People should never have the presumptuousness of thinking they know what we feel and why we feel it. They would have had to have lived their whole life in our skin. And even then....

Little great courage

It was a Saturday night. But that fever had been in him for years, perhaps since he could remember himself.
For the first time ever he was doing that. He was nervous. Nervous and alone. But he was even more tired. Tired of watching others – and himself gutless.
He slipped his feet in his slippers, rolled up his jeans, put on the glasses on his kid face, and forced his chubby body out of the house.
The way over seemed three times longer, but he walked it with no hesitation, with determination in his steps and expectation in his heart.
He entered alone. It was a Saturday night and the bar was packed. Waiting for him was no wave, no smile, no friendly face, no table with friends, no word of incentive.
Still, he walked through the bar like it was empty and he listed up his name and the music that for many years only the walls in his room had heard him sing. And alone at a table, he sat his chubby body and waited. Minutes dragged but the moment came swiftly.
Half of the people in the café didn’t even hear is name be called. Of all of those with their back to him, one or two turned their heads for an instance, to see who was next.
I was one of those seating towards him. That little square that was used as a stage lifted him an enormous few inches above the rest. And exposed the kid face behind the glasses, the chubby body not yet a man, the jeans rolled up to his knees and the slippers on his feet.
That kid, with that look, was really going to sing, before all those beautiful well dressed people. And that precise music?
Without knowing him, I feared for him, and for the shame he would very soon go through. I was sure. But now he was up there and it was too late.
The music started. And when the voice spreaded through the air, through the people, through the tables, the kid face, the rolled up jeans, the glasses, the chubby clumsy body, all was gone. And to surface came a man, a courage, a talent. The only unpleasant thing that came to surface was my prejudice.
Damn world where we learn to judge by the image. How much talent must remain forever forgotten in a corner, because the outside doesn’t correspond to it, according to our preconveived ideas?
I watched him go back to the table alone. Everyone applauded but no one spoke him a word. I too remained in silence, giving thanks to those that, like him, have these little great acts of courage. I didn’t have one to go and talk to him. But I entrusted myself with the hard task of never again seeing a person before knowing it.
Thank you, chubby boy.