The morning of departure I pointed the alarm at five, not because I had something to do but just to be able to peacefully enjoy my last morning in my house. I got up and stretched himself savoring the sweetness of the light was beginning to get glimpses of the heavy curtains at the windows. I went down barefoot on the ground floor, I silently prepared a hot cup of coffee and drank slowly, sitting on the entrance hail observing the life that he woke up in my neighborhood. Next morning he was doing some jogging, others went to work, then appeared the paper boy, the one who distributed the water, and then the kids who went to take the bus to go to school and mothers who accompanied children to the bus stop .
And I would not have done more of them.
My father joined me when even small asylum had risen in each bus.
communicating in monosyllables bring the latest entry in suitcases, said goodbye to the house with a long look and went in the taxi waiting at the bottom the driveway.
The flight from Glasgow to San Diego took nearly eighteen hours I spent watching movies, reading and napping. When the captain announced the imminent arrival and informed us that we would arrive in time caught me panic. While all the other fiddling with their clocks to synchronize the time of Ayr I found myself in the midst of a hysterical. The tears began to flow down my cheeks, I kept repeating that I wanted to go home and the hostess was so insistent that I promised to stay on board and I'd come back with her in America. My father first tried to yell at me but then seeing the look terrified that I decided to indulge himself.
I wanted to go home, Fear gripped my stomach, feeling that everything would go wrong, every second that I was approaching more to my purpose.
With a shudder I realized I was afraid to die.
But it was not one of those abstract fears. I felt like in front of a scaffold where everyone had already loaded a gun and waited for the countdown of the officer.
Start shivering convulsively.
Then the hostess handed me a glass of water with a pink inside.
"Drink this little" whispered my father.
With one gulp swallowed this bitter, twisted his mouth and soon the hostess refilled his glass but this time with the juice.
closed my eyes and tried to fend off the idea of \u200b\u200bmy imminent death.
When the aircraft was stationary on the runway, my father holding my arm, led me to the exit, as I was stunned.
In the taxi that brought me to my new life I slept deeply, and fell into a deep dreamless sleep.
My father shook me when we were in front of the agency in which he had bought a new car, load your luggage in the car for the first time I sat in a car in which everything was perfectly in reverse and the left profile of my father seemed strangely new.
traveled roads in rainy and gray, on the edge of roads were big puddles everywhere and I noticed that many people wearing colored rubber boots and big coats to protect themselves from the incessant rain.
"We're almost there" I said at one point my father taking a tree-lined street.
Soon came and stopped.
"And 'that," he said, pointing with the index rising from the building across the street.
And I would not have done more of them.
My father joined me when even small asylum had risen in each bus.
communicating in monosyllables bring the latest entry in suitcases, said goodbye to the house with a long look and went in the taxi waiting at the bottom the driveway.
The flight from Glasgow to San Diego took nearly eighteen hours I spent watching movies, reading and napping. When the captain announced the imminent arrival and informed us that we would arrive in time caught me panic. While all the other fiddling with their clocks to synchronize the time of Ayr I found myself in the midst of a hysterical. The tears began to flow down my cheeks, I kept repeating that I wanted to go home and the hostess was so insistent that I promised to stay on board and I'd come back with her in America. My father first tried to yell at me but then seeing the look terrified that I decided to indulge himself.
I wanted to go home, Fear gripped my stomach, feeling that everything would go wrong, every second that I was approaching more to my purpose.
With a shudder I realized I was afraid to die.
But it was not one of those abstract fears. I felt like in front of a scaffold where everyone had already loaded a gun and waited for the countdown of the officer.
Start shivering convulsively.
Then the hostess handed me a glass of water with a pink inside.
"Drink this little" whispered my father.
With one gulp swallowed this bitter, twisted his mouth and soon the hostess refilled his glass but this time with the juice.
closed my eyes and tried to fend off the idea of \u200b\u200bmy imminent death.
When the aircraft was stationary on the runway, my father holding my arm, led me to the exit, as I was stunned.
In the taxi that brought me to my new life I slept deeply, and fell into a deep dreamless sleep.
My father shook me when we were in front of the agency in which he had bought a new car, load your luggage in the car for the first time I sat in a car in which everything was perfectly in reverse and the left profile of my father seemed strangely new.
traveled roads in rainy and gray, on the edge of roads were big puddles everywhere and I noticed that many people wearing colored rubber boots and big coats to protect themselves from the incessant rain.
"We're almost there" I said at one point my father taking a tree-lined street.
Soon came and stopped.
"And 'that," he said, pointing with the index rising from the building across the street.
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