DARLING ©
A mini story by Martha Cecilia Rivera.
The sound of the ball hitting the wall made me jump. I rushed to the window as if by reflex, excited, anxious, trembling. There he was: the child who lived in the house next-door. He was nine years old, wore shorts, had slim legs. I watched him, hiding behind the blind. I was only seven. Next, I’d be eight years old, then ten, then fifteen, and every single day I’d keep spying on the boy playing football. Every time he was away because of the flu, or his family vacation, I’d wait for his return while crying silently. I never looked at a woman, never kissed a girl, I couldn’t. I remained waiting for the boy from the house next door all these years, even now when I’ve become an old man and death is knocking on my door.