HAVANA TIMES – The other night I suffered a kind of out-of-body experience, and for a few minutes my role changed from protagonist to spectator. There, sitting on the wall of the reservoir, I saw myself as the 41-year-old woman I am. The waves of brown hair on my shoulders, the wet clothing, and on the uncovered skin, some drops sparkling in the moonlight.
A mixture of peace and melancholy were fused together in my glance. My legs drawn up; arms intertwined. Every so often I would raise the cigarette to my lips, causing the smoke to circle lightly around me forming little whirlpools in the shadows.
In the water, my husband and our friends were laughing, their voices challenging the silence of the night.
“Fabiana! What are you doing? Come on over!”
“I’m smoking. I’ll be right there!”
A smile on automatic pilot, the syllables sounding foreign to me – the same way I’ve felt at other times, hearing my voice on a recording.
In order to go back in the water and join them, I had to recover control of my body. Cease observing myself as a nostalgic presence, a woman re