Scars

 Leônidas threw the stone in his hand into the lake. The surface reflected a perfect circle, which expanded and faded. Crossing through the park was the most practical route home. The sun had already set, and the breeze against his face sweetened the scent of wood and damp earth. Crickets and cicadas could be heard from deep in the bush. Because of what had happened that afternoon, driven by sensitivity, they spoke about things they had never said before. Most important of all: how they felt about each other.

 A stone thrown into someone’s depths, capable of shattering pride, was the foundation for rebuilding the self, allowing it to emerge from its hard shell. Unexpectedly, chance would grant individuals the disappointment necessary to be reborn. Nothing was obvious; paths were uncertain. At all times, they were pressured so that the best of them could be stripped away.

 Spontaneous and compassionate actions do not end in themselves but set off an invisible wave of transformation — just like what he had observed in the water. Phillipe questioned the truth in such words; however, by the tone of his voice, despite everything, Leônidas still believed in people. And it wasn’t necessary to put the depth of the pain into words. Still, he had made a difference. Not for others, but above all, out of regard for himself. Preventing others’ actions from taking away his self-confidence became an act of self-love.

 If it hadn’t been for the interruption of the call, Phillipe, by instinct, would have struck the blow that would have unleashed his torment. Kindness felt foreign to him. The path of forgiveness was unfamiliar, and maybe that was why he was so hard on himself.

 Phillipe knew that the way Leônidas carried himself in the face of humiliation was a mark of his distinction as a person. He came to understand ethical ideals much more when they were put to the test. Still, it wasn’t easy for him to practice forgetting, even though he felt like a fool for realizing that resentment harmed him more.

 With their defenses down, he admitted that without Leônidas, he would have failed. It would have been unbearable to endure that routine for so long without having him close. He had made a difference. Phillipe regretted the judgments he had made out of ignorance, for not understanding that Leônidas was more than what appeared on the surface. He hadn’t meant to let him get close, but Leônidas’s persistence became the most overwhelming kind of hope he had felt in a long time.

 He warned him not to carry the burden of trying to lead him to happiness. He was blunt in saying that, if he had any sense, he would walk away as soon as possible. But Phillipe hadn’t realized that the wounds he had inflicted on his own skin were still exposed.

 Then, before he could hide them, Leônidas, in a jolt, grabbed his arm. He fell silent, unsure what that meant. His eyes widened as he processed that, on that day, at the partition, Leônidas had been the silhouette. He knew the depth of his anguish and, even so, hadn’t been afraid, for the greatness of his spirit was greater still.

 Leônidas surprised him by showing the marks on his skin. They hadn’t been made by him, but by someone who had discriminated against him. The intensity of the act made words unnecessary, stirred by the depth of altruism.

 By the end of that day, they knew they were no longer the same, for they had risen one step further in trust. Recognizing the space in which they could share their vulnerabilities turned them into something lighter. It had been a long time since such a genuine smile had appeared on Phillipe’s face.

 When he got home, he found his old man bewildered and impatient over his disappearance. He reassured him. He didn’t tell him what had happened, believing that it was his own responsibility to solve his problems. He fulfilled his duties harmoniously. Above suspicion, he was able to talk to Ulisses and make it seem like nothing interesting had happened that day.

 Before falling asleep, the curtains let in the faint light that reached the room. With his hands, he felt the scars on his body. The meaning behind them gave him the strength to try again, even if it was hard. The whispers were still hidden somewhere in his mind, waiting for the right moment to strike. Yet in the end, he realized he was strong enough to chase away his demons.