
Una vida después del verano


La imagen principal es de libre uso y el texto fue traducido con Deepl Translate

HASTA UNA PRÓXIMA OPORTUNIDAD, AMIGOS

![Click here to read in englis] Life after summer Ever since he learned that he would be returning to San Lorenzo, an island where he had spent long and enjoyable vacations as a young man, a new, revitalizing excitement had taken root in his body. He looked in the mirror and felt that he didn't look as good as he had hoped: his hair was no longer as black or as thick, and a slight paunch and thin legs made him look like a meatball skewered on a toothpick. “When did I get like this?” Julián asked himself, looking at himself in the mirror and running his hands over his belly with disdain. “It's the beer and all the fried food Delia makes,” he said to himself, hiding his belly and holding his breath. From that day on, every afternoon, he would leave work and then, instead of going for beers as usual, he would go to the gym closest to the office. Also, to Delia's surprise, Julián asked for his food to be grilled, not fried: “Look at us, woman, we look like pigs. You should take care of yourself too,” said Julián, looking at his wife with a certain air of discrimination and disgust. Delia, ignoring her husband, continued to eat chicken skin with relish and without hesitation. The mirror was also cruel to Julián, because every day it reminded him of his physical flaws: “God, what about these wrinkles, these dark circles under my eyes, since when have my nose and ears had so much hair?” Julián wondered, feeling that all that remained of the old Julián was his name. Behind all these worries and changes was Aimara, the girlfriend Julián had had in San Lorenzo: “She must still live there! Her whole family lived on the island,” Julián said to himself as he lifted the weights. “She must still be beautiful,” Julián thought, and Aimara's youthful face made him exercise with vigor. “Nothing to do with Delia!” he said to himself as thick drops of sweat ran down his greasy face. “Poor Delia, she's already old.” When Julián arrived in San Lorenzo months later, the first thing he did was ask about Aimara, who, according to the locals, had a shop in the village, had also married, and had children: “She must be beautiful,” thought Julián, and he didn't hesitate to go visit her. Wearing the best clothes he had packed, Julián went to the shop, where he found only a woman with her back to him. It had to be Aimara, so Julián sucked in his stomach and said the name he remembered so well: “Aimara?” “Yes, what is it?” said the woman, turning around. Julián looked at the woman's wrinkled, withered face, and unable to help himself, he let go of the belly he had been hiding, while a shadow of disappointment crossed his face: deep down, Julián felt he was looking at Delia. “Aimara, I'm Julián,” he tried to sound cheerful, but he couldn't, especially because Aimara hesitated: “Julián? Which Julián? I think there's been a mistake.” “Yes, I think so,” said Julián, and he flew out of the store, eager to drink a cold beer, eat some fried fish, and see Delia, who at that moment didn't seem so old to him.