Once upon a time, there was a man. The man who slept by my side every day. He was small, had the laziest of hairs, or, the hair from who thought spending money of shampoo for men was a total waste (let`s face it, I do too). While washing his face, he ran his soapy fingers through his hair, lathering it with the same soap he was using. This was what an acquaintance of mine called “compact”. At 1,65m, 10 kilos overweight, or 15, his body was never my focus, but his near beer belly stretching his waistband was impossible not to notice, illustrating the result of a daily bread-egg-sandwich at 20:30, while Jornal Nacional was on.
The man who slept by my side every day liked the colour blue. Just like Roberto Carlos at the end-of-the-year special, like the Caribbean ocean, like Xuxa’s eyes: the man was always in shades that reminded me of the sky. On rainy days, it contrasted with the grey, and on sunny days, his colour radiated all the light he did not have. And at this point, he would never have. Besides having a black backpack, the man carried with him a lack of hope that lead him through a mediocre path, where his resting spot was an old leathery armchair, in a room very dimly lit.
The man who slept by my side every day was also farsighted. And never has he figured out if it was better not see, or being able to read that his electric bill was going to increase by 30%... That his health plan was with limited covering and that his favourite cookie had 479mg of sodium. What is the point of sadness if there isn’t any delicious food to comfort us? His body was weak, and his soul, solitary. The man who slept by my side every day was a sad man also. In dreams, he searched for everything he had not achieved in his 47 years of age.
He had no children, 4 or something good friends, a fern in his porch and me, who – religiously (in the figurative sense) sat by his side on the bus. The man who slept every day by my side never opened his eyes at me, never even said a “Good Morning”, but, in a way, he had me as his biggest admirer, who in the midst of trying to figure out who he was, fell asleep. Thus, with each commute, from 7:20 to 8:00, we shared a bus bench, a window, and an armrest.
We did not chat, nor did we watch cult movies. We never hiked somewhere and took GoPro pictures, nor did we share gym equipment. The man never confided in me a secret, or the seconds left for the year to end. We never fell in the pool, or fell down drinking. Never had we had a fallout. Together, we fell fast asleep inside that same bus.
One day, when boarding, I noticed the bus bench was empty. He wasn’t there anymore. Neither was my drowsiness. And so time passed, the people remained the same, and so did my commute, but still, there was something missing in that bus. For a long time I longed for that man, so intimate, yet never had I heard his voice. He was the man who slept by my side every day, and he was stranger.
Text by: Paloma Quintão
Translation: Luiza P. de Queiroz