Exercice 21 of 3 A.M. Epiphany



He was lying peacefully, arms crossed, eyes closed. His skin was pale, almost unreal, he looked like a porcelain doll of collection, these that can not be touched, only admired. He was wearing a sweater made of cotton and I remembered. I remembered the features of his face the first time that our looks crossed each other. He was wearing a blue sweater that combined with his eyes, hair disheveled, and narcissistically smiled at me. It was probably for education, I thought. The young man came to me and introduce himself. We talked for over half an hour, he was in my Biology class and offered me to study with him on the afternoons. “I am sorry for you lost,” said an old woman next to me, breaking my moment of nostalgia. I realized that I was standing in front of a soulless corps, tears in the eyes.

Dozens or people were in the room, crying over their dark clothes to make sure people knew they were grieving the lost of the man. I could only recognize three people from the crow, who where the others? He wouldn’t have liked this, a man full of joy and desire to live. He would have wanted to have a happy farewell, to be remembered with a smile. I could still hear his voice telling me the news, that he was getting married. “I didn’t know you were in a relationship, with who? When?” I innocently asked knowing it was out of the line, “With you. Do you want to come with me?.” I remember our first kiss, after studying for hours under the old tree next to the library where we use to sit every afternoon, he handed me my biology book and kissed me. My memory is vague, but what I felt that moment is a timeless emotion of a first love. And every day after studying, the tree witnessed our several innocent kisses, keeping the secret of the love we had for each other for himself. My parents went crazy when I told them I was getting married, who was that man? Since when did I have a boyfriend?

The said-mother of the man who was gone arrived to the ceremony. I couldn’t read the expression of her face to interpret her feelings. She just came and asked me why wasn’t he wearing a tux, a tie or elegant clothing. I didn’t answer, I knew she couldn’t understand what she didn’t presence. She couldn’t understand that he bought the sweater in winter when he was 16 years old. His mother had made him a long, unfashioned, red and green pullover. For a young teenager, wearing it was a social exclusion. He wanted something simple, and similar to his friends clothes. Later, in college, it is the same sweater that saw him kiss his future wife. It saw him get his first job offer, buy his first house and went with him to see the echograph of his future little boy. Even though the sweater had lost the intensity of its color from the time his felt in the river while wearing it to the dirt in the right leave from the time he was reading his kid, the sweater had always being there for him, reminding him his past and the person he had become.


By taking the tissue of cotton with him for an eternity under the ground, he would keep forever the fragments of his life to give him back the richness of his soul. He would keep the witness of his life close to his unreal skin, becoming part of the ecosystem. And as a scientific, I believe his best wish would be to contribute to being a nutrient for the birth of a tree where a couple would kiss for the first time, he will be part of the water that goes through the river where two young people full of dreams will jump in after graduation, he would be part of future moments of joy, he would be life.