Las pequeñas cosas

   La gente no sabe nada. La gente no tiene idea de lo que significa algo para alguien más, de lo que algo insignificante puede simbolizar para alguien que no tiene tantas cosas alrededor. Puede que sea cierto el hecho de que, en el mundo de hoy, se le ponga atención a un montón de cosas que la verdad no tienen nada de importancia. Pero así son los cambios, así son las nuevas olas que vienen a reordenar todo lo que no estaba bien ordenado. Porque las cosas que son estables y que tienen sentido no tienen porqué cambiar con el tiempo. Eso es evidente.

 No sé de qué estoy hablando y al mismo tiempo siento algo de rabia. Me siento un poco susceptible, tal vez por el virus que tengo en el cuerpo. O tal vez sea porque estoy solo y me siento solo y todo me hace sentirme cada vez peor. Siento que me atacan de un lado y de otro, siento que no quieren dejarme un piso sobre el cual caminar y es entonces que me pregunto: ¿que fue lo que hice?

 Sinceramente no sé que hice, a quien, como o cuando. No tengo la más remota idea si es eso o es que tengo complejo de persecución y en verdad no ha pasado nada como eso. Tal vez soy solo yo que creo que todos vienen por mi pero tal vez la realidad de las cosas es más evidente y recurrente de lo que pienso en primera instancia. Tal vez no se trata de nadie más sino de mi. Es decir, estas cosas pequeñas que me afectan tanto puede que sean mi culpa, incluida el virus que tengo.

 Ya me está doliendo la cabeza de nuevo, un poco detrás de los ojos. Me duele al tragar y también me duele el cuerpo, los pies y todo lo demás. Sin embargo cocino y hago ejercicio, trato de no encerrarme y hacer nada pero creo que podría ser una buena opción si las cosas siguen como están. Esas cosas pequeñas, eso que va pasando poco a poco, va rompiendo lentamente la resistencia de las personas, como las olas del mar rompen los obstáculos que les ponen.

 No puedo pensar bien. Ni siquiera sé si tiene sentido lo que estoy pensando. No sé si alguien me persigue o si todo es culpa mía. La verdad no tengo problema con que todo sea culpa mía pues no me sorprendería tampoco. No soy tan importante como para que alguien me siga y quiera destruirme. Soy tan insignificante que me daría risa que alguien se dedicara a destruirme a mi cuando hay mejores rivales.

 Me duelen los oídos también pero eso es porque me los tapo para dormir. No soporto el ruido de la gente en la mañana y no me gusta que me nieguen el derecho a dormir. Ya tengo suficiente con no poder dormir yo, no necesito que nadie empeore esa situación. Tal vez la falta de sueño tenga que ver con todo esto. Tal vez deba dormir más…

 Pero eso hice ayer. O traté de hacerlo, al menos. La verdad es que no cambió nada. Da igual si duermo o no, si me pongo sobre mi cabeza o me siento a no hacer nada. Parece que no hay cambio pero sin embargo las cosas pequeñas sí cambian y me saca de quicio. Me duele un poco y lo reconozco pero como no sentirse mal por algo que ha estado ahí por tanto tiempo y ahora ya no existe. Es una lástima completa.

 Antes tenía un lugar al cual acudir cuando me sentía mal, cuando quería que me subieran el animo. Después pasé a otro y ahora tampoco lo tengo. Creo que son lugares comunes que necesito, en los que me siento cómodo. Pero ya no. ¿Como sentirme cómodo de donde me echan? Eso no tendría ningún sentido. Creo que me he quedado sin ese rincón que solía necesitar o tal vez todavía necesite. Creo que ya no lo tengo y no sé si todavía me importa, es muy pronto para saberlo.

 Lo que más me preocupó, de entrada, fue recuperar todo lo que había construido. Al menos sé que eso, parcialmente, está a salvo. Y digo parcialmente porque no es por completo. Algunas palabras se han perdido, algunas conexiones que existían y ya no están. Ya no volverán a ser y se habrán perdido para siempre. No creo que importe pues esas cosas cambian todos los días y no se mantienen estables jamás, a lo largo de ninguna de nuestras vidas.

