing our virginity happen to us before we are even conscious of what making love is. For me, it was at 6 years old, and it wasn’t to the man of my dreams. My innocence left my body, mind and soul before I had any pubic hair. It left me before I had learnt right from wrong. My innocence was taking from me before I knew it wasn’t anyone’s to take. It was brushed off me like the dust on that old vintage cupboard that is there just for the beauty of its presence.
Leire drives through the roads of Germany with her left side window wide open. The warm air coming off the heating escapes through it as fast as the tears pour down her cheeks. It’s minus two degrees outside but Siberian weather inside her guts. She rolls herself a cigarette while holding the wheel with her wrists, hoping for another car to show up at any point so she wouldn’t be the smallest thing in the immense scenery that is the Northern Limestone Alps.
The yellow jacket
He’s sitting at a restaurant table by the seaside with his feet up. His brown hair, messy as the shore, is tied up in a bun as cute as his yellow vintage jacket. As untidy as his curls, is his beard, which reminds me of someone I am yet to remember. He stares at the world’s biggest waves for most of the time, while occasionally scrolling through his phone. By his side there’s a book, I can’t see the cover but it looks old, I somehow get the feeling that the book has been read by hands other than his. Oh, his hands.