The sorrow taker

I still can’t understand the impulse that led me to speak to the woman on the corner. I’d be lying if I said I didn’t know what she did for a living, it was obvious. She immediately told me the price as I went near her. I did not know what to do.

“No discounts.” She told me.

I took my wallet in front of her. I’d say it was my first mistake, but it was my third. While I was choosing the bills to pay the fare, her face quickly changed from an evident weariness to a mischievous smile.

I had never done anything like that, so I took her to the only place I knew: my house. After we entered, I offered her something to drink. She waited for me to drink first and said she wouldn’t start until I went on my second. I had already taken several drinks before noticing that she was still with the first one.

I told her my whole life and all my pains as if she were one of those dolls my grandmother liked so much and called quitapenas, which means sorrow takers. I don’t know when I fell asleep.

My house was empty when I woke up. In other circumstances, I would have felt heartbroken, but at that moment, I could only feel calm and joy because she took all my sadness with her. There was nothing left in my place that could bring me back bad memories.