RED: A Love Story [Featured List]

Part 1: White 10 - A slanted-eye prank

Valentina was the only one who knew. Marisa had told her everything on the day following her involvement with Marco, when the two were walking home after classes. The friend almost tripped upon hearing the story. Then Valentina poured a bucket of questions, advised caution, and eventually reacted to the news with enthusiasm. She even suggested that Marisa use the paraphilia encyclopedia in future erotic games.

On weekends, Marisa would make arrangements with Valentina and tell her mother she was sleeping over at her friend's to study. Then she spent time with Marco. The problem was it had become increasingly difficult to dribble her mother, and the arguments were multiplying. One Sunday morning, Marisa woke up late and went home apprehensive. She decided to use the kitchen entrance for precaution; if she was lucky enough, that would give her a chance to reach her bedroom without being caught. And if she was really lucky, her mother could even be in the bathroom getting ready for church.

Marisa turned the key in the doorknob a fraction of an inch at a time, so not to make noise, then gently pushed the door and went inside. She tiptoed, but half-way into the kitchen she could already hear the TV blabbering. Marisa surrendered. When she entered the living room, the Louis XIV-style décor unfolded its expanses of savonnerie rugs abloom. There were more paintings than walls in the place, and the excesses were disorienting like a stereogram. From that entanglement of sideboards covered in embroidered mats and china, cabinets pregnant with relics, and small tables eclipsed by a constellation of Czech crystal miniatures, the question was which unexpected image would emerge.

Perhaps a monster with two Sevres cups for eyes.

In the bookcase, a collection of framed pictures competed for real estate with the television set. Opposite the bookcase there was the blue sofa, and on the blue sofa there was the mother. Stiff as a rock, she watched a romantic comedy on the cable channel. Her hair bun, so tight it almost called for self-punishment, compensated for the folds of the beige robe that lately had become too loose. Her eyes resembled her daughter's, their light-brown hue highlighted by thick eyelashes. The difference was in the irises, which darkened visibly along with her mood.

At that very moment, the mother fixed on Marisa a pair of very dark eyes.

"You are late."

"I had to stay a little longer at Valentina's to review math equations. You know I have a hard time with trigonometry."

The mother did not tolerate well points of view that diverged from her own. And, in her point of view, the equation at hand had nothing to do with trigonometry. She didn't need to open her mouth for Marisa to sense the bad weather coming. But naturally open her mouth she did, as storms needed thunder.

As the star couple reconciled amid tears on TV, her mother's voice rose above the saccharine sound track:

"This is becoming unbearable. You're hardly home these days and never answer my calls. Do you think I was born yesterday? I know you and that weirdo are up to something."

"Will you stop referring to my friend like that?" Marisa forgot about smoothing things over. She could barely restrain her irritation. "We've had this conversation a million times. Is it so hard to understand that I need to study if I ever want to get to college? I'd love to spend the whole day watching TV like you do!"

"Show me some respect, girl. If your father were alive-"

Onscreen, the movie couple now exchanged a passionate look and declared: I love you.

"I know, know." Marisa rolled her eyes and assumed a sarcastic tone. "But dad is not alive, is he? And you didn't even allow me to attend the funeral. How could you do that to me? Do you know what your problem is? You just don't get me."