There is always a first time.
There is always a first time for everything; or so they say.
But what truly matters is that there is always a last time, inevitably.
For every first time, there is a sentence, a built-in expiration date.
And we don't know it...
No, we don't recognize it; because it's something that could break us.
You taste a delicious burger, and then someone tells you:
"You will eat only 2,548 burgers in your lifetime. By the way, you now have 2,547 left, and that's it."
Damn...
Can you imagine?
"Your favorite ice cream?"
"Mint chocolate chip."
"Great choice! People tend to overthink it and then pick vanilla."
"Really? I mean, I do like vanilla, a lot actually, now that I think about it. But my favorite is mint chocolate chip."
"Fantastic! I'm telling you, people overthink it and choose vanilla—97% of the time, it's vanilla."
"That's crazy, right?"
"I know. Oh, by the way, you will eat only 1,456 mint chocolate chip ice creams in your entire life."
"What?!"
"It's true. In your life, you will only have 1,456. No more mint chocolate chip ice cream after that."
God...
We all have an exact number of things to do, to say, to eat, to share, and although it is painful and at the same time a blessing, there is always a last time for everything—and for everyone in our lives.
We get the chance to experience many firsts, and we will also have one final, and almost always, inevitable last time for each of them...
There's always a first time for trying ice cream, the first time you kiss someone, the first time your heart gets broken.
We always know when it's the first time. You realize it, almost without noticing, or in an overwhelming way.
But there is always a last time for everything.
And we don't know it.
Not always.
In the moment, we don't realize it. We don't recognize that it's the last time our grandmother smiles at us, the last beer with a friend, the last time our father hugs us, the last burger of our life, the last kiss from our mother, the last goodbye—even if we say "see you soon"—the last argument, the last smile, the last farewell, the last time we make love to the person we love; or that we will never return to that place again; and from that moment on, we will be different.
There is always a last time for everything.
There is always a last time, and unlike the first time, we don't know it's the last until it's too late.
In retrospect.
Because it's gone.
The moment is gone.
Or it never comes back.
Forever.
For always.
That's just how it is.
And all we are left with are memories. Just moments that surface in our minds because of a scent, a sound, a voice, or a whisper—an imaginary trigger that catalyzes nostalgia... just a little more.
And who would've thought...
The last time I saw my niece was that time in the car—when, after the violent crash, we were tumbling down the avenues of Barranca del Muerto and Revolución, holding hands as we spun, while her teddy bear was thrown from her seat, slamming against the car windows.
We smiled at each other—the silent understanding of the defeated.
That was the last time we held hands. Truly held hands.
Just seconds before, I somehow knew that I wasn't going to die, even though everything seemed lost:
The crash, the windshield exploding over us, the motor oil raining into our eyes, the crushing pressure of the seatbelt against my chest, the world spinning rapidly outside the windows...
And yet, I was certain—I was not going to die.
How could I die if I hadn't finished reading Moby-Dick?
My niece, on the other hand, had that vacant look—the hollow stare of surrender.
The look of someone who won't make it.
Not because they're about to die, but because they've already given up.
She had the eyes of someone who stops breathing before their last breath, the look of those who resign themselves to whatever comes next. The ones who shut their eyes, knowing that if they do, they will never open them again.
And no, they are not suicidal. They are not deserters.
They are the souls of those who wish to keep going, but simply can't figure out how. And so, they just... stop.
My niece had that look.
The defeated gaze of someone who lets go of life.
Clutching her teddy bear—grasped midair in the chaos—she held onto it tightly.
And when I saw her like that, I took her hand.
And she...
That is to say, while we were still spinning in the car, with the windshield glass shattering against our faces, with the tires screeching and the wind roaring, with the streetlights streaking like blurred brushstrokes chased by the darkness beyond the car windows...
She turned toward me.
We locked eyes.
And in that moment of silent understanding, we smiled at each other.
