Would you tie my shoelaces? [ENGLISH VERSION]

01. Tell me

If the pages of our lives, are part of a book, history. You should think about the title. Why is it not possible to leave it blank? Our lives continue to take their course, and even if they end, we will not be able to tell it in our point of view. Why bother? Or better yet, where to start?

I'm starting this on my own with no one watching my back waiting for the first step to be taken. Some people know what to do, how to live their lifes, others just follow the ones that were already destined for them, another group lives it day by day, the others don't even try, and even if you want to believe it or not, they're still a bunch of people who never learned to live it by themselves. And among multiple of different and pitiful groups that roam around the planet earth. All of which never mattered or will matter to me.

What about me? where am I? On earth, right? In my head, right? In my room, home, family?

Am I not?

Clearly I'm not in any of those options, because to me, no one deserves to be so special in my life as to be that crap which I stuck on a shelf, and immediately became the everything of life. My life; a name which I can't ever call it as such a thing. It doesn't deserve it, and I don't intend to let it be.

Avis Wilson. The girl who, at some lost moment in time, had a real smile captured in a random photo, taken by a simple, decent camera, perhaps. Fifteen years old, problems just like anyone else, friends being few who decided that this label fit them, and finally, what she had most in mind about herself: a different identity in every space she was in, except for the one she showed when she was alone. 

Or with someone she never thought she would use.

"A party?" irritable words were coming out from the people, the girls if you had to specify. They had so much space in the whole damn field unused to overshadow it, and yet they stood in front of me as if I were following their conversation. "I hope I can go!"

Every girl stood there was paying attention to only a simple person. But not as much time as she hoped for.

"At least for you, you're guaranteed you'll go, Ingrid" said Martina with a smile at the corner of her lips, at the same time downplaying the importance of what her friend had just said. Ingrid was my younger sister's name, being the reason why my attention was given to that pathetic subject. "You're my best friend, it's practically a fact that you're going to my birthday party".

Every gaze, without counting my own, was directed at Ingrid's eyes, and although they were all sitting not so close to each other, they soon made a circle around Ingrid. Including, tragically, Avis. In other words, me.

Ingrid, before long, decided to open her mouth and set up a sentence without difficulty. Showing, or wanting to show, that she didn't look flustered by all the attention that was given to her in a couple of seconds without a prior warning.

"Is it that obvious?" a smile and laughter accompanied her words, trying to get the other girls to follow her lead, and stop looking at her. I always knew that attention made her nervous. Who wouldn't? Honestly, I wish that wasn't another problem on my list.

Laughter, talk of the subject, and a few shouts or raised voices so many times, I'd lost count. And before long, they got off topic and forgot the past, because, like any other conversation, somehow or other, one always ended up straying from the initial topic.

"Did you know that Professor Hernandez cut his hair?" eyes soon turned to that girl with the mermaid braid. Her hairstyle reminded me of when I used to look for tutorials so I could be able to make them to my mother as a child, hoping it would bring a smile to her face.

Jerk. I could call anyone that, but it would never fit Fatima the way you would think or want it to. It's an insult they created so they could continue a conversation in another way. Just so people could avoid getting tired of what we could already name as usual.