Skip to main content

The Turn


Once she had fallen on that turn. She was riding a moped. The boys from school had somehow messed it up. They had removed the pipe and the gas just didn’t pass through. She tried to turn the bike on a couple times, aware that there had been a sort of sabotage. Very irritated, she kept an exterior calmness, while the boy approached and showed her in five seconds what the problem was. She thanked him and left. “What a stupid way to flirt!” She proceeded with her afternoon ride, good school times, the wind on her face, the postponed obligations, dinner waiting on the table, all the time in the world… The moped failed a couple times, she had to break it and speed it up at the same time to keep it going. In one of these attempts, on the curve, she skidded! The moped slipped to one side while she slid to the other in a 45-degree angle. She stood up, covered by the red dirt of Brasília, bruised, hurt. She picked up the moped and carried it, limping, to the last house of the street.

She was not a girl anymore. She had her own responsibilities, work, bills, problems… She went down the slope that led to the turn, driving not the moped anymore, but the car purchased in her first job. A silent afternoon, she drove calmly, the only car on the road. She was approaching the turn when she saw them, fallen, three bodies, a man, a woman and a girl, all black. The abundant hair, dark and curly, speckled with the red dirt, the woman’s and the girl’s white cotton dresses with little red flowers on them. The man wore khaki pants, rolled up on the calves like a fisherman’s and a white shirt also rolled up until his elbows. They were simple raw leather sandals. Slowly, she drove past them, there, fallen, inert. There was no blood, but the immobility didn’t leave any room to wonder. She continued driving, urging to get home. She passed the turn and entered the little road immediately to its left.

She realized the strange silence, the lack of movement. As she drove down the road, the strangeness grew. Mute, everything was mute, not even the singing birds could be heard. The still air, sultry, increased the light and the afternoon heat. All windows in each of the white houses were open. Ivory curtains flew through them. She continued driving, her breath suspended. She finally arrived at the house at the end of the street. There, the curtains also flew through the windows moved by an inexistent wind. She turned right to get the car in the garage. The gate was already open. She saw, again, on the driveway, the same light dresses, the same khaki pants, the same leather sandals, the same black bodies, fallen, together, in the same position.


Comments

Popular posts from this blog

The kind of person who lights candles

  I am the kind of person who lights candles. This is now, not then. it is a recently acquired habit, one that has done me well. I light up candles every day. In the beginning of each class I set up an intention, I focus and I light the candle. I ask myself to be the light, to be the container, not the conduit. I am now the kind of person Who walks barefoot on the grass of my backyard and lets herself shower in the improbable rain of Brasilia in May.  The four elements rest now on my desk making my therapist smile when told about them, making her proud of myself and my journey. I am the kind of person that feels the connection with the elements, and nature and the universe, so new. I am again a newborn being. And it is not the first time, I have once died and it’s no secret. This time, however, I did not have to die. I had only to shed the old skin, the one who served me no more. I am still the kind of person who looks in the mirror and who wonders who this new being is. This new self

No espelho

  Olhei hoje para o espelho e me vi mais serena, me enxerguei com mais leveza. Não que esteja de fato mais leve, eu acho. Ou será que estou? Tenho ainda infinitas incertezas e dúvidas aos milhares, mas a imagem que me olhou de volta do espelho, não me olha com tristeza, dor pânico.     A imagem que vejo nesse espelho é de     calma, no olhar certa paz, talvez de se entender humana, imperfeita e aceitar essa condição.     Aqui, deste lado que estou, me observando no espelho, sinto ainda o coração encolher como se uma mão o quisesse esmagar. Encolhe-se para sobreviver e expande-se em seguida. Ao encolher-se, a respiração dá uma pausa e uma bolha de cristal sobe em refluxo, pausando ali no meio da goela. Assim que pode, o coração retorna a seu pulsar, seu ir e vir. Permanecem ali as dúvidas, as exigências, as demandas, mas também os desejos de só ser, irresponsavelmente ser e atender a cada quimera. Porque a vida é curta! A vida é sopro!    E o outro? Os outros? Todos os outros?  É precis

Sobre os artistas - Para Bruno Sandes

  Créditos da imagem: Jacobs School of Music Marketing and Publicity