Juan Luis Guerra - El | Niagara En Bicicleta

It is like trying to cross the Niagara Falls on a bicycle, the doctor continued, finally looking Juan in the eye. We are all pedaling in the air, hoping the wind doesn't pick up.

The neighbor grinned, wiping grease on a rag. I’m halfway across the falls, Juancho! Just don't look down! Juan Luis Guerra - El niagara en bicicleta

I feel like I’m fading, Juan said, his voice a dry whisper. My head spins, and my chest is a storm. It is like trying to cross the Niagara

Juan climbed the stairs to his apartment, the bird in his chest still fluttering. But now, it wasn't trying to escape. It was simply keeping time with a song that only those on the wire could truly hear. I’m halfway across the falls, Juancho

The doctor sighed, a sound of profound exhaustion. We need an electrocardiogram, he replied, but the machine is broken. The technician left months ago because the pay stopped coming. We have no aspirin, no oxygen, and the elevator only goes down, never up.

The hospital waiting room smelled of floor wax and old anxieties. For Juan, every tick of the wall clock sounded like a drum beat he couldn't quite catch. He sat on a plastic chair that groaned under his weight, staring at a flickering neon light that buzzed in a frantic rhythm. He was here because his heart felt like a bird trapped in a cage, fluttering against his ribs with a dizzying, uneven pace.

He realized then that the doctor was right. The struggle wasn't just his; it was the pulse of the island. They were all athletes of the impossible, performing circus acts just to survive the Tuesday afternoon. He began to walk, and as he did, he found a beat in his step. If he had to cross the Niagara on a bicycle, he would do it with a whistle on his lips and a swing in his hips.