Não Acredito em Bruxas, mas... (última parte)

Encontrava-me sentada no banco frio e rijo das urgências locais, enquanto procurava no meu telemóvel números antigos que desejava ardentemente não ter apagado. Encontrei por fim. Ligar para a mãe do ex-namorado após tê-lo atropelado com gravidade é algo que nunca ninguém deveria ser obrigada a fazer, mas eu fui...

Após muitos gritos do outro lado, consegui dizer-lhe o que realmente tinha acontecido e explicar-lhe os procedimentos que se seguiriam. Após um “vou já para aí” seguiu-se um apito contínuo no telefone e eu guardei-o na mala. As lágrimas ainda não tinham parado de correr e eu sentia que tudo à minha volta estava de pernas para o ar, como se uma espécie de catástrofe tivesse destruído o meu mundo.

Aproximei-me pela milionésima vez do balcão e uma mulher mal encarada respondeu-me:

- Quando tiver notícias chamamos, não precisa de me interromper a toda a hora.

Tive vontade de lhe bater, mas optei por afastar-me novamente.

Saí para a rua e fumei vários cigarros uns atrás dos outros. Estava tudo errado, mas não podia ser só por causa de uns óculos fora de moda, podia? Dirigi-me ao meu carro e sentei-me no interior, estava um frio de rachar, mas eu precisava continuar a fumar, ou acabaria por enlouquecer.

Ao fim de algum tempo de dormência, vejo passar os pais de Diogo.

- Devia sair do carro e ir cumprimentá-los. - disse a mim mesma, sem, no entanto, mover um músculo.

Sem saber porquê, olhei para o chão e vi que alguma coisa estava caída junto ao banco ao meu lado. Sem dar muita importância estiquei o braço e apanhei o objecto escuro. Incrédula, percebi o que estava na minha mão.

Os meus óculos da sorte tinham afinal estado ali o tempo todo. Sem saber porquê, agarrei neles e voltei a entrar dentro do hospital. Dirigi-me ao balcão e a antipática mulher tinha sido substituída por uma jovem muito simpática, que me deu todas as indicações que deveria. A cirurgia tinha corrido bem, ele iria ficar bem. Sorri.

Voltei a focar os óculos na minha mão e senti-me ridícula, eles não me davam sorte ou azar, a minha superstição é que dava.

- A força do pensamento.... - murmurei, incrédula.

Dirigi-me então ao quarto que ela me indicara e no qual poderia visitar Diogo. No caminho, deixei o estúpido objecto que venerava há anos numa qualquer lata de lixo. Ri. Estava livre.

FIM

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