The clear sky highlighted even more the beauty of that day which, although winter was at the gates, seemed a pleasant spring amarcord. Although it took a heavy sweater and a scarf the weather was perfect for taking a bike ride. The countryside, although dormant as is typical at that time of the year, still had a few small signs of life: in fact, the fir trees, the pines shone, and some pomegranates were still attached to the tree, even if the vermilion of their grains was already visible. .
A whistling tune accompanied the pace, quiet but continuous, towards his home. Such a splendid day deserved to be lived through, and certainly she would have had nothing to say about her proposal to spend time outdoors, before the dark and cold winter days arrived. In short, then, he found himself on the threshold of his house, and she, as soon as the bell rang, appeared already wrapped in a scarf and a coat, ready to go out.
<< I imagined you know, you would have passed >> was his justification.
Just enough time to take the bike in the garage and immediately began their campaign tour a bit out of season. They returned at sunset and decided to spend the evening together, sitting in front of the fireplace, accompanied by a glass of wine and some chestnuts, telling each other facts of daily life, lived experiences, and those reciprocal feelings so obvious and never hidden.
The evening passed quickly and in the meantime the mild and benevolent afternoon had made room for a bitter cold and an icy wind, which advised the two to spend the night together. From the warmth of the fireplace it was then passed to that of the bed, in a climax of sensations that, starting from affection, culminated in passion. When it was time to sleep, he made to wish her good night, but he found it already in the arms of Morpheus, tried by the full day. When he too was about to fall asleep, however, he heard a series of shots coming from the window, followed by what looked like a faint but distinct voice that called his name, yes his own. He decided to find out who, or what, made those sounds and suddenly jumped out of bed.
The floor was cold, and the bitter cold on his bare feet made him shiver. He dressed a little and went to leave the house. The wind that had risen lashed his face as soon as he opened the door, but he kept on advancing, because at each step forward the voice at first barely perceptible became increasingly clear and strong, and he kept on repeating his name incessantly.
All of a sudden he had a sort of blackout. After a few moments, he found himself lying down, and trying to focus where he was, what he saw shocked him.
The sky had made room for a ceiling, although the color of this reminded a lot of the blue of the sky that had characterized the beginning of that day in normal appearance.
The window from which the voices originated no longer looked at the plowed fields, but showed the wall of an adjacent building. Apparently he was lying in a bed, next to him there was a woman known, of course, he was his mother, but she was busy talking to an unknown man, wearing a white coat. Her face was worried, a tear was running down her cheeks. He tried to get up, to reach her, but immediately noticed two things: an IV had been attached to his arm, but the most shocking thing was that his legs didn't seem to go along with him. He began to feel less and less confused and numb, and at a certain point he managed to intercept a brief exchange of words between his mother and the unknown man: few words, but lapidary.
<< His son had a very bad accident, but now he is stable, he has not suffered damages to the cognitive sphere, but unfortunately I must warn you that he will never walk again >>.
It was those words that brought him completely back into the real world. He was in the hospital and had an operation following a very bad motorcycle accident. All that he said had preceded those moments of confusion appeared in a different light: the blue did not come from the sky, but from the walls of that hospital room. The voice in the distance was none other than his mother trying to wake him up; the bike, alas, had turned into a wheelchair and the warmth of the fireplace had been replaced by that, much more gray and ordinary, of a radiator.
With the awareness arrived, as was natural, also a lot of questions.
So your mind had wanted to give him a last normal day? Was everything of what he had thought he was living the fruit of his imagination? How would his life change from that moment on?