3 I. Simon says... Part 1

"So... are you going to Wisconsin?"

Texting is one of the best inventions of the last century. It literally costs you nothing, the telephone rate is almost zero, it weighs a maximum of around four bytes, so its transport through the network is light and fast, and, besides, it expresses so many different feelings that lead to a different interpretation for its reader, making it the most popular and effective hint messaging medium among users.

Like that one up there. I read it a week before traveling when everything was ready to separate and carry. The moment I read it, my mind repeated: "She says it with contempt". My memories whispered: "Don't be an idiot, can't you see that she misses you?". But that little voice embedded in my head, the one that takes my sleep away at night creating stories that will never happen, but at the same time, they have more life and are more real than what is usually passing on the other side of the window, that peculiar voice advised me: "Neither one nor the other, be yourself, because if she looks for you, she will ask for something, and if it irritates her, she will soon leave".

I suppose, like many, I am sometimes amazed at how deep I can think, and how trivial my actions can be. Like this.

"Yes, and you don't know how much I'm going to miss you."

I would have told her if she were a masochist.

"Aha, but what do you care?"

I would answer if I was a complete idiot.

"It seems."

I said, with a hint of both. Do you notice that you don't know how I convey my intentions? The best of the twenty-first century, I repeat.

"Do you think we'll ever see each other again?" No idea of ​​her intentions.

"I think I'll be busy."

My trip was destined for Tahoe, a wonderful place that I could not have imagined even in my wildest dreams. The place sits on the slopes of a huge mountain, adorned with snowy winter blankets, whose reflection is so bright in the lake, that it causes the illusion of having a mirror on the ground with a world parallel to our feet. The pines tickle the clouds, the sun warms up early and the moon steals the night dancing in a starry sky that I only imagine through postcards and videos that I recorded before applying and being accepted.

Internal problems took me away from that paradise, sentimental problems took me away from Reno, and time problems brought me to the coldest of my experiences in this small stretch of my life. As strange or more natural in the world as it may seem, in my opinion, every step I had taken thus far had prompted me to go to Dells, without realizing it. As if I was drawn to the exotic place.

The Hiawatha residence is a place large enough to cradle at least a thousand people inside. A mystical place, for some; cursed for others, and whose history is peculiarly difficult to find and somewhat tedious and boring.

Upon arriving at the residence, I was greeted by an elegant young lady with golden hair, almost white and shiny, as well as her warm and friendly smile. He asked me for an ID and the initial transaction to open and save the desired room. They gave me one that still had no inhabitants in the new building: number five. Newly remodeled for special winter uses.

I noticed the correction of the sheer stupidity committed in the other four buildings. In five, everything was internal: corridors, kitchens, heated entrances and exits and cameras everywhere, while in the other four, the lack of security attracted attention, and the comfort against the austere and violent cold of Wisconsin shone for its absence.

Each room had an exit to the outer habitat, that is, each time you opened the door, a gale of fresh, stinging snow would slam the door back in your face. As in the kitchen, whose optical card RFID sensor was somewhat myopic, cause it hardly ever read guest cards well when held close to it.

All the doors in each building of the residence worked with identical modules, each with a different and unique code that belonged only to the owners of each room. Four people fit each room, four different worlds about to collide and coexist for three long and icy months.

I went up to the third floor, where the room number that had been assigned to me was located. "5313 ... 5313 ..." I walked much of the corridor until I reached exactly the middle. I entered with the suitcases, in both arms loaded, and without realizing it, a small letter slipped from the sink next to the entrance door. I placed my belongings in the closet of my choice and left the rest on the bed that was at the back of the room, on the second level of the cabin. A bed that I am used to using at home.

I stacked my books on the desk in front of my cabin, along with a couple of polo shirts that I would wear during the week. I looked around. I was alone. It would be only the next few days until a roommate was assigned to me.

I had many things with me, not physical, but spiritual, or so I believed. During the last days, the days before the trip, I had begun to dream again. To dream vividly. Not that it's a bad omen, but those kinds of dreams scared me. It gave me chills to interpret them, because most of the time they came true, so for the sake of my emotional state and my liver, I was not thinking about them and I put them aside when I noticed that I was beginning to be capable of other things, still more complicated; almost unreal.

That night all I wanted to do was take a shower, read placidly until dawn, and try to get as much sleep as I could, as I hadn't done long ago.

I noticed that I was missing some hygiene items, so I went out to get them. As soon as I crossed the doorway of the room without closing the door, a boy, short and somewhat lean, left his behind and hurried down the hall.

"Excuse me," I interrupted, "do you know where I can get soap and shampoo at this time?" It was almost twelve at night.

"Yeah, right. Walmart is twenty-four-seven," he replied. "I'm just going there. We get more people and go out. You in?"

It was then that I met Junior. I left my room for a hygiene item and ended up spending just under a hundred dollars on food, which was supposed to take a month to finish, but which didn't do its job.

We returned very late, almost at three. Already a little sleepy from the trip, I got into the shower and took whatever time I wanted from the moment. I went out, changed my clothing, and had what I got for dinner from the supermarket: a couple of cookies and a Mountain Dew.

Late, but I realized then, an envelope was resting on the floor since I couldn't tell you how long. It was sprawled under the sink next to the squeezing front door, fighting for a bit of space against the refrigerator.

I paused my opulent dinner for a few seconds to pick up the envelope. I opened it. It contained a letter inside with very nice and familiar handwriting. Suddenly, I seemed to have a deja vu.

"Do not seek or ask for anyone's forgiveness. Everything you are about to do is justified. When you achieve it, you will notice the difference. The moon is full of looks waiting for answers, do not look for yours there, because like everybody else, you are not very likely to find them in it. Be patient, in the end, everything will make sense. And most importantly, keep your friends out of this. "

For BG

I read the piece of paper over and over, without making any sense to it. I was sure it was for me from the initials below. Who else could have the same initials in the residence? Or even trickier, who else could have the same initials in the room, if I had not yet been assigned companions inside.

The sheet already had bent on its own, so I followed the path and refolded it delicately, put it back in its envelope, and put it in my red backpack, the first closure on the front, where anyone could pick it up and take it with them when they would like.

I didn't pay any attention to it. I probably had someone close to me who wanted to play a prank on me. A few minutes after I started reading, I no longer thought about the subject, until I fell fast asleep and the nightmares descended on my avenue.