Short Story
They Walked Hand in Hand
A short story on love and friendship
Amidst the sea of people returning from work that flooded Barra Funda Station, he met her at the turnstiles. They hugged. He offered to take her handbag — “Was the ride, okay?” — and they walked to his apartment building.
He loved when she came to visit. Once a semester she would go to São Paulo so they could spend the weekend together, sightseeing around the city. Saturday, they would go to Ibirapuera Park, dine at Castro Burger and watch a play at Sesc Vila Mariana — the show was the reason he made the girl get out of their hometown and take a bus ride to the capital. They hadn’t decided what they would do on Sunday: perhaps they would walk around Paulista Avenue, but that activity was getting boring; although MASP had a new exposition that seemed interesting…
Now, this late Friday afternoon they were yet to decide where to eat dinner. It was early, nearly 6 p.m., but the journey made the girl hungry. And because they were uncertain of what they’d like to eat, they decided to go to Pátio Higienópolis and improvise with the relative variety of the food court. So, they began the 30-minute walk going up Conselheiro Brotero Street — the company made the time fly by and the climb imperceptible.
While they ate, they caught up on what was happening in each other’s lives. She told him about her girlfriend, he mentioned about the guys he met on Tinder and whose exchange of messages would unlikely result in a date. At a certain moment, she commented on having read an essay by Walter Benjamin for a subject of her English Major and was now fascinated by the essayist. He responded by saying that he already had to read The Work of Art in the Age of Mechanical Reproduction for three different subjects in his Cinema Major. They agreed to, one day, reenact the photograph where Bennjamin was playing chess with Brecht: she would pose as the philosopher, and he would pose as the playwright — he had fallen in love with the old German’s plays after watching the production of Life of Galileo, played by Denise Fraga.
As the duo were already at the mall, they decided to catch a movie before heading back to the apartment. She insisted for them to watch a horror film; he decided to agree, even though he got scared easily. Eventually, what was supposed to be a horror film revealed itself to be a satire: the movie was called Happy Death Day and told the story of a preppy college girl that was brutally murdered on her birthday and had to relive that day over and over. As the story progressed, the preppy girl learned to be a better person — the movie ended hopefully, and humorous.
It was early night, no more than 9 p.m., so they decided to walk back instead of catching an Uber — the neighborhood was still peaceful at that hour. They weren’t able to pinpoint exactly what in that blockbuster that made them feel that way, but they felt so joyfull after they left the cinema. They walked as they chatted animatedly about the film. The yellow lamplight was reflecting on the green leaves, producing a particular glow — at São Paulo, one cannot see the starts on the night sky, but the neighborhood was brightened up by the various lit windows. At the apartments: couples dated, kids played with their brothers and sisters, teenagers were laughing alongside their friends — people shinning like stars on a cool summer night, filled with the hope of a great weekend.
He extended his arm horizontally at waist height, with his palm facing up. She understood, and held his hand. They walked hand in hand — and in that that moment, I swear they were infinite.
The two of them went, like that, out in the open. Laughed, rejoiced — without reason. If his mother had seen this, she’d immediately remember that day, ten years ago, when she saw them walking out of the school gate after class, chatting merrily — that was when his mother was sure the duo would stay together forever.
He hoped his mother was right. At that year, the duo would complete a decade of friendship — from the following year onwards, when they turned 21 years old, they would have more life time together than without knowing each other. When he was with her, he felt at home. With her, he remembered who he was. He remembered his childhood and adolescence — when he placed those memories into perspective, he realized how far he’d come; and how far she’d come.
Today, witting about her, seeing himself through her eyes, he knew that what had to be happened. Because it was her; because it was me.
NOTE: This short story was originally written in portuguese for “Escrever aprende-se escrevendo”, a creative-writing workshop taught by Luana Chnaiderman at A Escrevedeira.
You can read the original story in portuguese here:
