Читать книгу All Love Letters Are Ridiculous - Diego Maenza, Diego Maenza - Страница 16

The days began to pass with an increased desire to feel together. The custom of being near each other became so imperative as her desire to go to the bathroom during the recess. And there we were, talking about trivialities, sitting on the farthest benches. They were sublime moments, dosed by a sensation that played in our stomachs. Her smile captivated me and maddened me that loud and vivacious laugh which made be attentive to the most lackaidisical person.

The most representative thing at this stage was my timidity. She was outgoing and talkative, and I was a shy guy with words crossed in my throat. I'm still impressed by the fact that we could relate each other. I would throw out jerky and witty phrases and she would feed them with a fluid and exuberant conversation.

Over time, an old almond tree became a serene accomplice. He wrapped us up with its shyness and did a good third intoning the violin of silence. He kept us the secrets of our clandestine kisses that we rarely gave each other and that were prohibited in the institution.

At the exit, I had the idea of walking with her and started waiting for her every noon. Over time, this rite became an everyday thing and a seven-block talk enveloped us daily.

The school of my youth was private and it was one kilometer away from the main town. To get there, you had to walk through a short bridge of just five meters that was suspended over one of the stream's flows.

Then there were two forks.

The first one was the shortest path through a tiny hamlet of just a hundred buildings.

The second one was covered by asphalt and although the tour was longer in the amplitude of the way, it bordered the town in the form of the letter “u”, crossing the area of teak forests that belonged to the rector's family.

He was the one who preferred to walk through them in several moments of loneliness, without fear of isolation on his journey for lacking lights or houses settled on its edges.

This partly explains why my intense groans never had a distress response.

That night, lying and staring into the sky I could see, in the short moments when I opened my eyes during several occasions, how the wind of the beginning of winter was rocking the leaves of teak. Some of them will have impacted my face while I observed the clouds that crowded and covered the luminosity of the moon. The gloom was more intense.