Her calloused fingers run through the tablecloth very carefully, the sound of hens can be heard across the room made of wood, the smell of meat starting to be cook fills the hall without roof, she sits in the same plastic chair, breath and rest the feet, and they are slightly swollen because of the daily walk.
The sound of the door fills the places and she opens her ayes, they are illuminated by the sun’s light; She calls him, He smiles and walk straight into the refrigerator as he does everyday for years, he is tired, she gets up with better humor and follows him into the room, sees him sitting in that old and wizened sofa, she says that the food will be ready soon, she sits in front of him over her knees, then she carefully removed, first his left shoe then the right shoe, she touches his tired feet, after a while she stands in silences, no more kisses, no hugs or her saying lovely things, she just let her instincts guide her.
And she serves the food, freshly prepared, hot and spicy as he likes; she sits next to him, they watch tv with the highest volume. Over the years they have learned that they don’t have to say anything to be comfortable. He carefully eats meat, beans and tortillas that she has made, eats everything quietly, sometimes he says something about their live together, if the debts have increase, about where the children are, about the old clothes and how they can’t buy more. And the talk about trivial things, issues that for others ears maybe boring, but she looks at him, and she does without expression. It has being so long since the hug each other, they don’t touch each other anymore, and they don’t say I love you in the night o during the days that they are alone.
She gets ups, takes the dishes into the kitchen, and she sits back in that old white chair, and again her fingers run through the tablecloth, the sun returns and illuminate the faces, she lights a cigarette and smokes, and she breathes the smoke of all those passing years that live only in her memory, and he is no longer there, and the television is off, the chair is empty again as before, and the hens are quiet for one moment. She thought about him in this silent, she remembered him with the same crooked smile.
She keeps smoking the same old smoke, passes her hand through his hair, always tied up, and among so many echoes, the phone interrupted that moment with the sound of a call that she has been waiting for. She quickly got up, picked up the phone and was able to hear his voices, no longer a dream; it was him, the same distant and tired voice. And her eyes have expression again, and her hands were no longer tired, and the sun became brighter and the sound of the world was clear, she was able to see those old times of them being together and without saying a word she says it all — have you eaten?—