Stairway to Heaven
“To be alone is to train ourselves to death”
- Louis-Ferdinand Céline.
- Look, I’m sorry for the confusion ... I didn’t know your boyfriend was going to be upset ... Actually, I just wanted to help you not to fall on the floor.
- I appreciate ... - I finally got a couple of words out. - It’s just ... This isn’t quite my area here.
- You’re very stylish. - His eyes roamed my body from head to toe like two blue headlights in the night. “I also feel a little out of place when the boys drag me here”. He wore a pair of black skateboarding shoes and a thin chain around the neck under his shirt. Nothing of the museum boy seemed left over. - I’ll guess you live in the South Zone ... More precisely in Copacabana or Botafogo. You have this alternative atmosphere from there.
What does he mean I had a South Zone face? That would be hard to get rid of ... The bottom line is that, deep down, it flattered me so deeply that I couldn’t find the courage to say “No, I live in Madureira”.
I just nodded while feeling a little dizzy.
“You shouldn’t come to these places at night. You have no idea what kind of people are waiting for trains here”. I was torn between embarrassment, anger, and admiration. Was he worried about my safety? But, wait there! That biased comment was about people from the North Zone ... People like me! Had that boy just warned me of the danger against myself?
“No need ...” I looked away abruptly, trying not to feel betrayed by my wishes. - I can take care of myself.
“I can see you can ...” Despite the alabaster smile growing on that beautiful face, I could feel the sincerity in his words. - I’ve seen that back there, you know? At the bar!
Then I saw him laugh for the first time and the whole world spun a little slower just for that moment to be recorded as the most beautiful thing I had ever seen.
A spectacle of perfectly aligned white teeth, contoured by pink lips that ended in discreet and perfect dimples.
- Who are you? - I asked in an astonished tone as if speaking to an erupting volcano.
“Miguel ...” he said, holding out his hand. “But I already know yours, museum girl?”
Shock struck my body as if crashed by lightning. He remembered me ...
- But how? - The question escaped and the boy’s smile widened further.
He within seconds acquired the ability to understand me without the use of concrete phrases. Something that even Claudio in years had failed to achieve.
“I told you ...” Tired of waiting, Miguel took my hand gently, thumb stroking the back of it. - These eyes are hard to forget.