Oitenta e Seis Anos

O sol nascera; os pássaros puseram-se a cantar e a acordar as pessoas do bairro com aquele som gracioso. As senhoras cumprimentavam-se na rua e abriam as janelas de suas casas para receber a luz daquele dia grandioso. O senhor Charlie também havia acordado. Calçou seus chinelos, escovou os dentes e lavou o rosto. Olhou-se no espelho: uma nova marca da idade tornava-se visível em seu rosto. Dirigiu-se à cozinha e preparou seu chá matinal. Subia as escadas enquanto levava o copo à boca.

     -Oscar, eu vou preparar o café da manhã. Levanta dessa cama senão você vai perder a aula. – Ele falou à porta do quarto de seu neto. – Oscar, você me ouviu?

     -Ouvi, vô. Desço em um minuto. – O garoto respondeu.

          Oscar se levantou de sua cama e caminhou sonolento ao banheiro. Lavou o rosto. Olhou-se no espelho: uma nova espinha aparecera. Tomou um banho e vestiu-se. Hora do café da manhã.

     -Você demorou. – Seu avô comentou para puxar assunto.

     -Não demorei não, vô. Desci rapidinho.

     -O que você vai fazer hoje após a escola?

     -Vou me encontrar com uns amigos. – Oscar falou, mordendo um pedaço de torrada, em seguida.

     -Mas, você estará em casa até às cinco? Lembre-se do nosso chazinho. E hoje não é apenas mais um chá qualquer, é o chá da tarde do dia do meu aniversário. –Senhor Charlie disse com um rosto de desapontamento.

     -Claro, vô, eu chegarei antes disso. Agora tenho que ir. –Oscar falou, pegando a mochila e levantando-se. Beijou a testa do seu avô e disse: -Feliz Aniversário, vô. Não é todo dia que se completa oitenta e seis anos. –Ele sorriu.

          Oscar era a única pessoa que tinha restado na vida de Charlie, assim como ele era a única família que Oscar tinha. Os dois eram, além de avô e neto, amigos, companheiros, irmãos.

          Na escola, a mesma nostalgia de sempre, nada novo: professores chatos, aulas chatas...

Oscar esperava ansiosamente pelo momento em que encontraria seus amigos.

O sinal tocou. No portão, Ruth, Leanne, Max, Tom e Tylar.

     -Olá, pessoal. –Oscar disse ao encontrá-los.

     -E aí, para onde vamos? –Ruth perguntou.

     -Há uma festa dois quarteirões daqui, num pub muito conhecido. Já devem estar nos esperando. Vamos? –Tylar falou.

     -Vamos lá. –Responderam.

       Festa. Alegria. Diversão. Bebidas. Músicas. Danças. Sorrisos. Bebidas. Comidas. Apresentações. Brincadeiras. Bebidas. Cigarros. Cigarros. Bebidas. Bebidas.

          Algumas estrelas já eram notáveis no céu; a lua aparecia timidamente, saindo de trás de nuvens escuras. E a festa continuava. Nada importava, estavam ali apenas para se divertir. Nada importava.

          Onze da noite.

     -O dia foi muito divertido com vocês. –Oscar falou.

     -Então a gente repete tudo semana que vem. –Max disse gargalhando.

     -Tchau, pessoal. –O garoto gritou, acenando para os seus amigos.

          Oscar pegou a chave no bolso e ao colocá-la na fechadura, percebeu algo: a porta estava aberta. “Que estranho”, pensou.

Era quase meia-noite e seu avô ainda não havia fechado a porta? Ele adentrou. As luzes estavam apagadas. Pensou em subir para o quarto, mas precisava de um copo d’água. Ligou a luz da sala e lá estava ele, de costas e sentado numa poltrona: seu velho e amado avô.

     -Vô? Por que o senhor ainda não foi dormir? –Oscar perguntou, aproximando-se lentamente. Vendo que não houve resposta, ele voltou a falar: - Vô? –Nada se ouvia.

          Oscar olhou para a mesinha da sala e, sobre a mesma, um bolo com uma vela derretida em cima, alguns biscoitos e uma xícara de chá frio. Olhou de volta para o seu avô, ele segurava outra xícara, seus olhos estavam abertos e, na sua face, uma lágrima secava.

Foi nesse momento que Oscar entendeu tudo: havia perdido. Perdido o aniversário do seu melhor amigo, perdido o octogésimo-sexto aniversário do seu companheiro, perdido os últimos momentos do seu irmão, mas, acima de tudo, havia perdido a chance de dizer adeus, de dizer as poucas palavras que teriam feito toda a diferença para aquele grande homem que tanto admirava: “Vô, eu te amo!”.

