LA MESA EN EL BALCON

Siguiendo la estela de los aviones.

Y otras formas de disfrutar del tiempo.

Fragmento del libro “Lecciones de una adolescencia”, de Manuel Sánchez Checa.

Hoy es un día lluvioso de primavera. El árbol frente al jardín parece llorar de pena. Sus hojas cargan el peso de miles gotas de agua esperando su boleto para caer bajo tierra.

Hoy es un día gris de primavera.

Es hora de meditar.

Me siento en la silla, cruzando las piernas sobre esta. Normalmente la instrucción es que mis pies me anclen en el suelo, pero dejarlos tan libres me genera incomodidad y tiendo a moverlos; en cambio, si los cruzo, como que se sostienen a sí mismos y me siento más cómoda.

Llegó el momento de iniciar.

Inhala profundamente, ampliando el abdomen… exhala suave, soplando bajito.

Inhala profundamente. Dejé loza sucia en el lavaplatos, debería ir a… vuelve.

Exhala suavemente, soplando suavecito, como cuando inflo un globo, de esos brillantes y grandes… varios de estos para que la habitación quede decorada para algún cumpleaños…

Vuelve.

Ahora céntrate en tu respiración, ese frío que sientes al inicio de las narinas cada vez que inhalas, que sea tu ancla. O cerca del ombligo, notando cómo se extiende o contrae.

Inhala (frio)… exhala (calor)… frío… calor… ese rechinido raro que hace el aire acondicionado… ¿cuánto tiempo lleva sonando así? ¿Será importante mandarlo a arreglar o sería una exageración? Quizás está solo viejo… de hecho, la casa entera está vieja. Me preocupan las goteras, sobre todo las del estudio; esas caen justo desde la ampolleta, como si guiara las gotitas al suelo cada vez que llueve…

Vuelve.

Ya me aburrí de respirar. Mejor me concentro en escuchar: el aire… su rechinido… unos pajaritos… el motor de una moto que se acerca; es más intenso y se aleja, bajando cada vez más su volumen. Algunas personas hablan afuera. No he salido hoy de casa. Ayer tampoco. Debería salir en algún momento.

Vuelve.

Un auto cruza la calle; su motor suena más fuerte, se aleja. Unos niños hablan, parecen dos chicos, tres. El sonido del auto cae en un pozo, sigue cayendo… un pozo con textura azul. Se aleja, el pozo se difumina. Los niños ríen de algo, deben estar tirándose ahí, como en un tobogán.

¿Esto tiene lógica? Por supuesto que sí, ahí están… ah… me estaba durmiendo.

It always circles back to that meme. The Doctor could just park the TARDIS somewhere else and take a train to New York. Pick them up. Take a train back to the tardis. Fake the gravestone later. Or return them later There are a dozen sci fi workarounds you could write in five minutes. And honestly, that’s a completely fair. Doctor Who has never exactly been strict about its own rulebook. If it wants a loophole, it usually finds one.

But rewatching it, I don’t think the point is the logistics.

They were already drifting away from him. Amy even says in A Town Called Mercy that he’s been leaving them for longer and longer stretches. More solo trips. Bigger gaps between visits. He notices the lines around her eyes. River tells her never to let him see you age. There’s this quiet, steady undercurrent of time passing. Of them growing older in a way he never can.

So maybe him not going back isn’t about paradoxes or fixed points or gravestones.

Maybe it’s about acceptance.

Maybe it’s him realizing that they were already choosing a life that didn’t revolve around him. That they were building something stable and human and rooted. Something that can’t really survive in the long term if he keeps swooping in with a blue box and a new disaster every other week.

The emotional core of the episode isn’t the gravestone. It’s Amy choosing to jump with Rory. Choosing him. Choosing that life. Or if he was wrong, at least death together. That’s not a decision she would have made two seasons earlier. Earlier Amy would have hesitated. Would have looked back at the Doctor first. Rory, though, would always have made that jump for her.

I can almost picture it. The Doctor telling himself he’ll take that train to New York someday. That he’ll check in. That he’ll just make sure they’re okay. And then he doesn’t. Like he often doesn’t. Maybe he gets distracted. Maybe he gets tired. Maybe it just feels too final. Too much like admitting that this chapter is actually over.

Could they have handled it differently? Probably. They could have let them leave in the previous episode The Power of Three, which was already circling the idea of them choosing to stay home. It didn’t have to be this tragic.

That is true, however I recently found out there’s an animatic of an unshot scene written by Chris Chibnall where Brian receives a letter from Rory letting him know what happened, which does not fix the emotional damage entirely, but it does slightly soften the idea that he was just left never knowing at all.

There’s also some other information we find out, like what Amy and Rory were up to in New York, little details about the life they built.....you'll see.

Smile. Say "cheese".