The rest is electricity

Remember to bend your arms when jumping, Olivia.

Trampolines when something goes wrong. Hangover. When all the rest goes wrong. After a rejected newspaper article. After a fight due to the premenstrual syndrome whose existence Sebastian still doesn't believe in.

My boyfriend and I are the only grown-ups in this place of polypropylene and packed adrenaline. Rihanna plays very loudly. Usually in clubs there are young people looking for feelings. With trampolines it's the same but people are slightly younger. No one is under the effect of drugs, at least initially. It's lighter and here people go barefoot.

I want to stop controlling my movements and trust that these trampolines will support my body and cushion the fall. I go bouncing with no agenda, eyes closed. I don't give a damn about anything right now. If I bump into a child I do not care. If my tooth breaks, I'll call it Alejandra and it will all make a little more sense.

Alejandra, fuck. I lock myself into a corner and lean on a vertical wall-mat. My cell phone, faithful friend, is with me. Alejandra's last connection: Monday at 10:56. The dead always have a last Whatsapp connection. Dakota has left the group. Someone has broken the ice, at last.

How do you leave a Whatsapp group that announces that one of your best friends has passed away? I admired the delicacy of Dakota, the administrator, for calling the group "Alejandra" without any Emoji. Dakota's good use of Emojis was reflected in not using any this time. Creating a Whatsapp group to announce the death of someone must be just as frivolous as difficult.

I re-read the text obsessively: "As you know, Alejandra has died in a car accident in Mexico. Pablo has survived. In spite of being all shattered, we are trying to organize her funeral in the way that best represents the incredible person that Alejandra has been for everyone and for the world. We will bury her body naturally, without any chemicals, in her favorite place: Mallorca. We also invite you to get undressed and to take LSD since you all know how important these two things were for her. Let's celebrate that Alejandra has existed. We'll get to you with more details soon."

I saw Alejandra a few months ago for the last time. Her last leap to fame made her travel a lot and made her less accessible and more envied by the rest of us, her lifelong friends. Alejandra and her performances of naked girls had had visibility in the great spheres of the United States thanks to Instagram. Andrea Arnold had just hired her for the art direction of her next film and several agencies were signing her. She became a young promise and she gave to the world a fresh air of immaculate novelty that everyone wanted to possess. Everyone expected her own ego to devour her but it didn't happen. I think she didn't like to be predictable.

I remember that we were in our usual bar doing an interview that they would publish in a magazine that no longer exists today. It closed a week ago. To cut off the ice, I asked her what was art for her: A golden horse galloping through an endless meadow, she spat out, amid puffs of neurotic smoke. She laughed with that sharpness that only masked pride and continued: Oli, don't sell yourself like that. You should write about whatever you want. People need to read what you really want to say; these questions about me will not change anything in the world. She took my arm, we went out to the street and that night we ended up in the underground karaoke of Can Lluis until either of us disappeared without warning.

Alejandra was an animal. She was thousands of animals coexisting in a human body. We used to joke that she was pretty by mistake. Her features suggested that if the position of her mouth, nose or whatever moved a millimeter, all her luck would have changed. Too many things in her life were conditioned by her physical body, her infinite legs. But ultimately, Alejandra was an indecipherable Greek creature.