How Come?

Tuesday, November 06, 2007

How come?

It was in 1987. I was skateboarding down the hill with an old fella, Markus, when all of a sudden a car came out of nowhere and almost hit me. And I was ON the sidewalk. The driver abruptly maneuvers to enter in a garage. He didn’t stop and barely paid attention to me. It was like two minutes ago, the remembrance is clear and livid. Shaking, I rest against a wall for awhile. Markus is laughing; he’s still a jester and I miss the motherfucker, but he’ll move to North again and will live farther. Engineers are dispensable toys for their companies. Anyway, I don’t say a word and he stops to laugh, then he just say “Come on, it was nothing” and we stay seated in silence looking to the palm trees. Don’t know what he’s wandering about, but I’m thinking about suicide. It doesn’t make sense. If you are desperate, it’s better to live on the edge and have some fun; probably this is a better way to die. But I want to live. Skateboarding on the sidewalk wasn’t supposed to be perilous. Tremblingly, I decide to rise and pay attention to a funny and obnoxious noise, which is annoying me. It looks like someone gasping. Markus then perceives that I’m curious about something. “What are you doing?” he asks in a low voice, maybe foreseeing some kind of trickery in my behavior, but I was naive in my early teens. Paying attention too, gazing at his feet, suddenly he is all smiles. “People are getting laid right here”. Then he moves down, scale on a rock and find out a window slit, since that old houses are next to the pavement apparently to expand in big backyards. It doesn’t matter. He could see them, which are what counts. With gestures, Markus asks me to keep quiet and to wait a little. Then he step down and look into the street and look forward to me. It’s unbelievable. She is a pretty brunette, has big tits and long, black hair. The guy is a Neanderthal and I avoid looking into him. We couldn’t see the act per se, just the heads and the nude torsos. That bosom is looking at me. Markus protests and I get out, astonished. I wait three minutes and come back to ask to see HER again. Ten seconds later, I’m contemplating those beautiful breasts when she sees my eye and give me a smile. Smiling and looking at me, she collapses. “It’s over”, I say to Markus, but he refuses to believe in me and climb the rock again, just to see them put their clothes on.

Next day, on school, we were celebrities. We told everything to everyone, minus the fact that she knew about me. Nobody knows, neither Markus. They came back there, never saw anything at all anymore, but discovered her name, age, occupation and even the identity of that Neanderthal: he was a cop. Ashamed, I never returned to that street. I saw her one more time, in a supermarket. She was pregnant, self-confident, embraced with another guy and, of course, didn’t recognize me. A Goddess.