Recursive Life

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Young Adult  |  House: Booksie Classic
Amelia and Gil are a young couple with very different personalities, and yet, they love and admire each other, standing on their own shoes. They both know that differences between them lead them to different dreams, and that makes them respect each other established goals. But, can a compulsively organized man catch up with unpredictable occurences? Can love fight inequalities?

Submitted: August 14, 2012

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Submitted: August 14, 2012

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Recursive Life

By Sol Valeria


"And, have you ever got to thinking what would it be like to have the same routine every day?" the man on the couch asked with a serious tone, after long scripts of silence and nodding; I reckon that was his job. I just stood there for a moment, thoughtful, looking at the blurry image of white impeccable tiles on the floor.

Amelia, she always made it so hard for me to organize a schedule. She's vivid like a star, but free as a bee. She dreams and achieves, strives for success and never lets her dreams remain stereotyped as another one of her fantasies. She’s forever unpredictable. I stare at her reflection in the mirror as she combs her hair and covers her face with unnecessary colors. She fixes her bangs to the left with her fingers, and looks at me through the mirror with an effusive smile.

"Do I look okay, Gil?" she asks me. Words won't come out of my mouth, so I nod like an imbecile because it's all I've got left to do.

Oh, geez! Amelia... I could never leave you.

She says it's time to leave the backstage behind, and that's it, because there's a whole crowd out there waiting for her and she won't make them wait more than they already had. I made sure the microphones and the speakers are working correctly twice, and now, I interact with the musicians and the bodyguards.

I am, again, going to be helping her accomplish the challenge of one of her new occurrences, because I can never give her a "no" as a response. I slam my palm against my forehead and let it slip down my face.

"It's hard to catch up with you, Amelia," I whisper, expecting her not to hear as she walks away, anxiously amused and wide eyed.

She loves the fact that there's no air conditioning this time, no walls, no ceiling, just fresh air and stars... That's her; a child inside a woman's body, simplicity inside a Star.

I hear the crowd shout out her artistic name recursively, as the air balloon slowly expects to place her down on the stage. I don't join the people, I just admire her beauty and remember who she is, because to me she's simply my transparent and sweet Amelia.

Out of a sudden, Amelia's expression begins to make me get worried. There's certainly something wrong, but I can't hear her from up there.

My vision gets completely blurred, but now, there's sunlight sneaking through the mere vision of an image that slowly, starts to become clear. I find myself looking outside the window, sitting at the kitchen table and ready to go to work.

My wife, Amelia, seems to be in a rush, but she still gives me a smile and serves breakfast for me.

"The air balloon?" I burst out softly, unwittingly.

She tilts her head to the right and chuckles, looking at me.

"What?" she asks, smiling mischievously. "Are you going to help me with the air balloon thing tonight?"

I stare at her as she sips her coffee. I attempt to give her a negative response, but instead, I nod like an imbecile because it's all I've got left to do.

"Thanks, sweetheart." She leans forward and kisses my forehead.

I get into my car and drive to the office. In no time, I'm already sitting at my desk, drowning in between piles of writings that are not mine; I'm an editor. I sigh and get my job done, because I've got things to do after work; I have to meet my psychologist and attend to Amelia's concert tonight.

After long scripts of silence and nodding, my psychologist looks at me and asks me something as if he was talking to a whining wall and was trying hard to keep from yawning.

"And, have you ever got to think what would it be like to have the same routine every day?" he asked.

I keep that in my mind, and leave and go meet Amelia.

I look at her as she stares at her reflection, fixing her hair. She applies her make up, and I observe how the light plays with the glitter on her face. Then, she keeps her bangs from hiding her eyes and looks at me through the mirror. Her smile still leaves me breathless, because it'shersmile.

"Do I look okay, Gil?" she asks. I am speechless to the point that I wouldn't even be able to stutter, so I nod like an imbecile because that's pretty much all I can do.

Oh, geez! Amelia... I would never leave you.

I hear her say she should leave already, because the people who are waiting to hear her sing have been waiting for a long time. I check on the microphones and speakers, hoping they are working like we all expect. And I check again. Now, I interact with the musicians and the bodyguards because they're all eating donuts instead of doing their job.

"Oh, it's hard to catch up with you, Amelia," I say to her, even when I know she walked off already, thinking about an air balloon.

I hear the crowd singing her artistic name out loud, recursively. And the air balloon slowly expects to place her down on the stage. I stay there, quiet and thoughtful, looking at her.

Oh, my transparent and sweet Amelia,I think.

Out of a sudden, Amelia's expression begins to make me get worried. There's certainly something wrong, but I can't hear her from up there.

Now, I see nothing but blurred pixels of an image. I'm at the kitchen table. Amelia is standing in front of the stove, she looks in a rush, but still, she smiles at me... That's her; a child living a woman's life. I say nothing, andsmile back.

"Wait!" I burst out. "What about the air balloon?"

"What?" she asks, smiling mischievously. "Are you going to help me with the air balloon thing tonight?"

Oh, Amelia... I thought and sighed, right before the alarm let me know that the session was over. I shook my thoughts off and look at the guy that's sitting on the couch.

"I want no schedule," I say, joining the obnoxious beeps that are breaking the silence, and I stand up. "Amelia is no routine."


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