I left my scooter and walked to the Internet café. Luckily Juan Carlos was gone, it was sweltering hot in the room with the computers. There were four monitors of an unknown Mexican brand along the wall. Everyone had a space of about fifty centimeters, and for privacy, partitions were built that you could see over, but if you wanted to know what your neighbors were doing, you couldn't do this secretly, and it would be very flashy. If you cared, you'd stand out and be known as a curious little person. It wouldn't matter to me how I was known; I disappeared everywhere anyway, but I had no streak of curiosity. I found my life complicated enough, and I didn't find learning all the details of others' lives attractive. Also, I didn't have any secrets myself. For whom?
I didn't want everyone to know about my failed life. I was not the daughter of a mother who loved her so much that she, the mother, had given up her desire for a free life of her own to wait until her daughter was an adult. I also didn't want people to know that my mother had died bloodthirsty somewhere in a godforsaken place in Chile. But to call this a secret? I took in the space of the Internet café. The Fruit Bar was a popular breakfast spot in Zihuat. It had always been going well, and since a year or so, the son of the previous owner had made an Internet corner with four PCs and two places where people could connect their own laptops. At each spot, there was a pull-out piece made of sturdy plywood where one could put breakfast or lunch. The son's wife, a nice fat girl who listened to Dolores but didn't live up to that name because she always hummed happily and kindly, kept the places meticulously clean. As soon as you spilled, she came with a cloth that smelled of detergent to scrub away the circles of the cup, the egg yolk of the omelet with mushroom, and the splashed fruit juices. She must have feared contamination because she did nothing but brush, rub, vacuum, mop, and clean. That's why it was always busy in the Fruitbar. It was clean and freshly painted in
all exuberant Mexican colors. The wall I sat across from was painted sky blue, the tables where the monitors were green, and the partitions orange. The tables in the restaurant were red, the chairs and bar stools varied in color, they were yellow, purple, orange, or blue. All those colors in Mexico were one of the main reasons why I loved this country so much. The love that welled inside me made me sad because it brought me to you and showed me how you had left me.
Did you know how much I loved you? Do you have any idea that I did many of the things I did, like swimming fast, drawing beautifully, working on myself, and singing in a band, because I wanted you to be proud of me? I tried to impress you. Of course, I also did it because I liked it and because it gave me a good feeling to be on stage or to move quickly through the water, but you were always in the background as the one who admired me for what I did.
When you left, I kept doing everything: swimming, drawing, working on myself, and singing in that band, but when I thought about you not being there anymore to be proud of me, to be happy with me for what I achieved, to listen to the stories I told about people clapping loudly after a song, Or had to rub their eyes with emotion, after you were no longer a part of my life I felt that hole in everything I did. Not always, only when I thought of you, and I did all the time. Repeatedly, I knew that you were no longer there, somewhere else, and that you might love someone else, but never as much as you loved me, I hoped.
Or so I believed.
I can't believe it.
I didn't dare to hope.
Because.
Why. Did. You. Leave.
Gone. Why were you gone? Everything today, everything tomorrow, and everything on my travels reminded me of you and of your leaving. After all these years, I still couldn't accept this. I couldn't understand it. It wasn't because I was dumb, but still, I couldn't understand it; I couldn't grasp it; why had you told me you loved me so much? How could you love someone who loved you so much and still leave? You had no idea how much I loved you; it just had to be. You had no idea because you had never had a mother yourself and, therefore, never loved a mother yourself. I'm sure it was. And had you left me because you had not had a mother? Did you want me to experience what it meant not to have a mother? What did you think I would learn from it? Never, ever would I have a child. I would never want to do this to a child. This thought comforted me and gave me a sense of pride that I would never do what you did to me.
Dolores came humming to distract me from my melancholy thoughts, she looked at me beaming as she gave the already shiny clean keyboard a turn with her cleaning cloth. Take an excellent fruit juice, which would do you good, you look so gloomy. Or would you rather have coffee? A cappuccino?'' Yes, have a cappuccino and a bowl of fruit salad, please.'
The propellers of the fans rattled slowly. The Internet was also slow. I searched with Google Maps for that National Park. It was located on an island in a remote corner. I would have to fly to Santiago de Chile, and from there, I could take a bus to the southernmost town of Puerto Montt. I could take a plane. I sent a message to Flight Finder, with which I had flown to remote areas before, and asked them urgently about flights from Santiago de Chile to the Isla Grande De Chiloé. I hoped they would answer me soon and that it would be no problem. Money had never been a problem.
My father was the son of wealthy textile barons from Twente who had invested well in various companies worldwide. We had shares in electronics companies such as Philips and Sony, airlines such as KLM and British Airways, and hotel chains such as Hilton and Bilderberg, where high revenues ensured an endless flow of money. Funds had been created for the descendants of the barons, who made more money every year. I could live comfortably on the interest, and if I had unexpected expenses, I could have an amount that was a year's salary for many people. This didn't happen often; apart from my travels, I lived frugally. In my search for flights, it turned out that Puerto Montt had an airport and that if I left the day after tomorrow, I would arrive in Puerto Montt the next day. I sent an email to Flight Finder that I had already found a flight.