You’re Never Going to Find Me
Guest Piece
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Guest text inspired by “The Lamb” / Part 1 of eXis
Author: María Isabel Sánchez / Art: Samuel Gutiérrez
You’re Never Going to Find Me
A church, a crack, and what I left behind.
It smells of nostalgia and, at the same time, of certainty. Two things that had never coincided, until today, when I finally got away.
I took a sabbatical year and the first thing I did was drive to the cabin I once wanted to visit with you. I drove past the church where we are never going to get married and, almost without thinking, I ended up confessing to a priest who will never know what I kept quiet for you, much less the magnitude of what you did.
It was the first time I set foot in that church without an “us.” Every other time I came with you, my eyes were fixed on the floor and my mind was focused on not making anyone uncomfortable and not saying more than what was fair and necessary. Then I saw it, the statue of the lamb. On the way out, it was shining and I could not stop looking at it. I am surprised that I am only seeing it now. It is not that small. It has a crack from the passing of time, a fissure others might have overlooked, but I felt it; in some way, it echoed the crack in me.
For a moment, I felt that the lamb understood me more than the priest and that it forgave me for everything I was not able to say in confession. I could swear the stone eyes of that lamb were watching me, as though they knew where I was going and what I was about to leave behind. The image of its exposed wound stayed with me all the way to the cabin.
The drive was a bit long. For the first time in a long while, I played the music I like and drove at my own pace, with the caution I should always have had and that, unfortunately, I never had with you. With every kilometer I covered, I felt my crack close a little, like moving forward was also a way of coming back to myself.
I finally arrived. At this tiny cabin that today feels so big, under a roof we are never going to share.
The living room has a couch where our lips will never meet. The bed is covered with a sheet we will never fight over. On the terrace, there is a hot tub where we definitely are not going to be intimate. Without a doubt, your absence is and will always be my best company.
In front of the cabin there is a playground where one day my children will play, and where ours would have played, the ones we were lucky enough not to have. If I sensed the danger so early, they would have felt it multiplied. If I noticed your shadow so soon, they would have grown up under it. I have made many mistakes when making decisions and, up to now, I have managed to forgive myself for each one, but they would never have forgiven me for choosing you as their father.
In the place I almost came to with you, there is no one left you would recognize. No matter how much you look for me, you’re never going to find me. Today I know I was the lamb at your feet, not the woman at the altar. The crack you left in me is no longer sacrifice; it is a scar. And even if you someday find this cabin, you will still get lost.
About the Text
“You’re Never Going to Find Me” is a text that smells of nostalgia and, at the same time, of certainty. It rests on the voice of a woman who escapes and, at the same time, puts herself back together. The church, the confession, and the statue of the cracked lamb work as the first mirror: that fissure in the stone resonates with the crack in her and accompanies her to the cabin, where every object is defined by everything that will not happen. The scene at the park and the children who were never born shift the pain of the couple to an ethical plane: not having shared a life with you is also a way of protecting others. The ending, in which she accepts “I was the lamb at your feet” and turns the wound into a scar, manages to close the symbol in on itself: there is no longer sacrifice, there is a decision to disappear from his reach in order to keep existing.
Gon Vas
About the Author
María Isabel Sánchez – I am María Isabel Sánchez Saavedra, but everyone calls me Isa. I am 28 years old and was born in Panama. I am a lawyer by profession from Monday to Friday, and a writer at heart full time. Writing is my favorite way of expressing myself and the place where I hold a constant dialogue with my inner world. That is where almost all my texts are born: reflections on the everyday, the emotional, and what moves quietly inside me. I write to understand myself and, if I am lucky, to keep you company while you understand yourself too. Writing is my mirror, my refuge, and my path. My ink speaks from the introspection and the clarity that appears when we stop silencing ourselves. That is why my words will always try to invite you to connect with yourself and with what you carry inside.
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