If I won the lottery, I’d make a big trip.
He smiles, his eyes happy, swollen by his dream. I stick more to him, use his shoulder as an angular pillow, still comfortable, turns my head towards the colorful window of the green tree, open to the morning sounds of the Metropolitan. The tree barely moves. The sky is grey, heavy with humidity. The time is still exquisite, I’m not quite awake while he continues to talk. He would go to Japan, Indonesia and especially India. He would like to take a yoga class there.
It’s my turn to smile. I’m still watching the tree. I don’t know what I would do if I had all that money. One thing is for sure, I would probably fall asleep faster at night. I’d be less tired.
By my side, he stops talking. I rise, look out the window at the wobbly outline of the leaves which, already, since it is the end of August, are turning yellow. His hand goes down behind my back.
— If I won the lottery, I said, I would probably help people become happy. That’s probably what it is.
I’m going back to bed. The pillow is still warm from his presence. He just left. Sometimes I wonder if he really exists. I have no certainty, I’m poor, whatever. The tree is satisfied with its roots.
— If I won the lottery, I would repeat myself, I would not tell anyone and would have fun becoming other people’s guardian angel so that they would believe that Providence exists. But I would not help those who whine to cry, I would be hard on those who do nothing to rise, who ignore others. Maybe I’ll offer poison to those who vomit their lives.
The tree does not respond, as if he was careful not to put oil on the fire.
No, no, and no, you’re right. I couldn’t be rich and judge people. It’s a temptation to be a politician. I don’t know what I would do. I have to get up. But I still enjoy a few more moments of all these dreams and prayers that are as many desires as good wills.
Whatever life we have, it belongs to us. And it’s not a cliché to say it. More like a stubborn boldness.