Centimeters.

Centimeters. I’ve never been a talkative guy. I used to think through and to weigh every word. That’s why I was considered the “guy in charge” in my group of friends, mostly for the “maimadurismo” (famous non-thought current of the Eighties, still very much in fashion, I believe, among young people of this generation). If I had known that one day I wouldn’t have been able to talk, I would have talked more back then, that’s for sure. So, I was talking about centimeters. When I get ready for sleep I turn on the side, in a fetal position, and I must use a machine that allows me to call Aiste or whoever else thanks to a sound signal activated by a sensor, a few square centimeters big, put a few centimeters away from one of the muscles still working in my body: the neck. Calling them “working” might be a bit exaggerated. Their function (sustaining the head) has become a pure illusion. Nevertheless I can still move my head left and right, and so I’m able to draw attention. If I move too much my head, the alarm goes off every time I yawn, with that little jingle that Aiste hates. Among the different sound options, the one with barking dogs was my favourite. But the man of the house, Aiste, chose otherwise, of course. Sometimes the tag, during the night, moves and is some centimeters away from my scope. Panic upon waking up. I turn my head this way and that, sure I’m finally going to make it. Then I understand that there’s no chance to win (or even to get a draw). You know, the disease, while depriving me of speech, has developed my hearing. So I’m able to understand if Aiste is upstairs or downstairs, when she walks I know if she’s in the bathroom, bedroom, study or closet… I’d never have thought I’d have these powers. But I’m still in bed, and knowing where somebody is, which I’m good at, doesn’t allow me to summon her to help me, because the hip starts driving me crazy. I remember the time when I moved in bed… and I moved a lot. Maybe, unconsciously, I knew. The window, even with the blinds closed, gives me an idea of the time and of the weather conditions. But meanwhile my small problem isn’t solved yet. When it happens with Aiste sleeping near me I start grinding my teeth, the only solution left me by the bitch. No way. She doesn’t wake up. The seconds pass one after the other, smoothly. And after seconds, it’s minutes, hours… In those conditions, time doesn’t move. After many attempts to find the lost tag, when my head starts turning I feel deeply discouraged. The following step…. The thought that I am, live and exist like a disabled person but that I insist on considering myself normal inside. I think this is my great strength. With a big mix of optimism and unconsciousness, and a bit of healthy recklessness. Maybe you think that when she finally arrives I bitch her out. Not at all! I’m so happy that I start smiling even before she gets there. But I’ll talk about smiles in the next post. Be patient, why should you get everything at once?