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Tomasito was sick of everything. He woke up to another morning without water service and Aleksander's good morning message gave him nothing but a deeper frown. The building's neighbor's group chat was a mess, what a surprise. Felipe had sent him a pic of his newest painting, Tomasito didn't know what to say. So he put his phone back on the night table before going to the bathroom. Looking at the brightside, he had power and Wi-Fi, even if the internet connection was slower than a tortoise. He breathed in thinking of all those positive messages that flooded his Instagram search page, then he breathed out. He had to be thankful.
He lived by himself in a small apartment that his great uncle left him when he died. The place was small, but enough for him and Pablo, a cat he picked up in the parking lot before some crazy neighbor poisoned it. The major trouble was the lack of water, it happened all around the city, but the fact that he only had one hour every night to have dinner, wash the dishes and the pots, clean up the kitchen, put his clothes in the washing machine and take a shower made him feel miserable. Sometimes he wished he had moved in with Aleksander before, then he remembered all the yelling and the clashes between them and Alex's constant fights with Felipe, his flatmate, and ended up thinking he was better off alone. His own moodiness didn't mix well with Aleksander's, and being trapped for weeks in the same place would have surely consumed the thin threat that held them together.
The fridge was almost empty. He had run out of cheese and ham and he only had enough milk for one bowl of cereal. He'd talk with a neighbor, maybe they could go buy groceries together. Tomasito refused to use public transportation in such a situation. If COVID-19 didn't kill him, TB would. In the best case someone would just steal his phone without him noticing. Last time he was held at gunpoint and the dude took his whole backpack. But Tomasito had to be thankful for being alive.
Some days he was.
Aleksander was supposed to pick him up the Saturday after the quarantine was declared throughout the city, but by Friday night the biggest avenues were blocked by the police, who also coerced people to stay home and controlled the traffic. Of course, neither Tomasito or Aleksander had a safeguard, plus by Saturday the gas supply was already an issue. In conclusion, Tomasito was trapped on his side of the city and Alex in his, with Felipe.
Before filling his bowl with cereal, he took out of the freezer a box with the chicken breast he bought from another neighbor. It was a bit late, so Tomasito knew it wouldn't be defrosted by noon. He'd rely on his microwave, if it worked. The constant blackouts fucked up the poor thing almost a year ago and he had no money to buy a new one. The worst part? It was almost new, its predecessor died in the same way. But he had to be thankful, he had power and direct gas for his kitchen.
March of last year was significantly worse, he spent five days without power or any telephone signal, and had to bring water from the water tanks in the third parking floor, to his apartment on the 11th floor, with no elevator, of course. The blackout not only fucked up his microwave, it also damaged the water pumps, so even when the power returned he had to go to the basement to pick up water.
He had to be thankful. At least they weren't in a war. The only war they faced was "the economic war" --fucking bullshit-- and the sanctions emitted by the "imperium" against their powerful but needy nation.
He shoved his thoughts aside when his phone rang. As always, Aleksander made a video call just when Tomasito was about to have breakfast, so he put the phone against the cereal box. They never talked a lot and mostly watched each other move around their flats for a while. Just so Tomasito didn't feel lonely and killed himself, in Alex's words.
--Why the butt face? No water again? I told you, you should have moved in here earlier. This happens because you’re such a "slow-bean".
Tomasito just frowned.
--And you're so "esmollejao" that we'd crash and burn.
Last year Tomasito ran away to Alex's place on the third day of the massive blackout. At least they had power there, unstable, but it was definitely better than nothing . It was hellish and Pablo almost killed Felipe, but Aleksander finally found the courage, after a few glasses of rum, to tell Tomasito how much he cared about him, and how much he wanted to kill Felipe sometimes, but Tomasito prefered to ignore that.
--Tomás --, he paused --How are you? I miss you more than Juancitos's patacones in the 72th.
What a stupid question.
--I need to go out tomorrow, I have no food. I'll ask a neighbor. To go with him.
--Isn't that too risky?
Tomasito shrugged. Alex was sweeping the floor in what seemed to be Felipe's room.
Felipe moved in with Alex after a landlord threw him out for not paying the residency’s rent. He was majoring in art at the UCV and liked to paint a lot. When Tomasito first met him, Felipe was a quiet guy with a funny accent. Tomasito immediately recognized his accent. When he was a kid he used to imitate it, as his favorite tv series were colombian. Later he found out Felipe wasn’t quiet at all and now he always had some fun watching him and Aleksander fight over their speaking ways, amazing Tomasito who had a quite neutral accent --or so he thought--. Sometimes Alex mocked Tomasito for his "mandibuleo", in return he called him "maracucho sifrino" making the maracucho get hotter than a chinese grill.
--He wears a mask and gloves even to take out the trash --, said Tomasito about his neighbor. --It's better than taking the bus.
--I heard there's a case near you.
There was also a case near Alex, but they only had rumors. The news barely said anything regarding the pandemic.
--Yes.
It was a lady that lived in a building crossing the street. Tomasito didn't mind.
--I could try and pick you up --. Alex sounded desperate.
--No, I'm fine without your yelling.
Aleksander yelled at Felipe for staining the expensive wooden floor with paint.
--Where do you think you live? This is not the fucking Cota 905, you beast.
Tomasito had no idea how they hadn't killed each other already. Alex sighed and looked at him.
--You don't know how much I miss you. You're my little piece of arepa with tangerine.
Tomasito hated when he called him like that, but smiled nonetheless.
--When this is over --, added Aleksander --I'm kicking that beast out. I'll even fuck your ears. That "mollejuo" is the cheese I have.
Rancid. But his voice was tender and Tomasito smiled.
--Then I'll lock myself here. Go to the Bolivar, just don't get yourself killed.
As Alex opened his mouth to send him to hell, the power went off and the telephone signal was so shitty that the call got cut off.
--But we have patria --said Tomasito as he threw the bowl into the sink.