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La Ășltima vez que fui al muelle con mi primo Jean y los hermanos Botton fue hace tres años. No regresĂ© despuĂ©s de aquella horrible tarde lluviosa de noviembre.
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âMi primo Jean y la tĂa Jessy vivĂan a dos calles de nosotros, y todas las tardes mamĂĄ preparaba cualquier cosa que se le ocurriera, desde galletas hasta cupcakes, con tal de llevarnos a pasar un rato juntos. Los fines de semana Ăbamos al muelle toda la familia: mamĂĄ, tĂa Jessy, mi primo Jean y yo; aunque tambiĂ©n nos acompañaban los hermanos Botton: dos chicos que vivĂan frente a la casa de tĂa Jessy.
âSe habĂan mudado desde Kentucky hacĂa pocos meses con sus padres, y por tratarse de chicos amables y muy educados, los hicimos nuestros amigos rĂĄpidamente. Sus padres eran buenas personas, muy trabajadoras, y no les molestaba para nada que los hermanos pasaran con nosotros casi todas las tardes despuĂ©s de la escuela jugando a cualquier cosa.
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âPero luego llegĂł aquella tarde lluviosa de noviembre. Odio las tardes lluviosas de noviembre. Ese dĂa, a mediodĂa, mamĂĄ habĂa llamado a tĂa Jessy para decirle que no irĂamos porque se sentĂa muy mal. De inmediato vinieron a casa para ver quĂ© sucedĂa. MamĂĄ sudaba mucho y se quejaba por la fiebre. Mi primo Jean estaba muy nervioso y yo, asustado. Nunca habĂa visto a mamĂĄ ponerse tan mal.
âPapĂĄ nos habĂa abandonado hacĂa varios años cuando consiguiĂł un trabajo como guĂa turĂstico en las Bahamas, pero una tarde escuchĂ© a mamĂĄ decirle a tĂa Jessy por telĂ©fono que se habĂa ido *"con esa rubia española"*. Desde entonces papĂĄ llamaba al telĂ©fono solamente para hablar conmigo y no por mĂĄs de cinco minutos.
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ââLas salidas al muelle los sĂĄbados entre todos, incluidos los hermanos Botton, eran momentos que hacĂan sacar a mamĂĄ su mejor sonrisa y de algĂșn modo, liberar el dolor del abandono de papĂĄ. En aquel muelle solĂan atracar pequeñas lanchas que cruzaban de una orilla a otra por el rĂo que atravesaba la ciudad. Pero hace tres años de eso.
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ââUna vez en el muelle, recuerdo que jugando a los buzos, mi primo Jean demorĂł mĂĄs tiempo del que debĂa permanecer bajo el agua. Pronto notĂ© su ausencia y al decirle a mamĂĄ, rĂĄpidamente cundiĂł el pĂĄnico. TĂa Jessy, desesperada, se lanzĂł al agua sin quitarse la ropa y se sumergiĂł intentando sacar a Jean de donde sea que estuviese.
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ââTĂa Jessy volviĂł a salir gritando desesperada por no hallarlo. Para nuestra sorpresa, el muy canalla habĂa salido del agua por el otro lado del muelle y, sin darnos cuenta, se habĂa escondido dentro de una lancha que estaba cerca, haciĂ©ndonos creer a todos que se habĂa ahogado bajo el agua.
La risa descarada y burlona por los gritos desesperados de su mamĂĄ no nos hizo ninguna gracia. La tunda que le diĂł tĂa Jessy le recordĂł que jamĂĄs volviera a hacernos una broma como esa. MamĂĄ y yo reĂamos a carcajadas cuando recordĂĄbamos aquel episodio. Pero hace ya tres años de eso.
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ââAquella tarde lluviosa de noviembre mientras tĂa Jessy luchaba por bajarle la fiebre a mamĂĄ, Jean y yo nos quedamos pegaditos al pie de la cama. LlovĂa a cĂĄntaros y mi tĂa estaba considerando seriamente llamar a urgencias por una ambulancia. Pero mamĂĄ no logrĂł esperar. SegĂșn me contĂł papĂĄ despuĂ©s de llevarme consigo a las Bahamas y conocer a "esa rubia española" con quien vivĂa; mamĂĄ habĂa muerto por una infecciĂłn.
