SUNRISES AND SUNSETS...
@fragapontoconto
SUNRISES AND SUNSETS…
John was a newly entered high-school student, perhaps 11 or 12 years old ... Isadora was a lovely black girl, perhaps 14 or 15...
Time passed by, they became grown ups, but John never forgot Isadora. He remembered her face, her pony tail braids, the softness of her voice, the way she used to look at him, and, above all, her being so friendly and sympathetic ...
Life led them to equidistant and asymmetrical destinies. Yet, John always believed that one day they would come across one another ...
Since then, they’ve been living their own sunrises and sunsets. Their lives had turned into a succession of quick moves.
They had never seen one another anymore. John used to say that life was just an after lunch nap. When he closed his eyes, he could soon fly over skylines, mountains, rivers, deserts and oceans ... In a few seconds he had gone back nearly two decades. He was fully aware of how short life was, and that time waits no boys, neither girls does it wait...
One day, John was lost in reverie thinking of all those imaginary sentimental problems, the ones only teen-agers have, and in no way, can be shared with adults.
At that time, Isadora was already a newly graduate veterinarian. She always liked animals, particularly stray dogs and cats...
Perhaps Isadora doesn’t even remember John any more. John, in turn, used to carry his innermost feelings inside his green knapsack... The unavoidable usual pattern... They’ve grown and lost themselves in the corners and back streets of time...
John used to regret having lost Isadora, but it was too late. He knew it wasn’t worth crying over spilled wine... That platonic affair of his had flown away...
Isadora took her own way, Isadora herself had no idea of how much John loved her, and how shy he was, particularly with girls...
What will Isadora be like today ? Where has that lovely black bird flown ? John thought to himself...
One more afternoon passed by slowly... John was listening to songs of the mid-seventies, by the time the door bell rang.
(…)Who’s it outside. John whispered to himself. I’m coming. Just a moment.
John then stood up and went to the upper floor window to see what was up outside.
It was Alfred, the friendly postman. He left a letter in the mailbox. He also rang the bell next door, left another letter, and went away carrying a heavy mailbag on his left shoulder.
Out there, high in the sky, like a bird in the open air, a silver-colored plane was flying Eastwards, towards the high sea, till it vanished away in the middle of dense white and grayish clouds...
John was sure Isadora wasn’t there. He remembered her telling every schoolboy how much afraid of flying she was...
It was summer time. Slowly, nearly in slow motion, the sun was setting down in the far away horizon.
(…) Where has that lovely black bird flown, John asked himself, before turning the lights off and wish good night to his confident pillow…
A Tale by Isidro Fraga
Reedited in Facebook in September/2019.