The trip

13/07/2021 Nilson Lattari

When I fell asleep, your cold hand lay upon my hot forehead, and it was a balsam that you gave me; no other medicine could be like that.
Sometimes, it was you who got sick in bed, and I negligently brought you a hot, funny soup, and you smiled. Then, it was my turn to put my hand upon your forehead to feel your face’s heat, and the fever eventually disappeared.
We went on throughout time, nourishing our happiness and sustaining our everyday falls.
One night, I woke up and my hand touched my side, and I found the void. It was the first night that I slept without you. It was like I had returned to my past before meeting you, and I woke up alone. And now, after travelling with you for many years, I feel lonely again.
I hear noises in our home. The wind hits the doors, and the curtains on the windows dance silently. A dog barks in the garden—maybe it is warning that someone is coming. The tap is dripping, and I remember you asking me to fix it, and now I regret it because I didn’t. I didn’t care about our home, and you filled this space, and now, alone, I realize the loneliness filling this space that was yours.
I wake up when I hear any sound in our home and wander through the house, trying to find you, waiting to see your active and diligent spirit taking charge of the dirty plates in the kitchen sink and the crumpled clothes on the desks. I was unfair.
Sometimes I decide to go out during the day and night, looking for the same places we visited together. No more rushing to see you, like I used to do before, but trying to postpone it, as if it were possible to delay my steps to give time a chance for your arrival.
Once my friends invited me to go back to a single person’s life, enjoying life among semi-naked dancers, or with women who are offered to me for free, as if my comfort could be in the other’s youth. Instead, I liked to imagine that I could find you in the middle of them, disguised and waiting for me, trying to deceive me and then we would go out from there, running to the street.
All in vain.
I spend my time with my hands on our photos, trying to feel your warm face and seeing your white smile illuminated, like a beach hidden in time. Then, I close my eyes and find your more recent traces. The smile is still the same beach, now surrounded by waves drawing your beloved face. Is it a dream or a sweet nightmare?
One night, I suddenly woke up, amazed to find the void in the house, but it seemed that there was a fast and frenetic ghost wandering there. I felt my legs obeying me as in the past, and I saw your friendly face looking at me. Finally, you are coming, wearing the same clothes, picking up my arms, inviting me to start a new and eternal trip.