I’d already figured out the times when he didn’t have much to do. It had been going on for more than a month.
Much more. But I never knew an adult could look as sad as he did when I told him the stories about Christmas.
His eyes filled with tears and he stroked my head, promising that I would never go without a Christmas present again.
The days passed slowly and, above all, happily. People were beginning to notice my transformation, even at home.
I wasn’t getting up to as much mischief and was always off in my own little world in the backyard.
It’s true that sometimes the devil got the better of me. But I didn’t swear as much as I used to and I left the neighbours in peace.
Whenever he could, the Portuguese would invent an outing, and it was on one of these outings that he pulled the car over and smiled at me.
“Do you like riding in ‘our’ car?” “Is it mine too?”
“Everything that’s mine is yours. Like two really good friends.” I was ecstatic.
If only I could tell everyone that I was half owner of the most beautiful car in the world.
“So, does this mean that now we’re completely friends?” he asked. “Yes.”
“Then can I ask you something?” “Yes, sir.” “You don’t want to grow up quickly so you can kill me any more, do you?”
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