 Tal vez le estoy dando demasiada importancia pero no lo sé. Como acabo de decir, apenas lo estoy procesando. Apenas estoy asimilando que hay una parte de mi que está furiosa, hay una parte de mi que tiene rabia. Pero también quiere volver a comenzar, quiere volver al ruedo y reiniciarlo todo de nuevo.

 Pero de eso no estoy seguro. Yo no soy como aquellos que dicen que si fallas una vez lo intentes una y otra vez hasta que aciertes. A mi eso me parece una tontería. Si solo fallas una vez e intentas de nuevo y vuelves a fallar, es hora de salirse del camino y dejar que atropellen a alguien más. Me parece que es lo más sensato que se puede hacer. Hay que saber rendirse en algún momento, saber cuando parar.

 Y creo que esta es una de esas oportunidades que me gritan: “¡Para!”. Y creo también que es hora de escuchar. Al menos por ahora no tendré el mismo empuje, las mismas ganas de hacer las cosas, de ir por ellas y de mostrarme orgulloso ante todo. Ya lo he hecho y lo único que ha respondido el mundo es que no le interesa en lo más mínimo lo que yo haga o lo que no haga. Al mundo no le importo pues somos demasiados y no tendría el mínimo sentido.

 Eso no significa que no haya gente a la que le importe. Claro que la hay. Pero todos sabemos que eso casi nunca es suficiente, siempre queremos más y más. Incluso yo, que no me considero una persona con ambición, quisiera que algo más de gente me apreciara o viera cosas en mi que yo no haya visto, con en las películas. Pero esas películas son inventos, son bonitas ilusiones que no reflejan nada la vida real de las personas. Son artificios que sirven solo para distraernos de nuestras aburridas vidas reales.

 Creo que por eso me gusta el cine. Porque me gusta sentirme engañado y hay engaños que son muy efectivos y saben llegar directo al alma. Algunos están tan bien hecho que es un placer contemplarlo y disfrutarlo, solo o con compañía. Yo casi siempre lo he hecho solo pero en ocasiones también con otra gente y, en esos caso también, las expectativas pueden variar bastante. En fin, todo el mundo es distinto.

 Por eso a algunos les dará igual lo que me pasó hoy a mi. Es ridículo despertar y ver que una parte de tu mundo, una pequeña parte, ha cambiado y las consecuencias que eso tiene para todo tu pequeño planeta, para las tontería que crees y en las que no crees nada, lo que piensas y lo que no y todas las variables que existen. Es todo un chiste que muchas veces no tiene la mínima gracia. El punto es que no es lo mismo para todos, de eso estoy seguro.

 Algunos caminarán derecho y pensarán: “¿Bueno, y a mi que me importa?” y seguirán su paso firme hacia delante, como siempre. Para otros será el fin del mundo e incluso derramarán lágrimas y se echaran a morir durante un tiempo sobre sus camas o en el mismo suelo. Tendrán recuerdos claros con esas pequeñas cosas y los tendrán en la mente como una de esas películas, pero con un guión todavía mucho más dramático y mucho menos pulido e interesante.

 En mi cabeza no sé qué pasa. El dolor de garganta que tengo hace una semana tiene la primera fila pues parece que se le da la gana de irse y eso me da miedo de verdad. Me pone a pensar como un loco y no quiero ponerme a pensar porque puedo llegar a conclusiones alarmistas que ahora mismo no me sirven de nada.

 Y además está todo lo demás, todas las otras cosas en las que tengo que pensar por estos días, por estos tiempos, y la cabeza no me da para tanto. Las pequeñas cosas son una patada fuerte en mi zona más vulnerable pero son cosas que pasan y que el tiempo se lleva como cuando se barren el polvo de la casa. Todo es polvo en esta vida, incluidos nosotros. Así que, sea o no sea nada, debo seguir porque me toca.

