Summer and balcony

That summer never came. For some reasons. All these water pouring down from the sky. The temperature hardly went beyond 15 degrees Celsius. She got used to it and she imagined people in her village as well. When there is no more hope, it’s just a matter of time when to get used to a perpetual unchanged situation.

She looked out onto her small balcony. She moved to this apartment two years ago and had never decided to buy a table and chairs for the balcony. She had always known about the kind of summer over here, in her country.  A great summer lasted usually three weeks. She thought it was unnecessary. Then a few weeks ago she finally decided to do like everybody else who has a balcony. She went to a big furniture store and brought back a simple table and two chairs, metallic of course. She could never forget the rain.

There they were. Posed quietly. Plain and simple. Since the day she had brought them home, there had never been one dry day or evening.

First thing in the morning, she glanced at them from the windows. Puddles of water here and there, all over the table. She remembered the eve. She had tried to clean the table, knowing that it could be in vain, but still felt the need to do it.

She looked at them. She might have given them all a name. She had thought of Johann, Carl, Wilhelm, thinking of Bach and his sons. She loved Bach but had never been a fan of Germanic-sound first names. She went for Juan, Philipe, and Carlos instead. She was happy she had personified them.

Her attempt to be a normal woman like anyone else all these years was similar to her attempt to furnish her balcony. Similar to that summer trying to stop the rain like a will of surviving a battle.

That summer never came. She had not been once outside. Juan, Philipe and Carlos had never gotten a chance to dry up. They stayed the whole summer outside in emptiness.

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