Breathing and word pictures
I can do that…both of those things, actually.
Sevilla is a city the color of clay that has been left out to bake in the sun; white and chalky, with sprigs of green stuck in between the crevices on walls where what little water there is gathers. My apartment complex is also white, right down to the marble stairs that bring me to the second floor where I live. The buildings fit together like two combs face to face, where the interlocking teeth are really tiny streets and sidewalks that you must navigate.
The door to the apartment is heavy, made of dark wood with a glossy brass knob smack in the middle. When you push it open, the first thing you see is the livingroom, with everything; the walls, the furniture, the curtains as white as the streets of the city. The curtains open out onto a tiny sliver of patio, and if I´m lucky, Señora has left the window open to allow for a breeze from the hot calle. The kitchen and the two bedrooms are off of the livingroom, everything as white as the next, and the tiny little bathroom with the two foot square shower where I douse myself with icy water every night before I try to fall asleep.
Then there is my Señora, sitting in her armchair (that is covered with a clean white sheet)knitting and watching her favorite novela. Her blond hair is usually in rollers by the time I get home from classes, and she wears a little house-shift instead of real clothes, because the heat is too much inside of the apartment. I walk into the kitchen then, and fill a glass with ice and water to try and drown out the heat in my head. The heat is everywhere, like waves, the humidity filling you up until everything spins; but water helps to clear the way to thinking again.
Then I wander into my room, tiny and clean, white and neat and starched. I turn on the fan, flop on the bed, and slip off to sleep for awhile.
Here´s your phrase for the day:
Echar una siesta: To take a nap.
example: Voy a echar una siesta. I am going to take a nap.