Tests

   The first day, he went alone. He didn’t wanted to get anyone involved in his personal life and he wasn’t ready to share his fears with someone else. He was even unsure about the whole thing but finally decided to go because he had to now. At last, he was making some money and he was about to go and live by himself. He already had a new place, his first ever in which he would not be sharing space with his family or with other people. A tiny apartment just for him. He had made the calculations several times and he knew he was able to pull it off.

 When he arrived to the hospital, they made him wait in a small room where all chairs were empty. No one else came that early to get tested. It was better like that, because he had no intention of running into anyone he knew and, besides, it was the only time he could pay a visit to the doctor without leaving his job. There was no way he was going to loose money to do that. He found a way to do it anyway and, after some time waiting, a nurse came for him.

 She led him to an office were a doctor asked him several questions. They were all very personal questions but he understood why those questions needed to be asked. He wasn’t offended at all but he did feel a bit embarrassed because it was the first time he really discussed these things with someone. The silly conversations with his friends, didn’t really count because there was always a certain amount of lying involved in that.

 Next, he was left alone in the office for a couple of minutes, time he took to take a look at the paintings in the room. There weren’t many. Most of the frames concerned some diploma or a family picture. But there were two actual paintings: one was the image of a field, probably wheat. The image seemed to have no end. In one side, little in the big space, there seem to be a couple of peasants, working in the field. Probably cutting some of the wheat or maybe taking care of something else.

 The other painting was an abstract work. It had a few read lines and dot among a jungle of black geometrical figures. It was very tiring to watch because it was obvious the red in the picture was being overwhelmed by the black. He didn’t have to be a genius to know what the picture was about. He was about to get nearer to the painting when the doctor came back with all his equipment.

 One by one, the doctor filled three small flasks with his patient’s blood. The process didn’t really took that long although it did seem longer for the man being drained out of blood because he suddenly felt dizzy and very weak. The person on the phone had told him he had to come without having anything to eat or drink. And now the doctor said he should do the opposite.

 As he stepped out of the hospital, he had to walk very slowly. He didn’t feel good at all. Not only was his brain aching, his arm was in pain too. After all, the man had used a needle in it three times. He had no idea the amount of blood they needed for testing but he thought that, at least, he could assume the results were going to be accurate with the amount of blood they had to double check any findings.

 He grabbed a taxi, which he never did, and asked to be taken to his work. He had money to pay but that expense meant he couldn’t so other things that week. A taxi ride was too much for him to handle on his low income and now more than ever, with the new place coming and the bills for that place and everything related to it. He was very happy to move out of his parents’ home but he was also worried that he would fail as an adult. After all, it had taken him thirty years to leave the nest.

 Once he arrived at work, he was greeted by people who told him how bad he looked. He told them he had being at the hospital for a flu he was feeling coming, and that they had asked him to come without anything on his stomach. So he ran up to his desk, left his bag there and then ran to the kitchen where he poured himself some coffee and looked around for the messenger boy, who was normally around the office at that time.

 He finally found him flirting with a secretary. Interrupting the conversation, he asked the boy to please go for him to the nearest store and buy him some things to eat for breakfast with his coffee. He gave the boy a bill and told him exactly what to buy. He also told him that he could have the change, which made the boy stand up fast and run out of the office in a huff. He returned to his office, a cubicle in corner of that floor, and started working. Yet, he realized he couldn’t do any working.

 The boy returned soon and he was able to eat and feel a bit less weak but he didn’t do much that day at work. He felt very dizzy and even thought he was going to vomit at one point. He ran to the bathroom and, thankfully, no one saw him do that. He stayed in the bathroom for several minutes, drinking water and sprinkling his face too in order too cool down. It didn’t really work that much but he had no idea of what else to do.

 That night, at home, he fell asleep fast. He was very tired. He just left his clothes all over the place and didn’t bother to have any dinner. When he woke up, he realized he had bled out of his nose, his pillow stained with a big puddle of dried blood. He was surprised he hadn’t been awake by the bleeding; yet he had been so tired that even that accident wouldn’t be significant enough to wake him up.

