[03/11/26][FICTION]We Are Not Meant to Be
by Maximiliano Guzmán
Everyone asks me to love you. Everyone.
Everyone asks me to stay with you, to accept you, to care for you and love you the way you deserve to be loved.
But it’s unfair. You know?
Everyone says I could be a better person if I do it.
Everyone keeps repeating that maybe you’re a blessing.
But of all of them, none think of me. None. Not even you.
Did you imagine this? Can you imagine it or, still—
I don’t know, I don’t know, you don’t even have a name. You’re a little creature.
Sometimes I think we are not meant to be. I don’t believe much in those things, but I believe we’re not meant to be. Forgive me.
Do you have doubts about what I’m telling you?
Surely your little head can’t think about that, but you need to know that mine can’t either.
Mom told me over the phone to stay calm, to think about the future.
I can’t say the same to you. It doesn’t come out of me. Not because I don’t want to— It just doesn’t come out.
Will you be willing to take care of me when I’m old?
Look at the stupidity I’m asking you.
It’s hot, so hot.
I’m hot. Are you hot?
Do they feel heat at that age?
I don’t remember. You know?
I don’t blame you. The problem is more complex or more simple, but either way I can’t solve it alone.
Would you be willing to sacrifice yourself for me?
Listen to that question I’m asking. How silly.
Did you see where we live? You can’t be here two seconds without sweating.
The fans don’t work. They work badly and I don’t have money to fix them.
Should I ask Mom? Probably, yes, but then she would come with her religious stuff and her demands. As if I were fifteen.
I want another life. You know?
I was alone for a long time and then suddenly in love, and then a month later, loneliness, and then a fat belly and regrets.
I regret it.
Nothing else comes to mind.
I don’t know.
Do you think we’re meant to be together?
I already told you I doubt it.
I doubt it a lot.
The phone rings.Again the lady for the rent.
I don’t have money, old witch! I yell so she understands.
Don’t cry, little creature.
Sometimes people aren’t what you think. I thought the rent lady would have patience for one more month but it seems not. She keeps asking me to pay and pay but she can’t throw us out. She knows that here in a small town everyone will point fingers at her. Not at me, though, thank God.
They won’t point at me because the few people I know think like I do.
Do you think I’m good?
Can you stop crying?
All of them must go through what I’m going through. All of them, but then they get old and change their theories and start acting moralistic and religious.
You have to understand we’re in a hard moment in the country, and in life.
Can I tell you the truth?
No, better not.
Look, this is very easy if we think of it as easy. If we think of it as hard I couldn’t— Can you shut up for a minute?
I need to think.
First, Mom. I won’t call Mom to tell her, she’ll find out on her own, probably from the rent lady.
Don’t worry.
Do you see why I do what I do? Can you please shut up?
Calm down. Calm down. I didn’t mean— I didn’t mean—
For you it’s even easier.
I’m the one carrying the backpack with all this and everything, including you.
I have to take responsibility for everything, if I make any decision it’s a weight on me. Because that’s what happens when you grow up, when you become big and end up making mistakes without meaning to because of things you did and liked doing.
I didn’t have money at that moment, then Mom found out and I was forced.
The phone rings again.
Enough, Chung, I’m sick of you! Sorry, I didn’t mean to yell again.
Don’t think I’m yelling at you.
It’s the rent lady. I don’t listen to what she says, I just yell at her.
I don’t know where I learned that, maybe from an uncle. From my dad’s brother.
That’s how you have to behave with people in the end. I hope you learn that someday.
I like this shirt. Do you?
Can you stop crying, little creature?
Do you think I should wear this shirt and the white jeans with fringes?
I’m not that dumb, I know you won’t answer me. You still can’t, but you will, I hope.
Do you think what I’m doing is okay?
You know when I was little they told me a story.
Mom should’ve stayed with you.
She knew I couldn’t handle this, but Mom told me to act like an adult woman, to have ovaries.
Mom never understood me. You know?
She never gave me the chance to talk to her about me and the things I like to do, about how I want to live life.
Do you think so?
They gave me six months at the bank because of you. Six months and they told me if I wanted four more I just had to sign and they’d give it to me.
People are good, sometimes.
I don’t want to raise my voice too much, the neighbors next door are always home.
You should stop crying.
Do you agree I should wear this shirt, or the other one?
Sometimes silence is easier. Shut up, please.
Are you planning to cry all day?
Okay. Fine.
The phone rings again.
I’m not going to pay the fucking rent. You hear me? I say with, clear and concise, so that old bitch understands.
It’s William, says the voice on the phone.
I’m not talking to you either. Idiot! I hang up.
I hope you never meet William. He’s— How to say it so you understand?
He told Mom a few weeks ago that I’m crazy, that you and I are living on Mars.
Do you think I’m a crazy girl?
You’re a little man or something like that.
Do you think it’s my fault you came out this way?
Can you stop for a second?
The phone again. I’m tired of it. You know?
I wish you understood what I’m saying. I wish you had little antennas and not those deformed ears you have and you’d listen to me and talk to me to say everything’s okay.
I’m not going to pay! I yell again. They force me to do it, little creature.
I hang up and turn around the room looking for a ring Dad gave me.
I can’t find it.
You didn’t eat it, did you?
Is that why you’re crying so much, little creature?
Doesn’t matter. Don’t worry.
I’m taking a jacket from William to remember him and to sell it at a fair.
I’m also taking this and this and this.
Good thing you calmed down.
I don’t know why Mom begged me to act like an adult woman when I told her our relationship isn’t working.
You think it’s a dog! she yelled at me that day.
I don’t think that. I think other things.
Do we agree our relationship isn’t working?
Do we agree we don’t have the same life projects?
Yes. We agree.
I consider that debate closed.
William— Did you know?
Yes, I’m crying, that’s how women like me cry.
First we started loving each other, doing things out of love. Well, a week or two we did that and I didn’t want to give him my body yet but he—
Only you know this now. If they ask you, deny it.
I tried to kill William. He tried to do the same. We both lost. We broke each other’s hearts, we bit each other’s souls. I’m just blood and you’re the fruit..
The phone again.
I’ll let it ring, let it ring until.
They knock on the door.
Stay still.
Don’t make noise.
They knock again but harder.
A few seconds pass. Silence.
Well, as I was saying…
Life is very hard for girls like me. I’m too young and I’m pretty and I’m lucky to be independent. Despite the damage William did to me, those months having him every day by my side pretending he loved me, with Mom happy sending letters and envelopes of money so we could live together, the three of us.
In the end— William left. If you don’t see him around, it’s because he left. People leave. It’s okay.
Don’t look at me with that ugly little face. You’ll see this is a matter of destiny.
I close the suitcase and put on Dad’s fisherman hat, the sunglasses.
I walk to the door.
From afar it’s beautiful.
I open the door, look around. No one.
MAXIMILIANO GUZMÁN is an Argentinian writer and editor, he was born in a town called Recreo, in Catamarca.
He is the Editor of the magazine La Tuerca Andante and has published the novella Hamacas with Zona Borde Editorial.
His stories have been published in Argentina, Chile, Peru, Uruguay, Ecuador, Mexico, Cuba, Croatia and the United States.
His latest publications have been with Expat Press, A Thin Slice of Anxiety (Anxiety Press), and others coming soon this year.
He has recently published in Don’t Submit, HAD, and Revista Tántalo (Argentina).