I could vaguely make out the outlines of my lucky neighbour’s living room: it was on a somewhat lit street.
"Thank you for welcoming me to your house. What were you doing when the power was cut off?" I asked her more than politely.
"What should I do, darling, I was watching the news and sewing on a tapestry. I was so frightened that I dropped it on the floor, she replied in a soft voice. Ah, finally! She shouted suddenly. Come on, Raul, here we are!"
I was blinded by a strong beam of light that began to tremble, then turned to the floor.
"Oh my God!" Mrs. Elvira shouted.
"Who are you? What did you do to my mother?" a man's voice thundered in front of me.
That's when I realized he was addressing me, not without reason. I looked like in horror movies, and besides, the lady's son had probably seen the tapestry fall to the ground. I lost myself completely, instead, she found her temper again. Really good.
"She didn't do anything to me, she's leaving next door." My tapestry dropped on the floor when the power went out. And don't shout at her like that anymore, don't you see that she is full of blood from head to toe? I wasn't up to my feet, even me I realized she was exaggerating. What about the head? Oh, the paint!
"Take her home immediately, put her to bed and call the ambulance immediately! I'm calling the police. I hope you thought of bringing more flashlights! Who beat you up like that, little girl?"
"No need..." I muttered, but I immediately felt two strong hands lift me from my chair.
"Don't worry, mother, I brought you three flashlights!" said Raul. Let me take you home until my mother calls the police.
I saw him a little when he placed the flashlight on the table and lit another. But I saw him even better the moment I entered my apartment. Then it was really light: the light bulbs came on just as we were both passing in front of the hallway mirror.
I saw such a funny image that I burst into tears. We were a couple detached as if from a horror movie: me, a strange look, with a reddish-brown tuft on the top of my head, with a T-shirt stained here and there by the blood dripping quietly on my right hand, up to the elbow; he, a boy's splendour, tall, athletic, with eyes like ice blue flames.
I was laughing with tears, he was looking around, more and more frowning.
"If you were seriously injured, you wouldn't laugh so hard," he remarked. And yet, judging by how you look and the traces of blood... Tell me, should I call an ambulance? Or the police? From what's around here, it looks like you've been assaulted.
He was right, it seemed so. But it wasn't like that.
"Neither one nor the other", I answered him and I wanted to tell him briefly the “tragedy”, but I had to express myself in more detail, in front of a slightly larger audience, a little bit later.
Mrs. Elvira hadn't wasted her time, she had called an acquaintance, a local police officer from the neighbourhood, who happened to be passing through the area just then. It was set up with him at the door, and the man set to work.
He searched the apartment and concluded that, apparently, I had been assaulted in the kitchen with a sharp or sharp object (the object in the drawer had assaulted me), I had been hit in the head by hitting the kitchen door (I had stumbled and really hit with my head in the door, which had been stained with my hair dye) and dragged into the bedroom (where I had searched in vain for my mobile phone, overturning various small things on the nightstand), from where I managed to escape and take refuge outside the apartment . Then Raul laughed with tears. A slightly out of phase reaction, but understandable.
It is said that after any storm, the sun rises in our lives. Well, that chaotic evening, after dark, there was a sudden light in my life, and what followed amazed me much more than I had lived a short time ago. It all happened quickly. Mrs. Elvira, the neighbour who couldn't stand me, took the policemen by the arm and took him out of the house, but not before ordering to Raul:
"You see, poor girl, she still can't do it on her own, but with that wound on her finger and that horrible paint on her head, it's going to be an even bigger challenge!"
"That's what I'm going to do, Mom, I'll stop by tomorrow, now go to bed, it's late!"
As if he had known me for a lifetime, Raul took me to the bathroom nicely, washed my head well, bandaged my finger wound (which, in the meantime, stopped bleeding) and wiped the drops of blood from the floor. He painted the kitchen door a few weeks later, so as not to upset the owner and raise my rent. Not only did he bring me a clean T-shirt from the closet, but he also found my purse, which also contained my cell phone. I don't know how he got to the floor under the table.
It was past two o'clock at night. I offered him a glass of wine, at least that's all I had in the house, except for two almost expired yogurts and a bag of pretzels.
"It's late, I should let you sleep, Woody... uh, sorry, Alicia..."
"Wow, do I look like a woodpecker?"
"Actually, if I'm honest, you look like the fearless Merida... My mother made me go to this movie, with our niece."
"OK, I'll change my colour."
"Don't change it, I love it!"
Even his mother, my current mother-in-law, had to admit that my copper-red hair was fine. Now I am no longer a "sinful" neighbour, but a "caring" daughter-in-law. Including the supply of flashlight batteries. That it is never known when it is needed, and I no longer live in the apartment next to her door, but two blocks away, with her son, who became my husband.
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