The old man was bedridden in a hospital room. He lay motionless and condemned to the regular care of diligent and punctual nurses. For months he had lost interest in talking, talking to other patients or hospital staff who already knew him and asked him daily about his health and his life:

How it dawned today, Mr. Jorge?
How it feels?
He's already eaten?

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He just shook his head in approval or denial. It was as if he had lost his speech or forgotten the words. Today it had dawned serene as usual, but his gaze had a particular glow. Early in the morning he looked out of the window and, if I may say so, he had a brief smile of conformity on his face. He remembered in silence:

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When he met her, she was thirty-seven years old and he was only 17 years old. He was entering university and had all the impetus of a teenager. His athletic body had already tasted some feminine pleasures, so it was easy for him to smell the perfume of female that sprouted from every pore of that mature woman. She was the mother of a classmate, Alberto, who apparently knew the effect her mother had on her classmates because she avoided taking them home.

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Although Alberto avoided inviting them, all his classmates were looking for excuses to go home, especially Jorge, who was not only a good student, but also one of the closest friends and therefore more entitled to come home with any excuse. Alberto's mother was usually at home and although she did not share with her son's friends, it was normal to see her walking around the house leaving a smell of sweet almonds and peaches.

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Jorge longed for the encounter, he looked for the rub, the fortuitous stumble. Temptation played with the fragile youthful will, which crumbled with every step the female took, with every word, every smell. Her closeness gave her a deceitful joy that later left when the woman closed the door and left them to study or watch television. Jorge saw her leave and in him appeared the sharp disillusionment, the helplessness, the sadness. Every day her desire grew, but also the certainty that unattainable things give.

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Jorge's eyes always insisted on clinging to that face, but he could not hide his nervousness and a certain clumsiness. The youthful view besieged with ambitious longing, desire, every feature, every curve. But shyness stopped him, it slowed him down. Fear invaded his sweaty body like a cornered, hungry animal. He looked at her and inside of him, he said: look at me, look at me. In one of those many times, only once, his eyes met and the two blushed in a single glance. That time, Jorge realized how young and clumsy he was, and the size and experience of that woman. However, at that moment he was never so close to heaven and so far from earth.

Source

Today the old man looks out of the window and feels satisfied, according to what he has lived. There is no lament for the evoked yesterday, but a nostalgia for those years of youth. In those years it was the first time that he felt intimidated by a woman. Until today, when death looks him in the eyes, face to face, and he feels, like that time, the fear, the anguish in his stomach. But even so, he feels again that he is closer to heaven than to earth.

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I hope you liked this story. I remind you that you can vote for @adsactly as a witness and join our server in discord. Until the next smile. ;)

Written by: @nancybriti

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