THE SKIRT

People dressed up in colourful costumes were dancing to the beat of the music. Chris and I were walking away from the cheering crowd when someone abruptly bumped their shoulder against mine to push their way through between Chris and me. From the force of the blow, I would have sworn a man had pushed me. To my surprise, I saw the silhouette of a woman moving away in front of us. Her brown skin was as red as the earth on Alegria's land, her colourful patterned yellow skirt was swaying nonchalantly to the rhythm of her slender, muscular legs strewn on her tiny hips. Her hair as vast and dark as the night was dotted with sparkles that twinkled like stars. A huge yellow scarf was wrapped around her head, giving her the slender and divine look of the pharaohs of ancient Egypt.

The woman didn't even turn around. She continued on her way. Despite me and Chris at my side calling me, my heart jumped inside my chest. It kept pounding as if it wanted to get out, to liberate itself. I turned to Chris and told him:

"I'll be back!"

Then, I started following the colourful patterned yellow skirt through the crowd. Like a dog following a trail, I had no idea where the trail would lead me, but I was eager not to let it slip away. I was being jostled from all sides by the crowd that marched noisily in the opposite direction. The skirt didn't seem to have noticed me following her. She continued, determined and serene, towards a destination that she alone wanted to follow. While the crowd was rushing gaily from where the shouting, singing, and music of the orchestras were coming from, the skirt was going in the opposite direction. The streets were showing in full sunlight the ugliness of poverty with the catchy melody of salsa music playing in the background. On the island, silence didn't exist expect during the early hour of the morning when people prayed to the Lord for a better day far away. According to me, a better day didn't have any destination, sound or image. My better day consisted of complete emptiness like a blank page on which I could write or draw whatever I wanted: my mother, my father, my sisters, my two grandmothers and of course, a beautiful yellow skirt; a skirt that went courageously towards some unfamiliar land which she was determined to reach with or without someone by her side.

Later on as a man, I would always seek in my choices the same experience of freedom that the encounter with Feliz had given me almost instantly. Unfortunately, it took me years to learn how to remain so light in a world as heavy as ours. Each choice undeniably bears its labels and its fair share of burdens.

Suddenly, the skirt rushed into a small deserted alley.