He was about to go

He was about to go, it was the right time to go, the perfect time to go. That was the time of the last bus, according to the timetable. If he had lost it, he would have missed the golden opportunity to see her, to see Susanna.

So, he took his stuff and greeted him heading to the lobby. As soon as he left the house, a thunder burst into the silent dark garden. Bag, zip, umbrella. Fortunately, it was always ready in there, the umbrella. He strode toward the stop. He had ten minutes to reach it.

Another flash, another thunder.

This time there was a strong gust of wind that made the trees in the park rustle intensely across the street.

Wind, umbrella ... no umbrella.

The umbrella had turned back to the force of the wind, which had completely broken the supporting metal bars. At that point, he wondered if it was wiser to continue slowly on the wall under the eaves and balconies of the buildings or if it was better to start running fast in the rain.

Satin wall. About twenty meters. The clock, six minutes. He starts running in the rain trying to avoid the trickle and wiping his glasses with his fingers trying to imitate the windshield wipers. Here it is, the quay. He was running.

The sky had turned black, dark black, but very dark.

It was 6 .56 pm but it was already night.

There was wind and a moment later, as soon as he set foot under the quay ... stop. No wind. He wondered if there was someone making fun of him.

Not even a leaf moved. All stopped, shut up, under the wet and constant rain. He was there, under the quay, silent and still, sitting on a corner of what was once the waiting bench. Once. Now it seemed more like a sculpture of modern art, gnawed by mice and full of writings destined to mark the end of many relationships. He was there, still, motionless, waiting. He peered with his small eyes from under his hat.

He scanned if you could see the bus in the distance. He scrutinized and thought about his hat. It made him look like a great man, but he was just 25 years old. He liked it. He liked the hat and liked to be a great 25-year-old gentleman. Would Susanna like it too? Would she like that 25-year-old gentleman with a hat? He wanted to see her, he must see her. To understand. Understanding if he loved her. He was sure he would understand it that evening, looking at her.

7.04 pm the bus cannot be seen.

It’s incredible to think about which circle of events unifies the bus route. All the thoughts it contains. All those people who look each other and fall in love without ever seeing each other again.

As had happened to him and Susanna. 

They were 18, or rather - he was 18 years old and she 17, to be precise. They had looked at each other and he fell in love. She had fallen in love too. Every day they looked at each other and fell in love.

One day she had come up and sat next to him. There were no other places. But he was sure she had done it because she was in love.

Then one morning they had not looked at each other, they had been silent one next to the other.

After finishing high school, they had not seen each other anymore but he was sure that this would have been the best love story. 

Across the street, there were a man and a woman. Together. Hand in the hand. A man and a woman together hand in the hand. Maybe I should say a girlfriend and a boyfriend, but maybe two friends, maybe two spouses, or maybe just brother and sister. Under an umbrella, a dark red umbrella that enclosed a strong bond, there was no doubt about it. Maybe that was how things would have gone.

That evening he would see Susanna at Alice's party. They would see each other again and spend the next rainy day together under a dark red umbrella, hugging each other. And a guy at the dock would have no hesitation in thinking of them as a couple. 

The two looked at each other.

He looked at the bus that did not arrive. But he scrutinized them, secretly. The two were too intent on taking refuge under the dark red umbrella to notice him. They were almost far now. 

7:12 pm.

It was a moment. A single instant.

She took her hand out of her pocket, a handgun in her hand. Bum. A moment and the two were no longer tied. A moment and he was gone.

You know what I'm saying. He was dead. Just a still, petrified, motionless boy.

Unable to shout, to call for help, to do anything. He was there. There was not though. The woman stands under the umbrella next to the dead man's body.

A moment later, which seems to be at least 3 minutes, there are ambulances, sirens, policemen, policemen, people. Nobody, nobody, but nobody really noticed him. He was still, with his small eyes wide open. 

Here is the bus. As if nothing had happened, he got on the bus, stamped the ticket, sat down.

Was it possible that everything he had seen was in his head? Was it possible that he had imagined everything? This young boy, big and small together. Could he have not reacted? 

He got off at the bus stop before his house.

He walked in the rain. He deserved it. He arrived home. Shower, wardrobe, clean clothes.

Sofa, bed. 

He had not dreamed of anything. It had all happened.

Television.

Everything resolved: the woman, his partner, had admitted it, right away, now she was in prison. She had betrayed him. Definitely. They had known each other for a few years. She, a career woman, proud of her perfect life. He was a literary man, poor and he loved music. He loved playing on the street. That day, after the disastrous conference with Germany, she walked into the square, banging her heels on the floor. She was angry.  Suddenly, her favorite song. Someone was playing it. She broke her feet on the ground and stop to understand the origin of the song. It was him, he was playing it. They looked at each other. 

"It was the only beautiful moment of that day and I realized that I hadn't felt so happy for a long time"

"I was there waiting for you"

They said these words a few months after their first meeting. And then, it came: the house together, the walks in the rain... He had published a book about a Canadian traveler in the land of fire. It had been very successful. He had gone around the world to introduce his book, translated the book into 14 languages including the Japanese, which she loved. One evening, a drink, a musician, a hotel room. She was 18 years old. What does it matter when you are drunk playing nice music?

