EPT
When I was young, we played soccer at school.
The wall has high and wide, with an angry dog on the other side.
Invariably, the ball fell on the other side during the most exciting moments.
Bad luck.
The dog had an owner, Luiz.
And Luiz never gave the ball back, never.
We never saw Luiz, his fine house guarded by wall and hound. He never appeared, but we knew him to be rich and proud.
The game would stop, and we’d wait for someone to find another ball.
In the following days, another ball would just appear from I-don't-know-where. Maybe from behind other walls…
The game restarted. Everyone scared to death of being the one to kick the ball too hard.
Some days later, some hapless child would deliver the kick that, once again, would clear the height of the wall. It would describe a long arc before falling to Luiz's back yard.
The dog would howl, and we would wait once more.
Nevertheless, those were happy times. I also had Starcraft, which would never fall to Luiz’s dog. Basketball, all sorts.
Time passed and the world changed.
And every time my old gang met we would always remember the balls and the wall. The dog. Luiz.
Fourteen years later, I went to visit the old school. A school that no longer was. A school that would soon become a shopping center.
The gatekeeper recognized me, still morose about the school's end.
Suddenly, he said:
"The old mansion will also become a shopping center. They'll demolish it after Christmas."
I thought about Luiz. Certainly he would profit a lot by selling the mansion.
Before I could answer, he pointed me to a man sitting on the garden.
"Do you remember him? It's the boy who lived on the mansion."
And there was Luiz. Looking to the garden and the old basketball court.
Luiz was in a wheelchair.
I couldn't not walk to him; I introduced myself. I had been that hapless child who had delivered so many balls into his back yard.
Surprised, Luiz looked at me. He remembered the balls.
I asked him about the dog. He told me that Mango – that had been his name – had died many years before.
Smiling, Luiz told me that he remembers about the balls that fell on his backyard.
He remembered how he had suffered, hearing our shouts and goals. He couldn't play.
Mango was always very angry when we played, the two suffering in tandem. That's why he’d howled so.
His mother never gave back the balls, thinking that the noise brought suffering to her son.
I had no words.
Luiz, noticing my silence, whispered:
"Actually, I liked when there was a match. You can't imagine on vacations, when the silence is absolute. On those days, even the national squad denied me happiness."
It's true. That same national squad had lost 3-0 to France in the soccer world cup finals.
I bid farewell. Gave him my phone number, and left the school, the weight of it all pressing on my mind.
Thinking about the balls and walls of life. About the distances that separate back yards.
Something in myself changed forever.
Today, when my team wins or loses, I remember about Luiz and other people like him.
And I thank to whatever or whoever wisely created day and night.
Victory and defeat.
So Smile and Tear could play on both sides of the wall.
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This tale is based on real facts. Many thanks to SirJolt for checking the english for me. I'll be busy tomorrow and the next few days, so, merry christmas!
. Sorry for that.
