Lately, I've been recalling a somewhat surreal and bewildering moment I experienced two years ago at the "Petit" café (located on Viamonte and Montevideo). Right now, my only concern is to trace any vestige of that past time, though it's difficult for me to organize my thoughts. Ever since I began dealing with what my psychiatrist calls "the appeasement of obsessive thoughts," or if you prefer to call it compulsions, or even madness. Personally, I believe that counting tiles or checking the gas valve at least five times isn't as distressing as the idea of getting trapped in the reflection of a mirror.
Back in 2002, I was starting my adult life with college, work, and all those responsibilities. I had a favorite café where I used to go to lose myself in contemplation of the needles of a very peculiar clock hanging on the wall with a mysterious, almost eerie tilt, right above a mirror whose upper left side was slightly torn. Often, ten minutes could pass without me realizing that Martín, the waiter who worked in the afternoons, was watching me while making funny gestures to his coworkers. I loved the cappuccino at that place; it had the perfect combination of Nesquik with a smooth coffee that tempted me to order one cup after another. After reading a couple of reports and organizing some classes, I would give my clock one last farewell glance.
On weekends, the café only opened in the morning and served a special breakfast that included some fairly common European delicacies (which is why I usually didn't go). However, that Sunday afternoon, the sky kept me trapped under the awning of a hair salon that was halfway down the block from the café. Unusually, I saw Martín peeking through the door as if seeking some respite from the sky. I imagined that maybe their opening hours had changed, or who knows, anything was better than being exposed to the weather or under that dirty awning.
I sat down as usual, but what changed then was the atmosphere. I didn't look at the clock or the mirror; I hadn't even thought about them. After enjoying my classic cappuccino, the sky started darkening surprisingly. Thunder rumbled, and raindrops fell heavily on cars and rooftops. Martín muttered some words related to the rain, but I paid no attention; something kept me uneasy and impatient. I hadn't noticed that the café was empty, nor did I know who could be in the kitchen, or if anyone was there at all. A terrifying lightning bolt extinguished the lights on the entire block. Then, a monstrous thunderclap followed, and the light returned. I wanted to check the time, but what I saw wasn't that. What I witnessed at that moment is what still makes my hands tremble to this day...
I was standing in front of the mirror, looking at myself completely bewildered. My eyes reflected deep melancholy and loneliness, as if I were carrying the weight of the world on my shoulders, and my appearance was utterly disheveled. I closed my eyes briefly, and when I opened them again, she, or rather, I, was still there. She pulled some tissues out of her tattered and faded bag. I approached her and said, "Are you a dream or a hallucination?"
She replied solemnly, "Two years ago, I died in a café downtown. Now, time punishes me, and I wander, seemingly happy and normal, Lena."
"No," I said vehemently, "I'm a relatively normal person, and occasionally happy... your death is spacetime-impossible, and I... I'm going crazy."
Despite my efforts to find an answer, Lena (or I) no longer said a word. As the minutes passed, her presence began to fade, and her eyes shed tears I had never seen before. In her expression, I understood that she had truly lost her life.
"Martín! Did you see that? What happened? Tell me if you understand."
"Lena, in my opinion, we should act as if nothing happened, we didn't see anything."
I tried to ignore what I had witnessed, or what I believed I had witnessed, until the agony of uncertainty became unbearable. I searched relentlessly for Martín, but no one knows what happened to him or why he left "Petit." One day, he simply ceased to exist.
I no longer know how to see myself; when I go to the café and look in the mirror, I try to find that lively person I used to be, but in those fleeting moments, I only see the reflection of the tattered and faded bag, left forgotten on an empty chair in the café...
