I was so quiet, so apathetic, almost always sitting beside Pinkie, blankly watching the world go by.
I didn’t talk to Pinkie or listen to his stories. At the most I’d let my little brother sit with me.
I’d play Sugarloaf Mountain with him, which he loved, and let him push the hundred little cable car buttons up and down, all day long.
I watched him with great tenderness, because when I was a child, like him, I liked that too.
Glória was worried about my silence. She would set my pile of trading cards and bag of marbles nearby and sometimes I didn’t even move.
I didn’t feel like going to the cinema or shining shoes. Truth was, I couldn’t get over the pain inside me.
The pain of a tiny animal that has been brutally beaten and doesn’t know why.
Glória asked about my imaginary friends. “They’re not here. They’ve gone far away.”
I meant Fred Thompson and my other friends. But she didn’t know the revolution that was taking place inside me.
What I had decided. I was going to change films. I was done with cowboys and Indians and all that.
From now on I only wanted to see romantic films, with lots of kissing and hugging, in which everyone liked each other.
Since all I was good for was getting beaten up, at least I could see other people liking each other.
전체재생
다음페이지
문장검색