Mary spent the last six months telling herself that she was lucky having lived those forty plus year the way she did, even if she now has to quit it all…..
As he was about to address the assembled guests; he couldn’t find his voice anymore. Thank you! See you in a bit. Say’s John to his colleague Sammy who stepped down the stage and joined the audience. G…G…M…What’s going on, thinks John to himself. He takes the glass of water that Sammy had placed on the table for him. Sips some, and starts again: M…Bhh…. He draws a smile on his red face, sips some more water, tries another time, same syllables and nothing more. Tears filled his eyes as his smile gets wider. He stands up. Ok I can use my feet he thinks. Moves his arms and hands, also functional, he says to himself. With a sign with his hand, he invites the audience to standup. Goes back to his computer, puts a techno song, and starts dancing to it as the audience applauds and dances with him. What an animated speech, says Sammy to Lorena who was dancing next to him. We all know John, she answered, and this is why he’s such and inspiring colleague. I will never forget this moment he’s making me live in the midst of all what’s going on in my life and in the world right now. Her attention was drawn to a piece of paper on the desk. Her father has died two years ago and she is still finding it very complicated to put an order to her grief process. She loved him so much, and he loved her back even more. Yet, there is one issue, one big issue, The issue. It’s not about the love he had for her, but for some others…the boys, young boys, and hopefully not very little boys, she always says to herself. Since he died, she chose her memory to be selective, and her grief too. She chose what to look at, what to keep and what to tell her mother to throw away without inviting her to look at it. And now this piece of paper comes to her. It’s laying there on his old desk waiting for her. What to do? Throw it without reading it? Read it and find out what’s in it? Ask someone to read it and then decide to throw it or to read it to her? And if the friend threw it without sharing its content, will she resist not wanting to know what her father wrote and to whom? She stands there, not able to turn her back and leave the room. She goes to the window, opens it, and the other one too. She now leaves the rooms, locks the door and goes
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