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ââRecuerdo la Ășltima vez que fuimos al muelle todos juntos. AĂșn conservo la Ășnica foto que mamĂĄ tomĂł esa tarde mientras nosotros nos divertĂamos sobre una plataforma al lado de la lancha blanca de un turista. A la tĂa Jessy no le gustaba salir en fotos. Aparecemos los hermanos Botton y yo de un lado sobre la plataforma, y del otro, mi primo Jean capturado justo en el momento en que se lanzaba al agua para jugar otra vez a los buzos. Seguro no pensaba volver a esconderse en otra lancha.
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ââAquĂ en Las Bahamas todo es distinto. Extraño los fines de semana con los chicos. Extraño a la tĂa Jessy. Y, en ocasiones como esta, para olvidar aquella tarde triste y lluviosa de noviembre cuando tĂa Jessy luchaba por bajarle la fiebre, tomo la foto de la Ășltima vez que estuvimos juntos en el muelle y recuerdo la enorme sonrisa de mamĂĄ.
Esta es una narraciĂłn original de mi autorĂa para el concurso: Una imagen vale mĂĄs que mil palabras
The last time I went to the pier with my cousin Jean and the Botton brothers was three years ago. I didnât go back after that awful rainy November afternoon.
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âMy cousin Jean and Aunt Jessy lived two streets away from us, and every afternoon Mum would bake whatever took her fancy, from biscuits to cupcakes, just so she could take us over to spend some time together. At the weekends, the whole family would go to the pier: Mum, Aunt Jessy, my cousin Jean and me; although we were also joined by the Botton brothers: two boys who lived opposite Aunt Jessyâs house.
They had moved from Kentucky a few months earlier with their parents, and as they were kind and very well-mannered boys, we quickly became friends with them. Their parents were good people, very hard-working, and didnât mind at all that the brothers spent almost every afternoon after school with us playing whatever came to mind.
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âBut then came that rainy November afternoon. I hate rainy November afternoons. That day, at midday, Mum had phoned Aunt Jessy to say we wouldnât be coming because she was feeling very ill. They came round straight away to see what was wrong. Mum was sweating profusely and complaining of a fever. My cousin Jean was very nervous and I was scared. Iâd never seen Mum get so ill.
Dad had left us several years earlier when he got a job as a tour guide in the Bahamas, but one afternoon I heard Mum tell Aunt Jessy on the phone that heâd gone off *âwith that Spanish blondeâ*. Since then, Dad only called to speak to me, and never for more than five minutes.
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ââOur Saturday trips to the jetty together, including the Botton brothers, were moments that brought out Mumâs best smile and, in some way, helped her let go of the pain of Dadâs abandonment. Small boats used to moor at that pier, crossing from one bank to the other along the river that ran through the city. But that was three years ago.
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ââOnce at the pier, I remember that whilst playing divers, my cousin Jean stayed underwater longer than he should have. I soon noticed he was missing and when I told Mum, panic quickly set in. Aunt Jessy, in a panic, threw herself into the water fully clothed and dived in, trying to pull Jean out from wherever he was.
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ââAunt Jessy came back up screaming in despair at not being able to find him. To our surprise, the little rascal had come out of the water on the other side of the jetty and, without us realising, had hidden inside a nearby boat, making us all believe he had drowned.
His cheeky, mocking laughter at his mumâs desperate cries didnât amuse us in the slightest. The thrashing Aunt Jessy gave him served as a reminder never to play a prank like that on us again. Mum and I would laugh out loud whenever we recalled that episode. But that was three years ago now.
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ââOn that rainy November afternoon, whilst Aunt Jessy struggled to bring Mumâs fever down, Jean and I stayed close together at the foot of the bed. It was pouring with rain and my aunt was seriously considering calling the emergency services for an ambulance. But Mum didnât manage to wait. As Dad told me later, after taking me with him to the Bahamas and meeting âthat Spanish blondeâ he was living with, Mum had died of an infection.
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ââI remember the last time we all went to the pier together. I still have the only photo Mum took that afternoon whilst we were having fun on a platform next to a touristâs white motorboat. Aunt Jessy didnât like being in photos. The Botton siblings and I appear on one side of the platform, and on the other, my cousin Jean, captured just as he was diving into the water to play divers again. He surely didnât think heâd have to hide in another boat again.
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ââHere in the Bahamas, everything is different. I miss the weekends with the boys. I miss Aunt Jessy. And, on occasions like this, to forget that sad, rainy November afternoon when Aunt Jessy was struggling to bring her fever down, I look at the photo of the last time we were together on the jetty and remember Mumâs huge smile.
This is an original story I wrote for the contest: A Picture Is Worth a Thousand Words