The wind blew a magazine that was not mine, but if I had to return it, it was more than twenty days ago.
- I put the magazine in my bag, along with a cake that I should also give to Ernesto, owner of the stall selling national and international magazines located in the center of the square, about four blocks away.
It was very windy.
I thought about leaving after closing the glass window in the living room so that nothing else would fly.
I leaned against the parapet of the somewhat narrow but high window in the living room of the second floor apartment, to see if the wind calmed down.
And in front of me, I discovered the view of the city crammed with people, leaving their jobs, with their eyes scattered in multi-colored showcases to shine the lights of the dying afternoon, hiding the shadows of their thoughts turned to the cement of their eyes. follow their destinations with a hurried pace until on the sidewalk of my building, a girl in her early twenties stood next to a boy, about sixty, with a book in one hand and a cigarette in the other, the talk:
- Loneliness is part of life, be it emotional, affective or social of every human being, by choice or necessity.
It was true. Loneliness was an option, or even a way of life.
Would I be alone? - Sitting in the armchair with the back attached to the white silk curtain of the window.
- it's not possible ! - stopping again to look out the window at the movement of people, which gave me the false sense of protection against the uncertainties of life.
Yes, I was, because every face on the street did not know of my existence, and I did not know their realities of life.
Being alone was not, in itself, a sin.
Not a fault either.
It is then that, I realized that I was born alone, and alone I would die.
The rest of my life - that is, what was in the middle between being born and dying - is unknown, and I did not seek to give it a decisive meaning.
In the middle of that, the voice of the girl who had stood on the sidewalk of the building where I lived came to my mind.
And I repeated the scene and the phrase countless times in my head, until I forgot.
"Loneliness is part of life."
And point by part.
The wind seemed to die down without singing or whispering its qualities to my window.
So, I had a little courage to put on a coat - just in case I'll be back late - and the bag with the magazine and the cake, well, how long am I going to keep that on my conscience?
I took a bus right at the corner of the building, and I got off at the station in the square, with that sentence ringing in my ear.
I went to Ernesto's stall for national and international magazines and newspapers, where I had to return some magazines that he had lent me.
- Good afternoon Ernestito.
- Good afternoon, Dona Martita. Did you like the magazines
- Very nice! - and I gave him a piece of chicken cake that I had prepared, with a thermos with freshly distilled coffee - just in time for tea! I said, putting his plate and the coffee in his hands.
' Thank you. You are badly accustoming me….
- A sweetheart.
Ernesto ate most of the cake, and took a sip of coffee.
And, suddenly, Ernesto's sales booth for national and international magazines and newspapers was filled with people.
- How is this magazine?
- A thousand
- do you have this post?
- Yes- quickly showing the publication, really wanting to be successful in the attention that I gave to that person
- Has my order arrived?
- No - sadly to see the expression of frustration of the client, who left with the smile stored in his pocket.
- Can you help me with this newspaper?
-? Clear! Say- trying to decipher the incognito message that the client was passing me.
It was crazy, because I attended sometimes, more than eight people at the same time!
Even I, from the top of my sixty-eight years of well-lived life, began to serve people, giving prices, charging.
And, to top it all, some were leaving and others were arriving,
Until twelve at night night!
I think we attended about fifty people, alone and accompanied.
Sad or happy.
Young or old.
When we sat down to finish eating the cake, we were tired, but satisfied with the duty accomplished.
And that I wanted to rest, with my feet on two pillows, and the silence of solitude as a companion.
She was alone, it was true, but she was useful in some way.
The phrase of the girl that I had heard from the window of my apartment came to mind.
The city, full of people.
The opportunities, on every face.
However, I was still alone, despite helping someone, to pay off a debt.
He returned to the apartment, on the same bus as ne gabis trsudo.
Alone, sitting near the driver - in case a thief enters the bus ..
I realized, then, that it was not loneliness that threatened me but the fear of losing my dignity as a human being by having my privacy fluttered by the wind or by a thief.
That fragility so subtle and so little observed by me, is what made me look at the town through the apartment window, to see from afar, the WiFi the world offered me in the form of a challenge called loneliness.
The phrase of the girl who had stopped in the cemetery of the building where I lived seemed only a story, without foot or head in front of the discovery that I had made from the experience that I had had that day. ,
Then, I forgot the phrase, completely and consciously, because I had understood it in the depths of my mind and my being.
He had absorbed it.
And li had felt, in each client, in each yes and no that he had given that afternoon.