Hot Soda

I saw him in the middle of the colored trousers
Half withered balloons and hot soda
You had rather long hair
And a gentle and careless smile.
We were the only ones under 20
And yet I chose for the occasion
My grandmother’s old pearl necklace
And knew what effect it would cause
Trying to reach you I ended up stumbling on a chair
My grandfather came to help me readily
You left your guitar.
Just like in a cavalry novel
Also came toward me
And perceived my constraint
Presented himself as if we had known each other for many, many years
I introduced myself and you offered some hot soda
Even if he did not ask why he was there too
You decided to tell me everything about yourself.
What would you like to become—a writer?
And who worked in a notary’s office?
I did not go to college
And on weekends he taught the elders of the asylum
Playing the guitar;
I did not believe in a single word
But you had an interesting style
Seemed to have come straight out of a movie
His movements were so spontaneous
So spontaneous to the point of inviting an old lady to dance…
In all respects we were so different
If we got married that very Saturday afternoon
And we had children
You would be the cool father.
And I would be the boring mother…
I do not think I was immediately enamored by her beauty.
You did not have much sense of proportion or colors
And yet he had more presence than any.

How could I look after so many years these photos
Without realizing that he would not have it for a long time?
If this insolent girl called death
Had not stolen from me
Certainly another girl
Who knows how to makeup and wear more beautiful clothes
It would take more than your heart
You had a very affluent flow
Which contrasted with my desire to establish roots
Yeah, you were worried about the idea too.
To build a legacy
And yet it never took him out of his own world
We both had quite different forms
To understand the meaning of having an ideal
And certainly this would have been the reason
Not the reason that led him to throw himself on the rails of the train
To save your best friend;
I think I mean the will I had
To finally have no control over anything
Maybe I wanted to throw myself into some sort of technicolor dream.
And living foolishly
Without spending so much time hiding in books and theories
Your ragged excuses got me addicted.
I needed to hover in an idealized reality
In a reality where every day
We would have forever 18 years
And we would be next to who we really love
Maybe you did not have a real bond
With any of those gentlemen or ladies
But when I look at this photo
I feel more than nostalgia
I feel that I also died with all these people
I wish I could tell you this without feeling remorse
Because things were finally settled.

By Mariana S.-F., 24, São Paulo, Brazil