Lianderson Ferreira

Eighty-six Years Old

          The sun had risen; the birds started to sing and wake up the people from the neighbourhood with that graceful sound. The old ladies greeted on the street and opened the window of their houses to receive the light of that great day. Mr. Charlie had woken up as well. He put on his slippers, brushed his teeth and washed his face. Looked at himself in the mirror: a new sign of the age became visible on his face. Walked towards the kitchen and prepared his morning tea. He was going upstairs while he put the cup close to the lips.

-Oscar, I will prepare breakfast. Get up from that bed, otherwise you will miss the class. –He said by his grandson’s bedroom door. –Oscar, did you hear me?

-I heard you, grandpa. I will be downstairs in a moment. –the boy answered.

          Oscar got up from his bed and, still sleepy, walked towards his toilet. Washed his face. Looked at himself in the mirror: a new acne had appeared. He took a shower and got dressed. Breakfast time.

-You took a long time. –His grandfather said to make conversation.

-No, I didn’t, grandpa. I came downstairs very quickly.

-What are you going to do after school?

-I’m going to meet some friends. –Oscar said, biting a piece of toast.

-But, will you be at home until five? Remember our tea. And, today, it’s not just some usual tea, it’s my birthday’s afternoon tea. –Mr. Charlie said a bit disappointed.

-Of course, grandpa, I will be at home before that. Now, I’ve got to go. –Oscar said, while was grabbing his backpack and getting up. Kissed his grandfather’s forehead and whispered: -Happy Birthday, grandpa. Not every day someone turns eighty-six. –He smiled.

          Oscar was the only person that was left in Charlie’s life, as well as he was the only relative Oscar had. They two were, besides grandfather and grandson, friends, mates, brothers.

          At school, the same usual shit, nothing new: boring teachers, boring classes...

          Oscar was looking forward to the moment he would meet his friends.

          The bell rang. At the front gate, Ruth, Leanne, Max, Tom and Tylar.

-Hey, mates. –Oscar said as soon as he met them.

-Hey ya, where are we going to? –Ruth asked.

-There is a party two blocks from here, in a very well-known pub. They must be waiting for us. Shall we? –Tylar said.

-Let’s go! –They answered.

          Party. Joy. Fun. Drinks. Music. Dance. Smiles. Drinks. Food. Presentations. Games. Drinks. Cigarettes. Cigarettes. Drinks. Drinks.

          Some stars were already easily seen in sky; the moon was appearing timidly, getting out of the back of dark clouds. And the party was on. Nothing mattered, they were there just for fun. Nothing mattered.

          Eleven at night.

-The day was very funny with you all. –Oscar said.

-So, we can do it all over again next week. –Max said laughing.

-Bye, mates. –The boy screamed, waving to his friends.

          Oscar picked the key from his pocket and as soon as he put it in the lock, realised something: the door was open. “That’s weird”, he thought.

          It was almost midnight and his grandfather hadn’t closed the door yet? He entered. The lights were off. He thought about going upstairs to his bedroom, but needed a glass of water. He turned on the living room lights and there he was, back turned and sitting on an armchair: his old and beloved grandfather.

-Grandpa? Why haven’t you slept yet? –Oscar asked, getting closer slowly. As soon as he noticed there was no answer, he spoke again: -Grandpa? –Nothing was heard.

          Oscar looked at the little desk in the living room and, on it, a cake with a melted candle, some biscuits and a cup of cold tea. He looked back to his grandfather, he was holding another cup of tea, his eyes were open and, on his face, some tears were drying.

          That was exactly when Oscar understood everything: He had missed. Missed his best friend’s birthday, missed his mate’s eighty-sixth birthday, missed his brother’s last moments, but, besides everything, he had missed the chance to say goodbye, to say those few words that would have made all the difference to that great man that he admired so much: “Grandpa, I love you!”.

Lianderson Ferreira

Some Thoughts about God and Religions

          Someone asked me once: how can you believe in religions? Religions say that being gay is wrong, for example. Yeah, in fact, some religions say so. But I don't care, I mean, I don't follow any proper religion, I only follow and love God, I am absolutely sure that He didn't say those things, not as the people reproduce, at least.

         Thousands of years have passed by, millions of people and societies have changed what is written on those existing sacred books. Patriarchal societies have imposed a very bad position to the women, but God was not the responsible one. THE PEOPLE WERE.

          God has never said that "being gay is wrong", 'cause He, as being good and merciful, knows that a statement like that leads to problems, to sadness, to violence, and He doesn't want to see His children crying. No, He doesn't.

          So, I conclude: It doesn't matter what you may say, but being gay doesn't make you become a monster or a sinner, but your actions, your violent attitude towards gay people make you a sinner. So, stop it, if you say you're too religious, remember the main words of every religion: love, peace, respect and acceptance.

Lianderson Ferreira