Today is a very hot day, one of those that you would put your head into the fridge to find some relief.
The air is still, the humidity sticks to you like a second skin and you seem to be out of breath at home and away.
Even the bed is hot, as if someone had lit a bonfire under the mattress and the sheet with every movement, it seems to give its heat to the back, making the afternoon break a real hell.
On the radio they are broadcasting an old song, so popular when I was a child and I had only one thing on my mind, playing with my friends. I was just thinking about that.
I woke up with that thought and the thing I immediately did was go out and look for them, so the day started and ended, after the sun had set.
Who knows, maybe if I hadn't had all that desire to play that devoured me, my life would have taken a different turn.
Maybe.
Or maybe not.
I will never know what would have happened if that damn morning I hadn't gone to play near the quarry.
Maybe now I have the life that everyone has and I shouldn't depend on anyone.
I could get in a car and go for a ride somewhere, instead of lying on this bed made of burning coals, or I could take a plane and fly to the other side of the earth.
I could, could I, but why am I using this verb with so much insistence?
And why did I decide to hurt myself this way today?
If I could go back, I know that I would cancel that heartbreaking day from the calendar and I would remain closed in the house to wait for the following day.
But how it had occurred to me that morning to go and play right in that place, and because when all of our children had been caught by that thing that gleamed, we hadn't thought of saying it at home, before we approached and touched it . But no, the curiosity had been stronger and this made us truly unconscious, so each of us had paid the price for the secret we wanted to be revealed at all costs.
The war residue had suddenly broken out and hit everyone. The result was like a war bulletin, two dead and four seriously injured.
From that moment I had entered the deepest darkness and the timely care I had received was of no avail. I do not regret having lost a hand, it destroys me the idea of never being able to see the colors of life again, now the only color I know is the black that has been accompanying me for fifty years already. That summer morning it was hot exactly like today, the air was hot outside, we were fighting over the game, we were almost always in disagreement because being six, it was always difficult to find an agreement.
I was the one who proposed to find us at the quarry, and after a few words of disappointment from two of us, in the end it was decided to go.
A little apt decision, evaluating it in hindsight, but at that age how it was possible to foresee a similar tragedy, I was only six years old and my priority was playing, playing and nothing else.
When I wasn't playing, I was watching my mother doing household chores, for example I loved watching her when she kneaded bread, she always prepared it on Mondays, so we had the escort for the whole week.
His hands writhed around that ball of dough and his movements were so perfect that he seemed to have taken a course to make that bread so good.
Monday was always a day of celebration for us because it always had a little pasta and with that, she made pizza that put in a wood oven, had a completely different taste than the one I am forced to eat now.
Everything was different then, not just the flavors, even the relationships with people were more genuine, there was no detachment or indifference of our days.
It was easy to find each other, the men for a game of cards, the women for a knitting.
The magic and simplicity of that time are enviable, at the mere thought my emotions send me into ecstasy. If I think of when I was a child, I was overcome by a strong nostalgia that almost made me feel bad, but at the same time I felt a sensation of lightness and joy for those days spent on the beach diving in the waves when the sea was rough, or for those runs made in the meadows, where I almost always won, it seemed that I had wings on my feet.
How can I forget all this, now that I'm here in this bed, with a lit cigarette, waiting for someone to pick me up and take me out.
When I am more depressed than usual I take refuge in my memories and let myself be lulled by the suggestions that they can give me.