The band passes by playing things of love. They stop at the plaza. Facing the band, a dark-haired boy sitting on his shoeshine box with a bright smile and shining gaze sits watching the show, oblivious to everything and everyone around him, as if the band was playing for him. Just for him.
I take a step forward and stand beside the boy contemplating his wonder. Everything is music; the boy’s eyes are music. The boy’s smile is music. The boy’s soul; a sweet melody. He is all sound, vibration; the purest and most tender song.
Follow the band, follow the procession, follow the boy. The box, now held on his shoulder is his piston.
For the band, for the procession, for the boy. The box becomes a stool again facing the musicians. In the middle of Aquarela do Brasil, our eyes meet. I smile. He smiles. For the rest of the presentation we remain united by a secret magic. As the show ends, I approach. I put my arm around his thin shoulders and we stay in our secret rapture.
As I go back to my spot, the boy stands up and goes over to the conductor. I congratulate the honoree. A feather of a hand touches my elbow without a word. I turn around, and I am instantly flooded with light. The light that radiates from the eyes of the small one. The band begins to perform the song Amigos para Sempre. At that moment I hear his voice an almost musical whisper.
“This is for my Lady.”
I take him by the hand. We all join hands, forming a chain of friendship. When the band leaves, the boy goes back to being a shoeshiner. He picks up his box and walks off into destiny.
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