I open my eyes and it is no longer this year. I am still 21. This is my 21-year-old body, I can swear it: my hair is long and dyed, I don’t have spots on my face, my breasts are grown. I get up and I see my mother in the kitchen. She is making coffee. She smiles and her wrinkles deepen like abysses of time. Yet, it is no longer this year. She looks fifty as if it was the day before; as if today was still this year and not what it really is: a normal day seven years ago. She talks: we’re going to the village, to spend there all the summer. We’re leaving in the afternoon. My sister and I pack in silence. My boy must be waiting for me. It’s time for our first kiss.