 He threw away the pillow and washed the pillowcase. He threw that too after he realized the stain wouldn’t come off. He didn’t tell anything to his parents about it and they didn’t ask why he didn’t have a pillow in the following days. After all, he was about to move and maybe he was throwing the things he was going to replace once he was in his own environment.  It was only a couple of weeks later when it happened.

 His mother cried a lot, as if he was going away to the other side of the world. True, the apartment was not very close to his family’s place, but it was in the same city all the same. He asked them to visit once he was ready to receive visitors, in other words, once he would have furniture and glasses and plates and all that stuff that make some place a proper home. He moved out a Saturday and the following Sunday was a hard day to put everything in place and buy a lot of things, including a new pillow.

 Mom and dad had given him some money to start and he was grateful for that because there was no way, with his salary, that he was going to be able to buy everything he needed for the new place. With that small help, he was able to make that place something he could be proud of. However, the weekend ended very soon and he had to work as he finished putting everything where it belonged. But by the third week there, he decided he could have a small gathering of friends and then ask his parents to visit him.

 Those two couldn’t be done at the same time because of the size of the place, but he was thrilled to do it. He asked his friends to bring their own bottles of alcohol. There was no way he was paying for those. They had a very good time, joking around and even dancing in the small space. They had to end the party when a neighbor complained about the noise. Ironically, it was a neighbor that was always kind of drunk.

 It was the following day, a Saturday and more than a month after his blood had been taken out, that he received a letter in his house. It was the first letter that he received there and it was kind of awful it had to be one from the hospital. Once he saw it, he wanted to open it. But then he remembered his family was coming for lunch. And he didn’t want that on his mind while he ate with them. So he put it away for the day and enjoyed his family.

 He cooked that day. His mother tried to help every so often, but he wouldn’t let her. They had the best day ever, looking at old pictures, eating a lot and giving decoration ideas for the whole place. His parents wanted to be involved in some way and he wasn’t rejecting the idea at all. He needed them by his side.

 The following day, alone, he opened the letter. He had known what it said long before he ever got tested. But to know was exactly how he thought it would feel: like a hot knife piercing through the skin. His life had been on a path for a long time and now, his eyes had been opened. What to do next?

Como un vampiro

      Mi casa parece la casa de un vampiro. No porque esté ubicada en una colina lejana con rayos y centellas detrás o porque tenga muchos pasillos secretos y un sótano lleno de ataúdes. Lo digo por los espejos: no hay ni uno solo. Al comienzo, cuando volví, se me hacía raro ir a cepillarme los dientes al baño y no tener donde mirarme. Lo mismo con el espejo que solo había sobre el mueble de la sala, que siempre había hecho parecer que mi pequeño apartamento era mucho más grande de lo que era.

 También habían sido retirados los espejos más pequeños, casi todos en mi habitación y en el baño. Lo único que daba un reflejo era, a veces, los vidrios de las ventanas y los charcos de agua que se hacían en el baño cuando usaba la ducha. No podía culpar a mi familia por haber tomado semejantes decisiones. Al fin y al cabo, tenía dos marcas bastante notables en las muñecas que me recordaban porqué no podía mirarme al espejo nunca y también porqué todavía no estaba listo para volver a hacerlo.

 Hacía casi un año había vuelto a casa, después de vivir un año en una institución alejada de la sociedad. Estaba en el campo, donde había animales para acariciar y gente amable que hacía preguntas con mucho cuidado. Allí me curé de mis heridas y fui, poco a poco, recuperándome de todas ellas, las físicas y las mentales. Creo que el proceso fue muy rápido y todavía me da algo de miedo que todo haya sido tan apresurado. ¿Que tal si no funcionó?

 Supongo que tendré que esperar a ver para saberlo. Es un problema con el que tendré que vivir, lo mismo que con las cicatrices en mis muñecas y con el hecho de no tener espejos. A todo se acostumbra uno. Lo mismo sucedió con mi trabajo que, obviamente, no había esperado por mi mientras estaba encerrado. Tuve que empezar a buscar algo que hacer y lo encontré teniendo dos trabajos en casa. Tuvieron que ser dos para poder pagar las facturas y demás.

