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.
Cheers to the good life Page 3