Illustration by Gema Galán
At the beginning, everything was alive. The plastic pink kitchen was always cooking tasteful meals. The porcelain doll pretended she was a good girl but deeply inside, she wanted to hurt you. All your toys and stuffed animals had names and feelings. Soil with water in a bowl was a delicious cream of vegetables and some grass on top, the parsley. Your wooden table made by your grandfather was the counter of a shop where you sold all kind of products. Your father’s dog was your same age and maybe that’s why you understood each other. A towel and some sheets holded by sticks were a beautiful house with a luxurious entrance and a parking spot on the front to leave your bicycle. Your jump rope was a snake. Your grandma’s kitchen cloths connected with clothespins were the Spice Girls’ dresses. Your grandparents bed was a trampoline.
There was no problem in believing that children were born when a woman’s desire to have babies was so perceptible that nature couldn’t deny her wishes, that the tooth fairy didn’t forget you and left a 100 pesetas coin in your shoe the next day to trick you and that The Spice Girls slept all together with make up and cool dresses on –you saw that on a girls magazine-. Some of your pleasures in life were having the last sip of your grandmother’s coffee or climbing up the window and seat on the sill with a pillow to enjoy the views of the street –you were living on a ground floor apartment-. At the beginning, everything was simple and you thought you already knew everything. At the beginning.
Inspired by “Report from the Interior” by Paul Auster