Perpetual Motion

Altenir Silva

It was a Tuesday morning when I stepped out of the deli and began trailing a woman wearing a blue skirt along the sidewalk. She never looked back, but I persisted in following her. Why? Because she was going in the same direction as I was. After a few blocks, I saw her encounter a tall and strong man wearing green pants and a gray T-shirt. He appeared furious, shouting at her. Approaching them, I asked, "What is going on here?" The man glared at me and swiftly charged in my direction, ready to fight. Thinking quickly, I decided to confront the enraged man. Raising my fists, I awaited his next move. He punched very hard at my face, and instantly everything was dark. Still in the darkness, I began to hear voices: "What happened?" "Who's this guy?" "He's dead?" "Oh, my God! What's going on here?" "Someone call an ambulance!" When I heard it, I immediately got up on my feet and cried, "No way! Please, we're in New York; I'm not a millionaire to pay for an ambulance!" The crowd dispersed, and I was alone on Fifth, leaning against the Barnes & Noble wall with a lot of books peering at me through the glass. I glimpsed at the cover of 'Everyman' by Philip Roth and almost understood the meaning of my life. Suddenly, the same woman wearing the blue skirt approached me and said, "I'm so sorry! My boyfriend was very rude to you." Rude? I thought that man was a truck that hit me. Then, the woman held my hands and asked, "What can I do for you?" I looked at her beautiful face and almost said, "Make love to me," but gave up and just said, "I don't know, my face is aching very much. Maybe your boyfriend shattered my bones." She replied kindly, "Oh, my God! I will take care of you. Can you come to my apartment?" In her apartment on E. 54th Street near Third Ave, I sat on her sofa while she tended to my wounds. At that moment, my thoughts embarked on a journey to my past, recalling the time when I arrived in NY and how much I had dreamt of being with a beautiful girl in her apartment. Now that I was here, I didn't know her name, so I asked her. She responded with a velvety voice, "My name is Ava." "Like the actress Ava Gardner?" I inquired, to which she replied, "Exactly. My parents were fans."  Then, I almost told her about my desire to make love, but it remained confined to my thoughts. Suddenly, the door swung open, and her boyfriend, the same tall and strong guy who had knocked me out at Fifth, stormed in, angrier than ever before. He cried out, "What the hell is going on here?" "Take it easy, man." It was the only thing I recalled saying to him. The next time I regained consciousness, I found myself lying on a hospital bed, my face disfigured, resembling a Halloween monster. Four months after these events, I was once again at Fifth, inside the Barnes & Noble, when suddenly I saw Ava working as a bookseller, selling a book to Tony Shalhoub, whom I recognized from the TV show Monk. I waited until she finished her sale to the actor, who bought a new edition hardcover of F. Scott Fitzgerald's first novel, "This Side of Paradise." As soon as the actor went to the cashier, I approached her. She looked at me as if we had never crossed paths and asked, "Can I help you?" I put my hand on my chin and asked, "Do you remember me?" She looked at me more closely. "You? How are you doing?" I replied, "I'm okay. My face is right again. What about you?" She breathed deep and went on, "I'm good, too." I asked, "Hope your boyfriend isn't here, huh?" She gave a gentle smile, "I broke up with…" As her words didn't come, I helped her, "Your brute boyfriend?" She nodded her head, "He traded New York for Lisbon, in Portugal." I breathed a sigh of relief and said, "Thanks, God!" She smiled again. I said goodbye, left the bookstore, and went to a deli to grab a bite to eat. After paying my bill, I stepped out of the deli and found myself trailing a woman wearing a blue skirt along the sidewalk. After a few blocks, I saw her encounter a tall and strong man wearing green pants and a gray T-shirt. They appeared happy as they hugged and kissed. I looked deeply at that couple and kept walking while my mind began to weave a new story. In this tale, a man follows a woman who meets her troublemaker boyfriend, and the two engage in a heated discussion. The man tries to help the woman, but her boyfriend violently punches him. He wakes up in a hospital, his face bruised and in great pain, but with a story in his head.   END OR START?