 El primer trabajo es muy simple. Soy vendedor por teléfono de productos lácteos para una gran empresa. Desde temprano en la mañana hasta la hora del almuerzo, me la pasa llamando a oficinas y a diferentes tipos de personas, preguntándoles por sus pedidos de yogures, quesos, leche y demás productos. Algunas veces son colegios y otras veces supermercados. Es muy aburrido pero pagan a tiempo.

 Sin embargo, pagan mal y por eso necesito el otro trabajo que hago en las tardes, hasta las ocho de la noche. Soy asistente técnico para una compañía que provee servicios de internet y de telefonía. La verdad es que mi horario no es estable y puede terminarse antes o muchos después, eso depende de cuando llegue alguien a cortar mi tiempo con los clientes. Es casi al azar.

 Los días son pesados pero, gracias a que sé negociar y utilizar mis incapacidades, no trabajo los fines de semana. Esos dos días los tengo solo para mí. Los sábados normalmente son los días más activos, en los que recibo la visita o visito yo mismo a mis padres. Siempre tienen mucho que decir y mucho que hacer. Sea como sea, siempre que me veo con ellos hay comida por montones, sea que la hacen o sea que pedimos a domicilio. Siempre me dicen que me veo flaco y triste pero creo que eso es algo que ya no se puede arreglar y trato de bromear al respecto.

 A veces las bromas salen muy mal y hago llorar a mamá o enojar a papá. Todavía es difícil hablar del tema, de mi tiempo lejos de todos y de porqué no hay espejos en la casa. Es algo delicado y, la verdad, tratamos de que no sea necesario hablar del tema. Porque no lo es. Nadie necesita escuchar esa historia por enésima vez, nadie necesita revivirlo todo de nuevo, ni ellos ni yo, así que simplemente no lo discutimos.

 Los sábados también suelen ser para salir a dar una vuelta. Normalmente voy con ellos, casi nunca solo. Me acompañan a comprar ropa, a comer algo, a ver gente por aquí y por allá. A pesar de que gano mi dinero, todavía necesito el apoyo económico de mis padres. Sin él no tendría que vestir ni tampoco electricidad para cocinar o para tener la luz prendida toda la noche como me pasa seguido.

 Tengo que confesar que no son pocas las veces que me siento mal por ello. No creo que mis padres tengan la responsabilidad de cuidarme a esta edad todavía pero lo hacen sin decir nada más. Al comienzo, cuando apenas había vuelto del “lugar”, me tuve que quedar con ellos y fue tras mucho insistir que me dejaron volver al apartamento que alguna vez había comprado con dinero ganado en mi trabajo anterior.

 Cuando los convencí que podía vivir solo, decidieron que lo mejor era traerme bolsas llenas de cosas. Me compraban ropa y la traían directo de la tienda o venían con bolsas y bolsas del supermercado. Pasaron un par de meses, en los que venían varios días en la semana, antes que escucharan y entendieran que yo no necesitaba actos de caridad de nadie. No quería que me regalaran las cosas como si no tuviese pies o manos.

 Lo mejor que pudieron hacer fue llevarme a los lugares y limitar sus compras. Tampoco quería que se gastaran el poco dinero que tenían en mi. Pero querían ayudar con tanto ahínco que los dejé que me hicieran un pequeño mercado cada mes y que me compraran una prenda de vestir cuando yo se le los pidiera. Era lo máximo que podía normalizarse nuestra relación después de lo ocurrido.

 Fue en uno de esas salidas a comprar ropa en las que me volví a mirar en un espejo. Normalmente me compraba todo acorde a las tallas y si había que hacer arreglos pues mamá haría su mejor esfuerzo. Pero para comprar pantalones era mejor probármelos, porque cada marca era distinta, todas las tallas, así fuesen del mismo número, no eran iguales en un almacén que en otro. Entonces me decidí por dos modelos en una gran tienda e hice la fila para entrar a los probadores. Yo empecé a sudar allí, pues me molestaban tales aglomeraciones.

