An invented life
All day when I arrived home, she was there.
Por Flávia Azambuja
On the first day, I couldn’t notice it, always running. On the second one I said “Good evening”, but immediately I felt bad, it is like I interrupted her in an important job. What a hell is an important job in the elevator? I don’t know, but she was very absorbed in her thoughts. The next day, I couldn’t stop to look at her. Carefully in the beginning and after that wide-openly.
Since that day she became a project to me. I tried to uncover her or even imagine who she is. I drew her. I wrote about her. I tried to talk to her and nothing.
One day, I was running home only because I needed to see her. But she wasn’t there. Ok, I arrived early, I said to myself, out louder than I would like to, the doorman looked at me like I was crazy. I waited, waited, and waited some more. And finally she arrived. This day, I was really sure she was lonely. I couldn’t explain why, maybe lonely people recognize each other. On the next day, she was holding a child’s hand. She was very different, this kid seemed to occupy her whole life. I thought of my nephew, how much I miss him. She tried to confuse me. The child never showed up again.
In a week, she disappeared. She could have been visiting her family or something like that. When she came back, she was carrying many books, more than she could bear. I am not able to carry many things too. She never seemed to be the same, but I always recognized her.
I gave up trying to understand her. I can’t understand even myself.
Now, I came to the realization that watching her says more about me than herself. Mysteriously, she never came back.
*Flávia é mestra em Ensino de Línguas, inquieta, professora de português como língua materna e adicional, otimista assumida, co-coordenadora do Lab. Interessada em aprender com tudo e todos.*