That afternoon nothing had happened that made me suspect that something would happen (except for very exceptional for something to happen). No maps or walking routes, a habit that I stole from the wise and enjoy repeat, as if doing my ritual stop being me, transcend my experience and my life and become part of the heterogeneous texture that is the rite itself, joining and through the amalgamation of time and space to those who admire and study. This is a fun children's game, almost metaphysical, whose partner is the very future.
The truth is that I had crossed the threshold of the unknown when I saw it. Minutes before I began to feel dizzy, but did not know (or not wanted, it depends what school of thought to analyze the case) to notice that it was his presence that was hidden among the weeds and shadows of the city. I turned on myself once, twice, three times, trying to verify that indeed it was me who marked their high-heeled sandals that path it was traveling. I looked and looked at her, walking with other shoes and walked to another street, but it was still me. I thought it was a dream and I thought it was a dream to think that was enough to wake up, stop dreaming and stop dreaming about it to her, but nothing happened. Mentally counted to ten, maybe my reflexes were also asleep. I gave the order to wake up, among desperate and frightened, beginning to consider possible horrible idea that was true. I saw her, and unwittingly I also saw it. I was, certainly, but younger, cleaner, whiter, I was long ago. Less noisy walking paths, those that constantly retraced to high school (although others would not notice the difference.) Her hair was strictly bound, a prisoner of his manners and good education, their national flag for best average of his early literary habits and future academic sealed and stamped by herself. He moved with certainty. I looked at her but she did not see me, do not know if it even know he had a slight nearsightedness for several years because all the energy of his eyes was addressed, without pettiness or distraction, the book he had in his hands. I walked and read so quiet that bothered me. Seemed impermeable.
I let go. I had no courage to approach, I think it would have disappointed me. I was, however, thinking about it (thinking, of course, of myself). Although she would reject who I am today, so I do not know I was wrong. I imagine arguing with lengthy soliloquies and a strong case the ineffable that is your life (my life before) and wandering is my (yours, even if not recognized). I'm the same, and I'm ready for her to reconcile with me if I have to give up their convictions sterile and useless theories. ME. I kept walking, tangling and disarming with the thread in my hands the great ball that is my life. Because first of all, it's mine. Because I accept that I had to be her to be who I am, and I recognize that in its earliness and maturity always admired. Because I love her, but I have to love me more myself. Because the past and present are, after all, one thing. Because I want to meet with lights and shadows, nuances, details, but mostly and more than that, I LIVE IT. And that I am about to do while reading (I am, of course) to an adult child who does not know how in the world but without seeing the sidewalk walking, reading, walking sure where. And I close my eyes and let myself go back to the future, the only place that I still have to conquer.
* Photo taken from the sample VE, AND GO BACK is at present at the Alliance Francaise, Av Córdoba 946, Capital Federal.
0 comments:
Post a Comment