A small boy looking at me.
A smile alighting his face.
A neighbour’s son.
A balcony above.
A patio emerges.
An open newspaper, a person, a man, hiding.
What is a kid’s memory but a perception of a frozen instant, adding to a personal story, perhaps a personal history?
Then, later, we built stories from frozen images.
the girl said.
Afternoon in the main commercial street. She was strolling, leisurely, with her school friends, a sea of blue to the sound of chirping dominating the afternoon traffic.
She was so young, barely in her teens. So delicate, yet so earthy…
So long ago…
*Seven was the highest mark on Chileans schools at the time.