An Almost Visible Inheritance
He didn’t know his father beyond photographs. Because of living with Bartolomeu, Leônidas withdrew, removing his father’s images from his reach, which intensified the stigma and lack of courage. Wherever he went, his intuition was blinded; he was vulnerable to mistakes. Since that late afternoon when he had been thrown onto the asphalt, he felt that his father would disapprove of his choices; therefore, he avoided thinking about him, even though he knew he remained at his side with a stern gaze.
He had never heard stories that gave shape to what his father had been. Nothing was ever hidden from him about what had happened: he died in a car accident during a nighttime trip, after attending a match at the capital’s stadium. His mother was pregnant at the time. He could not meet the other side of the family because Rachel’s impulse was to flee as quickly as possible, given that they were against the establishment of that union.
Leônidas knew his father had a sister, and that she was the mother of two boys younger than him. His grandparents lived in a modest house in a small town, but they were never introduced to him. He had heard that the family’s rude behavior had not changed, despite the pain of loss, since his existence was the legacy — the inheritance — that the man had left.
They were not as rich as they believed themselves to be. His father’s father worked in an office, while his mother was a housewife. Even though he was the family’s troublemaker, he was also the joy of the house because of his irreverent behavior. He pursued the most beautiful woman he had ever met in his life. He couldn’t resist the beautiful blonde-haired woman sitting in the first row. She claimed to be too busy with her studies, finding excuses to escape the boy who was captain of the football league.
His muscles held no fascination for her. His jokes, at first, earned nothing more than a forced smile, for all Rachel thought about was having a future different from her mother’s, who had lost herself, or her father’s, who had disappeared years ago.
She was adopted by her mother’s sister, who, out of compassion, gave her the affection she lacked. Therefore, boys with life already figured out were incapable of understanding the despair of having to take care of one’s own future. He had to reinvent himself to get closer to her because he understood he could not change what Rachel had chosen for herself. He didn’t mind this; he studied for hours to make himself worthy of staying by her side.
She didn’t tell him about her past, yet at some point, he suspected that nothing was typical. He respected that in silence. No one expected a boy so foolish to also be so sensitive. However, he knew how to embrace her as no one else did. She had fallen in love with the boy she initially wasn’t at all interested in. The thought hovered in him all the time. In contrast to the harshness of circumstances, it felt as if life were making it up to him, because he believed that, from that moment on, everything would be fine.
Strangely, such stories he had heard remained vivid in his mind, as if the lens of his eyes could see what had happened like a movie. He had forgotten how much he liked hearing that story, for when Rachel told it, it was as if the intensity of those feelings was reanimated in his own skin. In those moments, he saw a brightness not commonly tinted. He should seek that within his own existence. He had forgotten that contagious unrest, which displaced everything. He needed to shake off the dust of old conventions. Leônidas found joy in it, with a trace of a smile drawn on his face. His father had always been bold; the fearful aspect was inherited from his mother.
He didn’t see pregnancy as a problem to be solved. On the contrary, he hoped it would be a boy, so he could take him to the stadiums. All the maturity he lacked was added, curtailed by circumstances. Having never been interested in getting a job, he didn’t see it as a problem to divide his time between studying and working. He only wanted the home to be comfortable to consolidate their union. To him, it didn’t matter what his parents thought or if the money would be scarce, because he had found everything he wanted by her side.
The crash was violent enough to take his life instantly. He was at the wheel that night, alongside one of his best friends. He tried to swerve the car, but there was no space on the road to avoid the accident. The man driving the other vehicle had fallen asleep at the wheel.
Leônidas wondered what his life would have been like if his father had survived the accident. To hear his father’s voice, to feel his arms wrapped around him… That was his greatest dream. He had a great hero without ever having the opportunity to tell him about it. And although he knew his tears weren’t his alone, that somewhere he was cheering for him, the pain of that illusion was pertinent. He wished the answers were easily within his reach.
Forgetting his father, in the audacity of occupying a space that should not belong to him, was one of the cruelest things Bartolomeu could have done. It was not just revolt that filled his eyes, but a discontent eager to turn into action. His efforts would be relentless.
Even if he discovered something about Phillipe that made him doubt his integrity, his father would be more authentic, without resorting to the proposal of having to change who he was to conform to social norms. He would support his decisions, but also know how to correct his behavior, guiding him to find the best version of himself.
Leônidas silently begged for a sign, something to give him certainty of what to do. He longed for change. Something — any miracle that could alter the state of things, like that time when, by chance, the lottery prize suddenly shuffled all perspectives. God moved beings like puppets, according to His will. He could transform the state of all things, if He wished. But perhaps the tear that ran down his face was not enough to convince Him.