The Way to School
There were traces of tears on the pillow when Phillipe woke up. Now, free from anxiety, he recognized that, in recent times, he hadn’t allowed the most rational thoughts to guide his actions. According to his reasoning, in his inability to negotiate, he focused on what was his duty. Indifference had taken hold of his behavior, under the belief that leaving for his commitment was a lesser embarrassment than staying behind. He knew himself — that discomfort would not leave him. As long as he didn’t interact with anyone, he would be left alone. If luck somehow subverted the logic of the moment, he would find a reason to return. Otherwise, in the absence of a sign, Phillipe was convinced of what he needed to do. He had never ruled out that alternative, even if the intensity of his feelings that day didn’t push him that far.
He got up before Ulisses could knock on his bedroom door. Under the water, his body adjusted its temperament. He got ready and went down for breakfast. By recognizing what he felt, he became able to control what was suffocating him. It wasn’t much, but he convinced himself it was deception. He found the risk strange, but didn’t allow the triggers to serve as a basis for self-sabotage. He knew that somewhere within him, something good could emerge, giving new meaning to all the times he had broken down in tears. At that moment, he couldn’t identify where the optimism came from, but he remembered what it was like to have hope — and for that, he missed those days.
Phillipe realized that running away was a convenient alternative. However, giving in to his fears would come at a high price, and he knew that if he allowed them to grow within him, he might not have the strength to undo what he had nurtured.
At some point during the night, without knowing how, he felt an urge explode in his chest — the desire to prove to everyone the falsehood of the nonsense said about him. In a moment of dignity, he lifted his chin, considering the idea of turning his presence into an act of protest. Then, Ulisses’ words began to make a bit of sense. If he truly believed in his talents — despite the initial fears and his habit of remaining alone — he would certainly find a way forward.
Ulisses, for his part, had lost his sense of how to react. The night before, as he lay down, he had prepared himself for a difficult battle, believing he would have to use all his strength to convince Phillipe to go to school. His arguments were ready — but would be of no use. He knew Phillipe didn’t accept compliments. He also knew how hard it was to talk to him when he was apathetic. He didn’t want to give him any reason to withdraw even further. He could pretend it was just an ordinary morning, but chose to ensure everything was alright.
Phillipe clutched his bag in his arms and sat in the front seat of the car. Before starting the engine, Ulisses warned him that if he couldn't manage things, he should call — because he would come to meet him. Phillipe nodded, but out of pride, he knew he would rather endure the entire day than ask Ulisses for help. He intended to avoid at all costs the stigma of being seen as a troubled and weak boy. That’s why he would swallow his anxiety against his will, just to survive.
Because of the entanglement of feelings, admitting it was painful — but what Ulisses was doing was an expression of love. And that was why Phillipe hated him so much. He was stronger. He knew how to empathize before clinging to foolish convictions.
Leônidas was waiting a few blocks away. Ulisses said goodbye, dropping them off near the Athenas Institute. Yet Phillipe didn’t know how to proceed. Not because of any difficulty he might encounter there, but because of what Leônidas represented. He couldn’t explain exactly how it went against his expectations, but most of the time, he believed the boy was someone to be pitied.
Leônidas was not as awkward as he had expected; on the contrary, he was exceedingly modest and cheerful. Anyone could approach him easily — perhaps because, deep down, he was a failure. Despite being fully aware of his condition, he did his best to disguise it.
It was Leônidas who carried the conversation, since Phillipe had little interest in speaking. His concern lay in the reputation of being seen alongside someone with a disability. Leônidas needed support, as he was missing part of his right leg and part of his left forearm. Phillipe didn’t care how it had happened, but he couldn’t ignore it either.
When Ulisses parked the car, Phillipe met Leônidas’ mother. The impression wasn’t the best. There was something about her that reminded him of a conservative, strict community he had once been part of. It was reflected in the way she seemed frozen in time. Leônidas was the son of a single mother, a misfit “provincial woman”. Her hair was unkempt, and her expressions, sorrowful.
Phillipe didn’t know exactly what had happened to them. Days later, however, Leônidas would confess that, as a child, the boys his age were afraid of his mother, believing she was a witch. He had never had friends. With each of that woman’s movements, Phillipe saw an act of courage. He could recognize when someone was fighting to rebuild life with dignity, surviving fear — because that was also his story. He realized that Leônidas’ optimism was merely a disguise.
There was something different in his gaze that drew Phillipe’s attention. Maybe it was the perplexity of his optimism in a context where one would usually expect sorrow. Even so, Phillipe would not allow anyone to notice — much less put it into words.
When Leônidas’ mother approached the car, after he had already gotten in, she gave him several instructions. He listened quietly, nodding, as if he had never set foot in a school before. His clothes were modest, but Phillipe knew they were the best he had. He wouldn’t judge him for that. After all, he himself still couldn’t face his own dilemmas — how could he possibly understand Leônidas’? And deep down, Phillipe felt that nothing about him was good enough to be accepted.