Novelas y relatos de When I Was Nine

“Didn’t your mommy teach you that?” I turned and frowned at the girl. She was younger than me, clearly. Still stumbling over her words a little, like they didn’t quite fit right in her mouth. I just had my ninth birthday, and now that I was a big brother I had to act like it. “I don’t call her my mommy. I’m not a little kid.” I puffed out my chest. “And if yours taught you to give your name to everyone, how are you ‘supposed to protect yourself from strangers?”

I wonder if she ever considered that I was now a full grown 27-year-old Man. I chuckled under my breath as I remembered when I was in 9th grade. I had chocolates for breakfast, lunch and dinner, of course without Grace’s knowledge. She was away to see her daughter in Seattle. By the time she came home about a week later, I had a rotten tooth, swollen belly, and all my clothes in the Landry basket were covered in junk.

I thought you'd prefer to stay indoors. I smoothed some conditioner into my hair and told him the truth. — I accidentally locked myself in a closet when I was nine. Even though I screamed and screamed, it took hours for anyone to find me, and I was terrified. I wet my pants because I couldn't take it anymore, convinced I was going to die there. It was the worst experience of my life. After that, my mom started taking me outside as much as possible. She taught me about plants and flowers, and I've loved spending time outdoors ever since. I have an entire flower garden at our house in Toronto.

--- FLASHBACK Nine years ago I was eighteen. Tears streaked my cheeks as I stumbled into my bedroom, heart pounding after fleeing from the scene of the heavy humiliation, hurt and heart break I had suffered. I was looking forward to my birthday but it had gone all wrong. Because of the half opened door. I could hear the faint sounds of heavy footsteps that were coming closer. I couldn't get up to check the person , as I assumed that it was either Mary, the housekeeper or one of the maids. My heart ached. I was tired and felt like absolute shit because of the alcohol in my system.

Calm. Expressionless. Like nothing I said mattered. That silence hurt more than any slap. Something inside me shattered. I turned around and stormed upstairs, my vision blurry with tears. I didn’t care that Mum was calling my name or that Dad shouted after me. I didn’t care about anything. By the time I reached my room, my body was shaking. I slammed the door shut and slid down to the floor. And then the memories came again. I was nine. The cold smell of the hospital. Nurses holding me down. My small hands grabbing at Mum’s sleeve, begging her not to let them.

He asked me after noticing. “Nothing. Nothing at all”. I admitted with a straight face, before I stopped squinting at him and wrapped my arms around my abdomen, as I began to think if this was truly happening. Michael was really lying beside me, and it was the same Michael whom I used to fear, not having a single clue that he was the same naive boy of eighteen years ago, who stood in the middle of the road, confused, as a car drove straight to him. I was seven years old when it happened. And that fateful day also turned out to be Kai's ninth birthday.

she giggled, and I found myself wondering if I could ever feel happier than I did at that moment. "My girl was insatiable, and I had to satisfy her needs." I rolled her under me and dipped my head for a quick peck. "I like having you in my bed. It's where you belong." "What were you dreaming about? You said my name." She furrowed her eyebrows. "You won't believe this, but when I was nine, I dreamed of a girl on a soccer field who looked exactly like you. She gave me a kiss. I had completely forgotten about it until now, but I just had the same dream again." I pressed my forehead on hers.

Zoey had a dream about the first time she met Adrian. Back then, she was mischievous and had snuck out of the villa during an adult gathering. As the sun set, Zoey was forgotten on the side of the road. She called out helplessly for the adults, but no one answered. Staring at the unfamiliar intersection, she could only crouch down and cry. Just then, a little boy's voice suddenly came from above her. "Hey, crybaby, stop crying. I'll take you home."

I forced back the tears in my eyes and the vomit rising in my throat. ‘It’s fine,’ I told myself quietly. ‘With that, all 99 coupons have been used up. ‘I’m leaving you for good, Leonard.’

The warmth from the whiskey had faded, leaving only a hollow burn down my throat and a dull throb in my chest. I stared into the fireplace as if it might flicker to life out of pity. But there was no spark. Only shadows. And in them, something stirred—unbidden, unwelcomed, but inevitable. A memory… It was my ninth birthday, and the great hall had been dressed in gold. Gold linens. Gold banners. Gold-threaded embroidery on the shoulders of my new tunic. I remember how the fabric itched at my neck, how the collar was too stiff, how I kept tugging at it when I thought no one was watching.