And I said:
"We're going together, princess. We're going together."
Then, her expression changed, and for a brief moment, there was light in her eyes again.
"We're going together, princess. We're going together."
But it wasn't true. I didn't know it then, but of course, deep down, I believed I wouldn't die. Still, I told her we would go together, though I didn't really believe it.
I said: "We're going together, princess. We're going together."
Then, her gaze shifted, and for an instant, she seemed alive again. And in that precise moment, while she looked at me with a beautiful smile on her face, hugging her teddy bear tight against her chest, we crashed into another car.
The impact sent us careening into a wall, and that second collision triggered the explosion that engulfed the car in flames.
I remember the fire wrapping around us.
I remember people pulling us out through the windows.
I remember the ambulances approaching.
I remember the darkness swallowing me whole.
I remember her teddy bear, blood-stained, beginning to burn...
But I don't remember anything else.
Nothing else, except... maybe—I'm not sure—but maybe... just maybe, I do remember her voice fading, drifting away, dimming as she screamed for me, calling me to wherever she was, her voice growing more and more distant from me.
And I...
I felt a crushing pressure, a tight grip that held me back, pulling me away. It was like a seatbelt, like a rope—something restraining me, keeping me from reaching her.
Yes, something like that.
It was a weight in my chest—or maybe in my stomach—something that bound me, something that suspended me, something that wouldn't let me move toward her, toward my niece, who wouldn't stop calling me, screaming my name in confusion and desperation.
But I couldn't go.
I couldn't answer her call.
I tried to free myself. I tried to think of a way to break loose and get to her.
But I couldn't.
I just couldn't.
It was like my hands weren't there, like I was grasping at something intangible. It was like I lacked the strength to break free, and when I did have the strength, it was as if there was nothing to free myself from—do you understand?
Like losing the will or the intention to do it, only to suddenly want it more than anything again. And then, once more, I'd be overcome by a dizzying feeling of hesitation that kept me from continuing to want to break free and reach her call.
And, after one final muted scream from her soul, all I could think of was letting go, completely, and going to her.
All my desire was to break free and go to her.
All my thoughts, my intent, my entire being, was focused on freeing myself, reaching her, running to her, who had already stopped calling for me...
And suddenly, the sheer force of my effort shattered whatever was holding me back—
and I was free.
I think I heard a dry crack, a sharp snap!—and that was it.
Then, an abrupt release sent me plummeting into a vast emptiness, an infinite void. A calm descent, even at great speed, into something boundless, where neither distance nor velocity inspired fear—only peace.
I felt the wind rushing in my ears—except there was no wind.
There was no sound.
No movement.
No time.
Nothing.
I was suspended in a dark void, floating, as my niece's voice faded forever, and once again, terror consumed me.
Foolishly, instinctively, I reached out, trying to grab onto something—but there was nothing.
Just me.
Alone with my thoughts.
Nothing.
Nothing.
Nothing.
All I wanted was to put the ribbon, the thread, the rope that had held me back before, back in place—whatever it was that had tethered me. And just as my thoughts longed for it, I felt my hands brush against something.
A seatbelt, maybe.
A cord.
Something like a string.
I don't know what it was.
But my hands felt it.
I grabbed it.
I seized it in sheer panic.
With all my strength, I clutched onto it, and somehow, I tied myself to it.
In my thoughts, in my mind, all I could focus on was binding myself again, securing myself, wrapping myself in whatever had once held me back.
And the moment I did—right then—the nightmare ended.
And I heard the ambulance again.
Voices.
Screams.
Metal clashing.
The burning heat.
The yanking and pulling.
I heard the sounds of medical equipment beeping.
And then, a jolt of energy erupted in my chest, a sudden shock that coursed through my body.
I convulsed.
And I dreamed again.
The nightmare was over, it seemed.
But maybe—just maybe—it was only beginning.
There is always a last time for everything.
And we never know it.