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Eleanor — Bom Retiro, February 1996
As I lift my head, the sun blinds me momentarily, and I try to get a better view of our new home. Dad kneels down, one arm wrapping around me to keep me close, while the other hand points towards the front of the house.
"What do you think, Elleanor?"
I squint, trying to make out the details. The house looks yellow to me. Mom calls it cream, but in my eyes, it's definitely yellow.
"It's so big, Daddy. Could I get lost in there?"
They both laugh, but to me, the idea seems quite plausible. This house is much larger than our last one. Mom mentioned that Grandma used to live here before she moved to another city because of her illness. The sheer size of it overwhelms me! It reminds me of those haunted houses from cartoons.
What if it's too dark inside? And if those unseen people I sometimes see appear here too, where will I hide?
As the movers unload our belongings from the truck and carry them into the house, I sit on the curb under the shade of a small tree, seeking refuge from the sun. Next door, in the blue house, two boys with black hair and small eyes are playing ball. Every so often, they glance my way.
I doubt they like me, much like the other kids. They don't smile or wave. It seems I'll be alone here too. Why doesn't anyone want to be my friend? The only ones who ever talk to me are the unseen figures that Mom insists are just in my imagination.
I remember hearing Dad tell Mom that they're imaginary friends and that it's normal for kids my age to have them. But no other child I know sees these invisibles. Besides, they appear without me conjuring them up; I don't want to be friends with them. I hug my knees to my chest and curl up, leaning against the tree. I wish I could be invisible too, at least to those people and the other kids, so they wouldn't laugh at me. Resting my head on my knees, I squint towards the blue house and smile as I watch two boys playing, imagining how nice it would be to join them.
The sun heats my skin, making it feel wet and sticky. I notice the tree's shade has shrunk, with the sunlight now reaching halfway up my shins. I try to make myself smaller, but it's too late to move. My head aches, and my stomach growls so loudly that it catches the attention of the boys with slanted eyes. They pause their ball game and look over at me. Embarrassed, I hide my face behind my hair.
"Elleanor!" I hear my dad's voice in the distance. "Elle!"
His voice grows nearer. Dad bends down, pushing my hair back and smiling at me.
"Why are you sitting in the sun?"
"I didn't want to be in the way. I was scared those men wouldn't see me and might step on me." Dad chuckles and kisses my forehead, then takes my hand.
"Why wouldn't they see you?" His eyes widen with curiosity.
"I'm small, and they're big. How would they notice me?"
"You're not little, you're a child," he says, his laughter mixing with affection. "How about you go to your new room? It’s all set up. You can color your favorite drawings there."
I smile back at him, nodding. My stomach growls again, and Dad laughs, glancing at his watch.
"Are you hungry? Your mom hasn’t had time to make lunch since she's busy organizing the house. How about we make some sandwiches for lunch?"
"That sounds perfect, Daddy!" I give him a big, affectionate kiss on the cheek. "I want mine with lots of cheese and ketchup."
Dad helps me to my feet and takes my hand. I smooth out my dress, brushing off the dust, and then we head to a diner down the street. While we wait for our lunch order, Dad buys me a soda.
"Don't tell Mom. It'll be our little secret, okay?"
He winks and puts his index finger to his lips. I nod in agreement; Mom isn’t fond of me drinking soda on weekdays. She'd definitely be upset with both of us if she found out.
As soon as our sandwiches are ready, we start for home. Dad leads me to my new room, and I bound up the stairs – I've always dreamed of living in a house like those in movies.
I sit on the floor and eagerly devour my sandwich. The cheese is melted and oozes out along with the ketchup, making my hands sticky. I'm so hungry that I don’t bother to clean them until I'm finished, absentmindedly wiping them on my already ketchup-stained dress.
I pick up the drawings and crayons Dad left on the bed. Time flies as I get lost in coloring my favorite princesses, accompanied by the background noises of hammering, drilling, and my parents discussing where to place various items.
Suddenly, the light from my table lamp switches on by itself.
The room instantly chills, sending shivers down my spine. I close my eyes, wrap my arms around myself, and start singing loudly, fingers jammed in my ears. The cold intensifies, causing my jaw to ache; I can't keep singing.
A hand taps my shoulder, and a whisper tickles my ear.
"Girl, open your eyes. I know you can see me." I push my fingers deeper into my ears. "If you don't open them, I'll scream so loud your eardrums will burst."
The voice sounds like a boy’s. He begins to hum the same tune I was singing, gradually getting louder. Could he really burst my eardrums?
I open my eyes slowly, feeling my body tremble uncontrollably. It's difficult to catch my breath. As my eyelids finally lift, the boy materializes in front of me, his face alarmingly close to mine. I instinctively cover my face and scream out.
"Daddy! Daddy!"
But my dad doesn't come.
The boy gently pulls my hands away, revealing his own face. Blinking a few times, I see he's slightly older than me. His face is marred with scrapes and a significant cut on the left side, extending near his ear, the blood dried. He looks as sad and frightened as I feel. Perhaps if I tell him I'm scared, he'll leave.
"Who... who are you?"
"Me? Hmm... I... I don’t remember..." He scratches his head and shrugs. His clothes are dirty, stained with blood, and there’s a tear on his right leg. His arms bear injuries. My heart pounds faster with each new bruise I notice. I feel suffocated.
"Please go away. You’re scaring me."
"But you're the only person I’ve been able to talk to so far. I’ve tried asking others for help. I don’t want to be alone."
I shake my head, wanting to help but too terrified to act. My body just won't cooperate...
"I'm just a kid, you should ask an adult."
Backing up, I reach the bedroom door. Fumbling for the doorknob, I turn, open the door, and dash out as quickly as I can.
I rush through the house's gate and continue running. Glancing back, I see the boy standing at the gate, watching me and waving. I don’t slow down... Near the snack bar where Dad and I went, I notice a house that seems abandoned, overgrown with weeds. Stopping to catch my breath, I lean on the iron railing and tilt my head up, seeing the door of the house eerily ajar.
"Is anyone there?"
Silence greets me. I give the grate a firm push; it budges just enough for me to squeeze through. I slip in, cautiously making my way to the door. Peering inside, I scan the area with just my head poking through. The room is quiet, devoid of furniture or objects, only strewn with leaves, dirt, and marked by graffiti. Cobwebs are noticeable in the corners.
"I'm not a fan of bugs, but I dislike that boy even more."
Taking a deep breath, I step into the house. I roam the room, searching for a somewhat clean spot to sit, but it's all uniformly unkempt. Eventually, I settle down on the floor, leaning against the wall that faces the door. I start singing softly to myself, the melodies slowly easing my tension and helping me relax.
Gradually, my eyes start to feel heavy, irritatingly sandy. I struggle to keep them open, yawning once, twice, three times...