 Desafortunadamente para mí, la fila se movió con rapidez. Me tocó en el último probador en un pasillo estrecho y apenas entré, caí en cuenta del espejo. Al comienzo, lo ignoré completamente. Hice el ejercicio de darle la espalda y quitarme los pantalones que tenía puestos así. Me temblaba todo y me demoré más de lo normal quitándome la ropa. Casi tropiezo al quitarme los pantalones de los tobillos y fue entonces, casi en el suelo, que mis ojos se tropezaron con mi reflejo.

 Todo volvió a ser como ese día, hacía casi dos años. Lo recordé todo de golpe, cada detalle de esa escena en la que había cogido a puños el espejo del baño hasta destrozarlo. Mis puños sangraban pero no había terminado. Tomé uno de los trazos más grandes y, sin dudas, me corté las muñecas como pude. Por suerte, era sábado y no demoraron en encontrarme unos amigos que venían a tomar algo todos los fines de semana.

 Me puse de pie en el vestidor a pesar de estar mareado. Creí que iba a vomitar pero me contuve. Miré los pantalones que esperaban a ser probados pero me di cuenta entonces que me sentía muy débil. Todo me daba vueltas y mis brazos se sentían como hechos de papel. No era momento de probarme ropa ni nada de esas tonterías. Como pude me puse mis pantalones de nuevo y salí corriendo de allí. Les dije a mis padres que compraran los de mi talla.

 Cuando volví a casa, fui directamente a la cama. Me quité la ropa y me acosté boca abajo. Tenía ganas de llorar pero no lo hice, no había lágrimas en mis ojos. Sin embargo no podía dejar de pensar en como se sentía el vidrio sobre mi piel y mis manos destrozadas por el vidrio del baño. Instintivamente, me miré las muñecas y los nudillos. Cualquiera vería con facilidad lo que había dejado ese episodio de mi vida en mi cuerpo.

 Como era común, no pude dormir en toda la noche. Me la pasé pensando, en la oscuridad, en los sentimientos que me habían hecho destrozar ese espejo. Recuerdo bien que lo destrocé simplemente porque me vi en el él y no soportaba verme. Aún hoy, eso no ha cambiado. Agradezco a mi familia que haya convertido mi casa en la de un vampiro.

Beaches

   As the weather report had indicated, there wasn’t a single cloud in the sky that day. There was just an infinite blue space, with birds and planes crossing it every so often. The beaches were packed. There wasn’t even a small place by the showers they could use. Maybe everyone had thought of the same plan once they had seen the weather report or maybe it was tradition to escape to the beach every Sunday. After all, the city was partially dead on those days.

 The couple walked along the first beach, the one closest to the metro station. It was obviously the most agitated one. There weren’t only a lot of people but there were also a lot of vendors and bars and women offering massages and even DJ’s blasting music that cut off every single conversation anyone wanted to have in the area. Besides, you had to really watch were you walked, unless you wanted to step on somebodies hand and never hear the end of it.

 It was a bit frustrating not to fin a single space there. They didn’t really want to keep walking but there was no choice. One of them said that, at least, there were more options. If it had been only that beach, they wouldn’t have been able to stay at all. A walk could be a good thing if, after all, they could find what they had come to find. So they kept on walking, to an area covered with palm trees were people also occupied every single centimeter there. They used some stairs behind the palms and returned to the ocean walkway.

 There were many people skating and riding bikes too. One of them thought it should be illegal to ride bikes so close to may people lying on the ground. He thought it was the most stupid idea there was but he couldn’t blame the city’s institutions for having to put bicycle tracks all over the place. There was really a lot of cycling going on, so they walked a little bit faster, through a flea market and then by a large marina, filled with very luxurious yachts.

 Both could see themselves riding one of those someday, even without any knowledge of sailing. It seemed like something that was incredibly exclusive and an indicator of wealth and power. Somehow, and they agreed on this two, to watch someone on a yacht was very sexy, even if being in a boat for more than one night was not the most enticing concept ever.

 They stood there like lamps, watching men with white shorts and sunglasses bard their yachts. They would all dress exactly the same. They both wondered if there was like a rulebook that stated how people should dress in a yacht. Everyone was wearing white: socks, skirts, pants, shorts, shirts, shoes,… It was very repetitive.