It matters when he is happy, drunk and with your phone in his hand. So he had returned from his book presentation trip to Paris. She had waited for him and welcomed him. She had taken him to walk under the dark red umbrella. She had killed him. The phone rings.

It's 9.30 pm.

He had not eaten yet.

It rises, fridge, plate, fridge, telephone, pizza. "A diavola, thank you" Sofa. 

She was a student, she loved science, she wanted to be a researcher and she was very rich. His professor was very good. She would have gone to that intensive week at the university. She would have gone to see what it means to be a researcher. She went there. There was also the professor, the good one. She wanted to be a researcher, like his good professor. On the third day, he told this to him. He looked at her and smiled at her. They looked at each other and smiled and fell in love. They went to live together and in the evening, they loved to sit outside on the porch swing and fantasize about their future researches. He told her about the articles he had read, and she answered him critically. They would have had a good life, together, as researchers. On the day her father died - he was already a widower - she became one of the wealthiest young female researchers in the country.

Ten days later he found another young student in front of the house. It was normal, so many of them asked her good professor for advice. One evening she came home earlier than expected and she heard them talking. They would have stolen all her money from the bank account and would have fled to Alaska together where they were preparing their studies for a new university research. So, they had come out under the dark red umbrella in the rain. She had prevented a fake good professor from stealing her estate. 

Here is the pizza.

21:44. The diavola. Good. 

He was a "pizza boy" and she loved pizza. She always took the diavola too. They had fallen in love at the first pizza. They had been together for eight years and planned to get married. They lived together. They already lived together when she fell in love with Gregor. They already lived together when his sister committed suicide. They were already living together when she came into the care of the psychiatrist, where she met Gregor. It was all bad in his life, except Gregor, he did not like pizza. She and Gregor had understood that the world was disgusting. She had even convinced herself that she did not like pizza. It was his fault, she did not want to marry him. She wanted to marry Gregor. But he loved her too, it was not possible that he loved her because she was crazy. He did not tolerate being loved by a non-madman. 

By now she had decided, she had to stop being loved by him. So, walk, rain, dark red umbrella, gun. 

It was 10.05 pm and the phone was ringing again.

The party. Alice. Susanna. 

Bath, pee, teeth.

Wardrobe, hat, shoes.

Keys, door. 

While he was going to Alice, he thought what was the sense of what he had experienced that evening. Yet just a few hours ago it was only a young 25 years old with a hat. Now, he is a witness to a murder of which he tried to understand the meaning of. 

The party. He had to concentrate on the party. "Happy birthday Alice"

"Susanna said she won't come, she said she was sick this morning" 

Sitting on the chair he stared at the people having fun and thinking about the meaning that all things have. Of how arbitrarily man had given names to objects. Wasn't it strange that when people repeat a name, it loses completely meaning?

 He would not have seen her, Susanna, that evening. She was sick. How could she be sick when he had to look at her and see if he loved her? Surely, she should have been there. 

He returned home, under his umbrella, one different from the one in the afternoon. Striped. Red and white. Light red, though. 

That woman and that man had a close connection. 

How could Susanna not be there? How is it possible that she is sick just the evening when ... 

Bed. Dreams, nightmares. 

He decided he had to get up and had to go to jail. Or maybe it was better if before he went to Susanna. 

He got dressed and went to the police.

"I was there" 

Everything had gone exactly as he had told him. Everything had gone exactly as she had told him. 

"When can see her?"

"The day after tomorrow"

 Two days later, the boy and his hat went to jail.

"Why did you do it?"

"What?"

"Killing the man under the dark red umbrella"

"Because I had the gun and I could do it"

"But it was your pizza delivery guy, he was your good teacher, he was your literate singer"

"He was a man I loved"

"And why did you do it?"

"Because I had the chance"

"You must tell me the meaning of your action"

"There is no meaning"

"Noone can live without one"

"Look at the people"

"I see them"

"Their existence does not make sense, they continue to live their life every day"

"I do not kill them"

"What are you alive for?"

"I - he had a moment of vertigo, it was he who had to ask questions here - I live for Susanna"

"Does she live for you? Is Susanna enough?"

The boy stood up, disappointed, thinking of the woman's madness. 

Sulking and disappointed, he went to Susanna's house. He wanted to see her at all costs.

"Susanna, I have to look good to see if I love you, I must to know if I'm still in love with you."

She looked at him carefully and said: "Do we know each other?" 

The boy took off his hat, placed it in Susanna's arms.

He left the house. He understood it. It was not Susanna. She is not the meaning. 

He returned home.

Sofa, bed. 

He took the car, he remembered he had one.He went downtown, to Alice, at her workplace. 24, 25, 26, 27 ... here is the plan. The skyscrapers were beautiful. They reminded him that heaven always embraces us.

He saw Alice. 

"What are you doing here?"

"I wanted to tell you that Susanna ... she does not know me, we've never really looked at each other" 

He turned and ran as fast as he could towards the end of the corridor and, opening the window, he jumped into the city's sky.

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