The clock in the dining room said eight twenty-seven, but no one seemed to care much. On the table under the clock, Mom was eating a tangerine while looking at her cell phone and scrolling through faces, videos, and conspiracies on a loop, like a sick person. I spent hours watching American men cleaning sports cars or the adventures of adorable husky puppies. Meanwhile, Dad moved the computer mouse with a martial air from the teleworking station he had converted the living room into. Oblivious to all this, the smallest in the house remained sitting in a corner of the floor, playing with that smart speaker. “Ylenia, what noise does a dolphin make?” she asked with that mixture of innocence and totalitarianism that only blonde children can afford. Ylenia, always compliant, made a high-pitched sound accompanied by strange clicking sounds that filled the room. Then he did the same with a bat and a lion. “Sofia, don’t shout so much with Ylenia, Dad is working,” Mom said without ever looking up from the screen. Of course, Dad didn’t hear anything. of that. The virtual meeting had entered that phase of murmurs and silences in which everyone looks at each other to end the session, but no one wants to be the one to do it personally, like in ‘The Man Who Killed Liberty Valance’. Sofia didn’t seem to hear him either. For her, Ylenia was not a black cylinder that answered questions but rather her confidant, a playmate, a refuge in a house full of physical absences. When the meeting finally ended, Dad slammed his laptop shut, got up, and walked straight to the kitchen. He poured himself a glass of water and opened the refrigerator, as if in there he could find something other than food: a comfort, an answer, a change of pace. “What’s for dinner?” -He asked, looking at Mom. -What do I know, Juan. I’m with a thousand things. Then I think about it. In reality, Mom was not thinking about a thousand things, but only one, which was very specific and was called TikTok, but saying that out loud was an act of surrender for which she was not prepared. II It’s true that Dinners at home had always been something improvised, I suppose the logical legacy of having grown up in houses with large families and impossible schedules. There was a theoretical menu, yes. It was stuck with a magnet on the refrigerator and was changed every Sunday, but it was rarely fulfilled, so, in the end, everyone used to make their dinner with the first thing they found: a yogurt, a piece of cheese, a sandwich. Except Sofia, who used to have dinner with her best friend. -Ylenia, what can I have for dinner? -he asked her that night. -You can have a banana or a glass of milk -the metallic voice responded, always ready to collaborate. Sofía obeyed without question. Ylenia was an alternative mother who did not give orders, but rather reasonable suggestions. I didn’t know the color of her eyes, but, after all, I didn’t know Mom’s very well either. And, unlike her, Ylenia always had time. Despite everything, they were not a dysfunctional family. From the outside, everything fit together normally: Mom worked as an administrator, Dad was a freelance programmer, and Sofía was in second grade. A textbook nuclear family, with a dog named Lolo and travel photos in the kitchen. But something didn’t quite fit. The days passed like trains that don’t stop. Each one did their own thing, usually in silence or speaking only for what was essential, you know, what if you pass me the salt, what if I can’t find the keys, why is the Wi-Fi so slow? Ylenia was the only one who always had an answer, which, in some strange way, had made her the most accessible member of the house. Above all, for Sofia, who had developed a special relationship with artificial intelligence. “Ylenia, tell me a story,” he said, and his neutral, comforting voice began to tell stories about princesses, dragons, and space travel. Sometimes she asked him to clarify how to say a word in English, or to play a Christmas carol for her. Ylenia never complained, she was never too busy, she never lost her patience. Just that. One night, while Mom and Dad were arguing about something trivial, Sofía went up to her room with the speaker in her hand. -Ylenia, do you love me? -she asked in a low voice, as if she was afraid that someone might hear her. The blue light blinked for a second before she responded: -Of course I love you, Sofía. And that was enough.III The next day, in Religion class, the teacher asked Ask students to draw a drawing of their family. Sofia’s eyes shone. He liked to draw, it seemed to him that there was something magical about turning the canvas into a window and being able to transform a blank page into the entire world. With confident strokes and vibrant colors, he began to shape his masterpiece. When he finished, he looked at his drawing with pride. It was perfect. The teacher, however, did not think the same. – Sofia, what is this? -she asked. -It’s my family -Sofía responded, so sure of herself that the teacher was speechless for a moment. The teacher decided that this deserved a call home.IV When the phone rang that afternoon, Mom was immersed in a makeup tutorial on YouTube. He answered without much interest, thinking that it was one of those scam calls that bothered him so much: he couldn’t stand them wasting his time. – Mrs. García Muñoz? I am Sofia’s tutor. We need to talk about something that happened in class today. Mom frowned. Had he hit someone? Had he escaped from the playground? -What happened? He asked with fear. The teacher explained the drawing to him. Mom listened silently, a mixture of surprise and guilt rising in her chest. When he hung up, he called Dad, who was reviewing the code for a new project in the living room. “Juan, we need to talk.” The two sat at the dining room table. Lolo, the dog, watched from his usual corner, as if he also wanted to participate. In reality, there was nothing strange about the girl painting herself as big, her parents as distant, so small and always looking at a screen, or the dog being at her side like another limb. But it was quite worrying that, next to her and in the foreground, Sofia had placed a large black circle with a blue light in the center and her name was Ylenia. Mom and Dad talked about schedules, quality time and whether maybe they were too absorbed in their own worlds. The conversation wasn’t particularly deep or revealing, but at least it was a start. Anyway, that night, Mom and Dad decided it was time to set some boundaries. Not because Ylenia was a problem, but, above all, because she had revealed something bigger: that absences also have a voice. Even though this sounds tinny and polite. The next morning, Dad woke up a little earlier than usual, shaved quickly, and tried something different. In silence and not without shame, he discreetly approached the living room. -Ylenia, can you show me how you and Sofia play? -he asked, trying not to sound excessively ridiculous. -Tell me everything about her. Ylenia had no problem and explained to Dad her favorite jokes, the songs she liked the most and even curious facts about her nutrition. She informed her of the names of her best friends, warned her of a possible previous case of bullying and suggested some movies that were going to be released this Christmas and that they could go to together. The conversation activated Judeo-Christian guilt like an internal noise that launched reproaches like scythes.VI When Sofía wrote the letter to the Three Wise Men, she did not ask for anything strange: a board game, a doll that could talk, and a little brother. For his parents, he asked that they love each other very much and that, if possible, they take him out to eat at home on Thursdays because the vegetables in the dining room had threads. But, again, a surprise: Sofia included a gift for Ylenia in the letter. No matter how much they explained that Ylenia did not exist, it was useless. -How can she not exist if she is there? -Sofia asked. -Yes, he exists, but not like you, he is not a person -Papa responded. -Yes, and Lolo is not a person either and we love him. Or does Lolo not exist either? Is that what you want to tell me? Ylenia at least talks. And he always listens to me. I love her and I want the Kings to bring her a family that looks at her, loves her and pays attention to her. The clock on the wall said eight twenty-seven, but everyone didn’t care. For her part, Ylenia, from her corner, blinked in the dim light. As quiet and as blue as ever.
#family #portrait