 They moved on to the next beach, just on the other side of the marina. This one was much larger than the one that was packed a few blocks back. Besides, this one wasn’t as filled with tourists, which was a good thing. They were tourists too but they hated to go on those groups, doing lines with those stupid hats and the leader of the tour with a flag as if they were all dogs following their owner. A normal tourist always wore the same thing, would always go to the same places and behave in exactly the same way.

 They were two young people and didn’t want to have anything to do with that. So they dressed a little bit more casually and had decided to walk around a lot, discovering special places of the city by themselves and with the help of the map in their phones. That was much more fun and they could even get lost and discover incredible new places and people, so they really liked their way better.

 Sadly, the second beach was also packed. Not so many tourists but many locals. The first section of the beach was covered by three volleyball field where several groups of people were throwing balls at each other with an incredibly strength. The couple practically ran past they, as they had always been rather unfortunate with any kind of sport that involved a ball. Somehow, if they were nearby, the ball would always land on their heads.

 The next section was, oddly enough, occupied by lots of families with small children. Both of them stepped on, at least, a dozen of little shovels and buckets and rakes. And the kids that ran around trying to catch each other would often use them as shields against other kids. To be honest, it was a very annoying thing specially because they didn’t really like children. They did enjoy them from time to time, but couldn’t stand them for more than a few minutes.

 So they walked a little faster and then arrived to the last section of that beach. They were happy to see a spot: it was closer to the sidewalk than to the ocean, but at least there was a place for them to finally sit down. Their feet hurt as they were not very used to walking on warm sand for such long times. It was like a mirage that, effectively, disappeared almost immediately. Another couple arrived out of nowhere and sat down on the spot fast, as if they had always been there.

 Frustrated, they arrived at a place with no sand but with a concrete surface. There was some kind of gymnasium there, with lots of shirtless men showing off their physical attributes. It was a bit distracting, so they moved on the next beach. On the one side, the beach had the ocean. On the other side, it had a large sand bank, almost a hill, covered with trees.

 The couple wondered what that was about but kept on walking, passing an information sign and walking along the sand bank. This small section by the hill was not as packed as the other beaches. This one had some spots they could use, several to be honest. It took them some time to realize what made the beach so special. They found a spot, a big one, just in front of the ocean. They ran towards it, taking out their towels and putting them fast on the ground in order to claim the space.

 They sat down, a bit tired but also happy they had finally succeeded. Then, a woman passed in front of them, totally naked. It wasn’t uncommon to see one going topless. It was actually very common for that to happen. But full naked? Not so much. They didn’t think much of it as they checked their bags for food and sunblock. As one of them put some of it all over arms and face, another naked person passed in front of them. And then another one.

 So they both stood up and took a hard look at their surroundings. Most people, all adults, men and women, were naked. Totally naked, without a single piece of clothing on their bodes. Some were sitting on their towels, reading. Others were trying to tan their bodies with the potent sunlight of the day. And some walked along the beach, even jumping into the water as they were.

 The couple looked at each other as they sat down. They didn’t really stop putting on the sunblock or having a bite of some bread they had brought with them. They just did it more slowly, thinking about the fact that they were in a nudist beach or at least the nudist section of the beach. Then, it became obvious that, if they hadn’t found that area, they wouldn’t have been able to found a spot in which to sit down and enjoyed their day at the beach.

 The two of them had been together for about two years. They had been intimate several times and had shared their views on practically every subject they could think about. It wasn’t their first trip together either, they had done it before at least two other times. They knew each other well and respected each other in every single aspect. There was nothing they wouldn’t say or discuss or go into. They were young and open to the world that they travelled.

 So, of course, both of them removed their shirts and then their pants and then their underwear. They were naked as they applied sunblock all over their bodies. They helped each other with the back and shared a big bag of chips they had bought, chili flavored. They decided to tan for a while first. Later, they hopped into the water. Eventually, they would remember that day as their favorite of that trip, pictures included.