I looked outside my window in the morning. It was a glorious day, with skies of endless blue and birds chirping happily and free, drifting on the breeze. It was beautiful and scary. I quickly closed the curtains. My room was small, dark, dusty and messy, but those walls that engulfed me gave me all the safety I needed. It was enough for me, and I hadn’t gone outside that room for ten long years. My books gave me freedom equivalent to that of the birds that flew outside my window in the mornings, and for me it was pure bliss. Every time I read one, it was as if the door to my cage had been opened.
One day, a huge storm rustled in the trees and bushes until dawn. When I woke up, the silence or absence of birds startled me and, despite my fear, I approached my window. I flung open the dark brown curtains, and before me there stood a young boy. He was perhaps an elementary student, and shouldn’t have been older than seven. His hair was messy and hid most of his freckled face, while water drops fell from his shorts onto his bare feet.
He did not mouth a single word. He just stood there silently, staring at me, as if he was beckoning me to follow him. He waited there and I stood as motionless as him. I wanted to leave, I really did, but the fear of that open field and endless skies kept me from doing so. We stared at each other for what seemed like hours and then, with a fast precise but gentle gesture, the little boy held his hand to me.
The walls suddenly felt tight, and the air was suffocating. I couldn’t breathe. I opened my window and held the hand stretched out towards me. From that moment I felt free.
(Inédito) Beja, 05.01.2011