Mr and Mrs Evans ✔

Chris

Wow, it wasn't easy to write about the past. About Bogota. But that was one thing.

Another thing is to write - as asked by dr. Downey Jr.—about my current life, about my marriage situation.

The guy is a man, he should know: things like that are very difficult for us.

"Precisely for that," he told me. You think there are a lot of things that disturb me. Lots of repressed shit.

Things I avoid thinking about, that I refuse to deal with. And often, he says, the only way to get it all out is through a journal.

"Stop it, doctor," I joked. “The punching bag usually solves my problems.

But dr. Downey did not laugh. So here I am.

Hmm... I didn't know how to start, so I called dr. Downey to say the therapy wasn't working and thank him anyway. I was about to shut down and bury the whole story in the past when he interrupted me.

He's a persistent son of a bitch, this dr. Downey. He just said, “Relax, Christopher. This is not homework for school. “And then he reminded me that there were no right and wrong answers. He suggested that I start by writing about the night before, and added, "Just write about what you remember, the rest will come later."

I was reluctant but ended up accepting, I would give it another try.

So come on.

Last night.

I got home and put the car in the garage.

For a moment I remained there, listening to the whine of the engine as I tried to compose myself. It had been a long day, and the world I had just left was light years away from the one that awaited me at home.

Five years was too long.

Things have changed. People have changed.

Or maybe...maybe everything just faded. Like a sheet of newspaper forgotten in the sun.

"Better come in," I thought at last. Scarlett's ear is sharper than Superman's; surely he knew that I had already arrived. If I took any longer to enter, she would appear in a few seconds to see what had happened.

I unbuckled my seat belt and...

"Fuck! Where's the ring?" I had almost forgotten to put it on again. I went through all the pockets, and there she was, in her overcoat. I put it back in the left ring.

I looked at myself in the rearview mirror. "Get smart, man."

What the fuck was that? A red stain on the collar. Fuck, if Scar saw that, she'd be a helluva lot.

I rubbed the fabric, but the stain was still there. The only way was to hide the collar under the collar of the jacket.

Then I ran into the house.

I threw the keys into a jar in the foyer. I asked myself—certainly not for the first time—why I got so tense whenever I walked through that door.

Scarlett appeared out of nowhere.

“It's just in time,” she said with a smile. She looked at me like she was waiting for something.

"Oh yes. The butter. Thank God I didn't forget." Otherwise it would be an endless litany. In an affected gesture, I took the jar of butter out of my pocket and said, "Do you order butter?" I bring butter.

- How was your day? she asked as she took the pot.

"Same as usual," I replied, shrugging. She repeated my gesture and hesitated a little.