There is a boy on a bench. I walk past him, never changing my speed or moving my eyes, but in that moment, I take in his life. Good looking, clean haircut, square jaw, open expression. He sits there next to a bike and a Glovo box. In front of him, there is a screen playing colorful ads. It is inside the glass of the building, perhaps advertising the very building it is in. There are bright and pastel colors in constant motion on the screen, and his eyes never waver or move away. Straight-backed and focused, he gazes at that screen in rapture, as if his life depends on it.
In a single glance, I can understand this boy’s entire existence: He is 26 years old. Although he is not from Madrid, he is from the Community of Madrid, which for him is enough for him to identify with the city, without hesitation. Not only did he visit often during school trips, and on weekends with his parents, he even studied in the city for 5 years. At the Universidad Complutense, he studied communications and marketing.
Those were the best years. With new college buddies and old high school friends, he roamed the streets late at night with a beer in hand and the possibility of the world in the sky. He could feel his youth on him like a set of wings, and even though he understood on some level that this would fade, it was a future too far off to contemplate. Sure, he could’ve graduated earlier if he’d spent more time studying, but what was the point in that? He was staying at his aunt’s house in Pozuelo, university was cheap, and the enjoyment of life was his greatest priority.
After the graduation ceremony, which isn't the dramatic affair it is in the states, this boy felt like he was a boy no more. He was a man now, ready to make his way. And yet, for some reason, he stayed in his aunt’s apartment. After all, she did all the laundry, something he hadn't quite figured out yet, and and the dishes were always magically clean. In fact, food too would appear with ease on these clean dishes, produced at regular intervals. He kept going out late at night with his friends, but without classes to go to, his wake up time was pushed later and later in the day. His family understood, but insisted he do something. Anything.
His whole life up until this point, he had been a financial drain. And now, right on the cusp of manhood, he continued to do nothing but drain his family's resources. So he set out, determined to join the working force of the city. But nobody would have him. Resigned, he started biking for Glovo. If he had had a car, he would’ve started driving for Cabify. Alas, his vehicle was of two wheels, not four.
But what you need to understand is that he isn’t the sort of person who bikes for Glovo. That isn’t who he is. It is temporary. Simply a way to gain some spending money, and to get his aunt, mom, and grandma off his back. Those maternal voices constantly yammering away both in his presence and when he left the room, growing louder to ensure he heard it all. Even his father would pull himself out of his internal world to cast a few judgmental words his way. Biking for Glovo was a half measure, a way of appeasing them all, or at least escaping their constantly conversations of criticism. After all, now, he had a reason to wake up in the morning, didn't he? He had something to fill his hours.
Except for the dreadful moments between deliveries. These in-between moments are too loud, too full of unwanted thoughts crashing into each other, too infused with the deadening feeling of despair. So when he found the bench in front of the screen, his whole body sighed in relief, relaxing like an accordion after a song. At last, he was saved from it all.
Today, like every day, his eyes dutifully followed the meaningless shapes. His brain reached a pleasant state of numbness. He sat straight, his physical being still full of pride, as his mind left, eyes glazing over. The result was a good looking body, placed perfectly like a barbie doll, but completely empty of any inhabitant.
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