All morning was the same story: My mother left me at the gate of the school, gave me a kiss and told me to be good. We got out, crossed the street and I lean against the wall that surrounded the courtyard, ipod in your ears slowly smoked a cigarette, looking at those with no interest the first year that spun in like sheep, punctual as a Swiss watch. It was a way as any to enjoy a few minutes of solitude before the daily routine as another way to feel good about myself.
For some time now I had composed a special playlist for this moment, on my mp3 player: Valentina. Valentina was a girl of the first year, known almost by accident as I was dragged student in the hallways with some of my members. I can not explain what had hit me the most, if his way of walking or the way he dresses completely random, or that smile so sincere it hurts. Perhaps
to hit me was just the fact that I could not explain, however, I was sitting there, every morning, waiting to see it go, covered by something like three pounds of wool including scarves, gloves and red hat.
That morning I remember that I did not see it coming: the bell had already rung for some minutes and I thought that if he had stayed at home. It was really cold and my ears rang Jeff Buckley. I finally decided to come when, turning to the way I saw her walking slowly with his hands in his pockets and looked down. I was stuck, almost embarrassed in the street it was just us, and if I had thrown into the courtyard to the entrance, she would surely have thought that running away or something. All the better to stay here still, pretending anything, I'd say to myself, as the music I had collected for her filled my ears.
was three feet from me when he was stopped. He looked at the front of the school, beyond the courtyard, had bet his eyes are too big to me. I pretended to nothing, looking at the tip of the cigarette challenge the icy air.
"Look, you have one?" I asked. It was the first time I heard his voice. Without answering I had stretched the package, I could not look into her eyes, it seemed I was the baby and she sailed the old girl.
"It is late, you might as well fumarsene one," he added later. He took the package, while I was offering my cigarette to light his.
A minute's silence, then another. He looked around, smoking floor, sitting cross-legged on the wall. His body was only inches from mine, I could feel the heat, and every word seemed too silly and trivial to be pronounced, as in that film Tarantino, in which she tells him that you understand that you have found a very important person when you can to remain silent without necessarily having to say a commonplace to break the embarrassment.
"What do you listen?" He asked me then. With the hidden hand in the pocket I had changed my playlist, putting on random.
"None of that stuff," he had said. "Can I?" I then asked, reaching out a hand and staring into his eyes. Without saying anything I had passed the reader, and then pretend to write a text message with their cell phone.
He got on and headphones, tinkered a bit 'with the selection, and then who knows what he heard while in silence, watching the sky for some thick cloud cover.
After the cigarette he had thrown to the ground, had got down from the wall, and I smiled. For the first time he smiled at me.
"Thanks," she sighed, throwing out the last puff of smoke. He put the ipod in my pocket and I had waved goodbye, with a mischievous look.
Walking floor, had started towards the entrance, but had stopped in the middle courtyard, had lingered for a few seconds, then he turned to me. Building, a few moments like an eternity.
"Tomorrow, I do hear the other."
Then he disappeared inside the building.
I pulled the player out of his pocket and receiving on. Valentina Playlist, Song 1.
Every morning was the same story. But not that morning. That morning had started a different story.
