Al principio creíamos que estaba loca.
Se sentaba todos los días, a la misma hora, en la plaza frente a una piedra grandota que ni bonita era, y se ponía a hablar con ella como si fuera su mejor amiga.
Llevaba su banquito, su bolsita con galletas y un termo de café, y ahí se quedaba, conversando con la piedra, como si esta le entendiera y de paso le respondiera.
Unos se burlaban, otros cruzaban a la acera de al lado, y yo, sinceramente, la espiaba desde el quiosco de café de la esquina porque me causaba mucha curiosidad lo que hacia.
Un día me acerqué, no porque quisiera hablar con la piedra, jejeje, sino porque andaba con muchas cosas que me estaban molestando y no tenía a quién contarle lo que me pasaba, me senté y no dije nada, pero ella me miró y me dijo, “a veces solo hay que dejar que las cosas salgan”.
Ahí entendí que ella no hablaba con la piedra, hablaba con sus cargas, con su soledad, hablaba con su tristeza y con sus recuerdos, y la piedra… bueno, era solo el lugar donde podía dejar todo eso sin que nadie le interrumpiera ni la juzgara.
Al día siguiente regresé, y al otro, y al otro también. Y no fui el único, poco a poco, esa piedra se volvió algo así como el confesionario del barrio, iban niños, abuelos, adolescentes, gente que no hablaba con nadie más, y ahí se sentaban un rato, dejaban lo que le pesaba por dentro y se iban un poquito más livianos.
Nunca supe el nombre de la señora, un día no fue más, pero la piedra se quedó, y todavía hay quien se sienta a hablar junto a ella, y aunque algunos sigan pensando que es una locura, para mí fue una de las cosas más sabias que vi en mi vida.
Porque no era la piedra lo que ayudaba… era atreverse a hablar y entender que, a veces, lo fuera de lo común…
Es justo lo que necesitamos.
Si quieres participar en este contenido
Invito a: @alicia2022 @osomar357 @ungrancuento
🇬🇧 English Version
At first, we thought she was crazy.
She would sit every day, at the same time, in the plaza in front of a large, even pretty rock, and she would talk to it as if it were her best friend.
She would carry her little stool, a bag of cookies, and a thermos of coffee, and there she would stay, talking to the rock, as if it understood her and would respond in turn.
Some people made fun of her, others crossed to the next sidewalk, and I, honestly, spied on her from the coffee stand on the corner because I was really curious about what she was doing.
One day I approached her, not because I wanted to talk to the rock, hehe, but because I was dealing with a lot of things that were bothering me and I had no one to tell what was happening to me. I sat down and didn't say anything, but she looked at me and said, "Sometimes you just have to let things out."
There I understood that she wasn't talking to the stone, she was talking to her burdens, her loneliness, her sadness and her memories, and the stone... well, it was just the place where she could leave all that without anyone interrupting or judging her.
The next day I returned, and the next, and the next. And I wasn't the only one; little by little, that stone became something like the neighborhood confessional. Children, grandparents, teenagers, people who didn't talk to anyone else would come and sit there for a while, leave behind what was weighing them down, and leave a little lighter.
I never learned the lady's name; one day she wasn't there anymore, but the stone stayed, and there are still those who sit and talk next to it, and although some still think it's crazy, for me it was one of the wisest things I've ever seen. Because it wasn't the stone that helped... it was daring to speak and understand that, sometimes, the unusual...
That's exactly what we need.
If you'd like to participate in this content,
I invite you to: @alicia2022 @osomar357 @ungrancuento
