POSTED BY ( FLORENCIO DE LOS SANTOS )
In our teenage years and youth more than ever, exceptionally fantastic things happen that are etched into our memory marble with steel chisels and diamond points. Thus they are memorialized forever with the gentle beating of the heart and time, leaving deep and indelible eternal grooves.
One of those peak moments takes me back to those years when extremely long and large cars flourished. Back then my friends and I were arguing over who had seen the biggest and most attractive car. We made references to the Lincoln Continental, Caprice Classic, Ford LTD, Mercury, Oldsmobiles, Buick, Crown Victoria and other contemporary brands.
On that occasion, there was a red Cadillac that crossed our street before the admiration and respect of all. It was a dream car for a dreamer. It had an impeccable strawberry red paint and a very white hood. With its interior upholstered in fine leather work, it seemed to make even outsiders feel comfortable. All of its controls were electronic, including its seats and windows, its hydraulic guide, super-tank disc brakes, powerful air conditioning, and that float, taken from fairy tales, was powered by 450 horsepower in the fidelity of a silent V8 engine. , coupled with an automatic transmission of instant “overdrive”.
With the falls of the idyllic autumn afternoons of my neighborhood towards its appearance the red Cadillac. This was pride riding on wheels. More than a car, it looked like a jet in perfect and elegant landing, while raising a long and thick curtain of dust. The suspensions were accurate. Its owner, unlike a driver, looked like a Roman emperor through its clean glass. He always wore linen or cotton jackets in light and light colors when piloting his ship.
My childhood and adolescence passed. Rains and droughts. Springs and summers, along with them the years. After a long time I saw the abandoned red Cadillac again on a lot on Carretera Mella. It was totally rotten, its windows broken, the interior and controls destroyed by the rains and weather. It had become a pile of garbage. I stopped to contemplate it closely and to meditate: Truly everything happens. I wondered how many manhoods had been decapitated by him? How many outstanding virginities in your seats? How much falsehood sold from your presence? I crossed the road and walked home thinking that everything is truly vanity. And I said to myself: “Oh! Time… time you brought everything, and you take everything.
Al Hno. José Jiménez, noble, anciano
Que se ha dedicado a reflexionar sobre las
Vanidades de la vida.
Reg. Noviembre 1995