we boarded the ferry back to cacilihas. i make my way to the second level, it's some sort of ritual for me now. i search for open seats, it's my first time riding at night and it's completely full compared to what it's like in the morning. i sit down opposite of a post. he's sitting on the other side of the post. his head is slightly lowered so i can't fully see his face. he's wearing an olive green, high-necked hoodie, gray slacks fit to his figure, a small black messenger bag on his lap, nike i believe. beautiful brown skin. cafe com leite. he's wearing white loafers. i smile a little at this, i guess he can't be perfect right?
he looks up and i tilt my head around the post to see his face. soft, brown. his baby face, his low mounted curls, his cloudy eyes, all so soft and so brown. he looks tired. i imagine there's a dress shirt on under his hoodie, a tie somewhere in his bag. he's coming from a long day of work, entry level at an office maybe. he coughs a few times, strong coughs. i picture myself sitting in the empty seat next to him, rubbing his back, telling him i don't like the sound of that cough. he tells me not worry, just allergies or the change of weather. he coughs again. "see," i'd say, "no, no, we are going home, you're going to take your shoes off - those awful white shoes," i'd joke - he'd move my hair out of my eyes as i talk - "you'll take a warm bath, i'll make you some hot soup and lemon tea and rub your chest until you sleep." he'd stare, smile a little, "i'm fine, querida, don't worry," he'd say.
he looks in my direction. i hadn't realized i was staring. we lock eyes for a little and i turn away quickly in embarrassment. i slowly look back at him after a while, now it was his turn to look away quickly. he coughs some more. his name is probably andre, or alexandro, patrice even. i like patrice. maybe he grew up in brazil or mozambique, came to university here and is now working tirelessly to support himself, to move on up. he's a simple guy, he doesn't need much. he looks so tired, he keeps coughing every now and then. he needs someone to rub the nape of his neck, talk to him softly while he closes his eyes for a little, lulled by the rock of the boat.
it's time to disembark. he's looking at me. i have to walk in his direction to leave, he's right in front of the stairs. everyone around him starts getting up. he's sitting, head lowered a little, his eyes looking up at me under a frayed forehead. i get up and walk to the post, put my hand on it and slowly spin around it towards the stairs. i fix my eyes on my shoes, too shy to look at him directly. i hate myself for it as i walk down the steps. i turn the corner towards the exit at the bottom of the steps and peek over my shoulder. he's directly behind me. he was timing his exit with mine. i love the way he has to lean in as not to bump his head on the arch overhead. i slow my steps, hoping he will accelerate his and we'll bump into each other - a reason to speak, to give him a smile all his own, something concrete to remember. but then people start shoving by me on all sides and i lose track of where he is. we reach the dock exit, heading towards the bus station. i look back to find my mother, hopefully to catch his eye, but i don't see him, only her. she grabs my arm "that young man there, the moreno, he kept looking at you," she says with a girlish excitement. i frantically look forward, he's a little bit ahead of me, walking quickly and weaving through the crowd, but still looking back over his shoulder with every turn. "say something to him in portuguese so he can stop," i whisper to her. "ah, no, too late. he's rushing to catch that autocar. he must have someone at home waiting for him. just forget about it." i pretend i don't hear her. i follow his figure with my eyes off into the distance until i lose him in the crowd again. i imagine that once he caught that bus, he would sit, and sigh - he's so tired - then he'd straighten up and stare out of the window, searching every face as the bus left the station, looking for me too.
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| [ on the ferry, lisbon in the distance ] |
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