$trings

15

The days that followed came with anxiety and tumult at every text blast that occurred. I was distanced from everything, everyone. Locked in my room for a day in the next month, to think about the tragedies. Never in my life had I seen this many tragedies that baffled and vexed me to the pulp.

I imagined them: a gas tank being opened for use at a tacos truck downtown. A flame, possibly ignited with oblivion, possibly ignited without having been informed of the gas tank not being connected properly. And boom! Blazes and sirens blaring at a frightened mob.

A factory in the countryside, left unattended. Maybe a machine left running, creating friction with another machine – I was not aware of how factories worked. Then boom! Fires and bells shrieking at unmindful workers inside.

Two cars driving at high speed towards a crossroad. Neither car momentarily aware that traffic lights change at any moment. Cars, at full speed, flying into the crossroad. And boom! Fire and heat spreading across the street... taking anything in its path...

...In a month, all of it was forgotten, though. All deaths and fears stomached. All pain supressed into the hearts of the general public. Chaos came like that. It came and went like a professional thief, fast and seemingly undetected. And only after the damage did it become labelled a heist, a chaos.

It was in June when I officially stomached that episode, and formally accepted what had happened as misfortune.

"Are you done now?" Carlos murmured, looking me over.

"No," I muttered.

He mumbled ok. Fell silent like the good little boy he was... sometimes.

About a minute later, I felt his eyes on me again.

"And now?" he murmured.

I peered at him, and he had the novel I had told him to read resting down-right on his naked chest. He was still in the first segment, probably the first page.

"No," I muttered; I did it dramatically.

He mumbled ok again. Fell silent and – because I was watching him now – picked up the book. I focused back when he turned the page. Only to hear, "What about now?"

"You think I've designed the rest in five seconds?" I muttered this while typing in the last line of my code. Kidding. I was typing in the 9th line, out of 15.

"Babe..." – I heard him drop the book on his chest again – "it's been like, two hours of you just typin shit... You need a break."

"Don't forget two hours of you reading the same line over and over again," I reminded indifferently.

He chuckled. I glimpsed him shake his head while shifting to sit up. Focused me kept her eyes on the screen, and her fingers gliding over the keys of her laptop. This part of me was the good one; always trying to get good grades.

"We both need a break then," he said.

He was crawling – I think – around on the bed now. I didn't consider why he was crawling. Well, I chose not to.

"I'm almost done," I assured him.

"C'mon."

"No."

"I think I deserve a reward."

I ignored that. Went on typing in my code.

By all means, let me set the scene a little bit more. So, I was on his bed – one big therapeutic bed shrouded by navy blue and white striped spreads – in his dad's house, in his navy blue and black bedroom. My big ass had me seated comfortably at the base of his cot, the laptop balancing on my thighs. Late afternoon sun shining through the three great windows that beautified his room...