17 mars 2008
Them
He told me „write about us“.
It was just before I left, just before I got into this coach driving to the steel giant who flies in the sky (so one says). I remember me and my head trying to shake off this sceptical look, because, you know, how could I possibly describe them, after what they made grow inside me. A whole new world. How to write about that?
But then here, sitting in this house in France that used to be mine (still is, so I want to believe sometimes), I think about his request and their eyes following me slowly disapearing on the end of the road and I realize that my fingers and my stomach want to try it. It’s just my brain that has to follow then, isn’t it?
There’s S. first, proud and sentimental, and ready to take the earth on his shoulders if it can make someone happy. Big eyes and straight look, always looking forward because the past is the past and there’s room for no regret in what may come. I admire his ability to make a move in every stucked and risky situation, to make a move when everyone else is hiding in some vague excuses, to make a move when he believes in it and that’s enough. I just want to tell him that, choosing this path, he can never lose, never fail, because the honesty that he puts in every step is something that no one will be able to take away from him. It’s won and safe, resting inside his memory.
Then there’s her, C., hiding behind her fringe and her laugh much more than she wants to give away. She’s one of those who light up a room when they enter, sparkling and shining just because they’re themselves. Around her there’s a surplus of life and sun; and breathing suddenly seems easier. She talks with her hands and it seems that she gives birth to magical worlds with her wrists, the kind of worlds where you’d like to live in. Her silhouette is a fairy one’s but she’s all real, carrying around gloomy images from the past and the future, and fears that come knocking on her dream’s door. Her I’d like to promess that she can be proud. Of herself and her choices. And, bella, you’ll see: We’ll both win.
And finally D., the one for whom I try to write all this down, a bit like a daily sign that he’s always with me, somewhere between my head and my heart. It’s hard to say something about how I feel without sounding cheesy, but I’m half french after all, so I shall be forgiven. He’s the proof that tolerance and understanding isn’t about nationality nor gender, neither about age or experience, just about intelligence and the ability to listen. I admire him for hoping again and again, for believing that there’s a way to make everyone happy and to be sure of what you see in other people’s eyes. Theres’s not a lot of people about whose you can say „with more persons like him, the world would be a better place“. He’s one of those. And, above all, when I was looking at his smile, I always felt at home.
Now, one could say I also could have just write that they’re my friends and that I’m going to miss them. But, let’s be honest: how would that possibly have improved my english?
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