When I got to the door of my room, I noticed some sneakers outside the door of the next room. They were big. And black. And, it seemed, they must have belonged to someone civilized who didn’t want to dirty the carpet.
“- Better not touch them.”. I thought. And so I left them: lined up with their cords tied, inert in a waiting position, outside room 22.
When I went down to the dining room, Mateus sat down next to me. And guess who he brought to dinner? His father, Alfredo, and a pair of black Converse size 45s on his feet.
So the mysterious owner of the sneakers and next door neighbor was the son of the house. Of course, it makes sense. Inside the den, no one needs the defense of a rubber sole. The soles of the feet cope well with the fact that they are bare, and surrendered to the ground that they recognize.
Maybe today I’ll leave my sandals outside the door. I too feel at home, and I too want to keep my feet on the ground, and in this family there is room for everyone. That’s why I know that no one is going to tell me to do otherwise.
