SEPTIMUS

Por Rammon Freitas*

“Septimus, please come back! Septimus, please!” Septimus was running while his mother yelled at him so he swayed on the spot and stood there for a while, he wanted to take a last look at the farm, the pond and his mother who at that moment looked desperate. He ran towards the hill, whence he would head north after swimming across the river. On him, he just had a backpack with some money he saved, a book, some clothes, bread, biscuits, water and his cellphone just in case. There was no chance that his father would keep up with him, once on the other side of the river, he could not imagine a limit, and his legs would guide him. His journey started more like a sauntering practice. Septimus used to saunter a great deal; it was his favorite activity to fill the time. Walking helped him think, he would put his whole life into perspective, and now, more than ever, it felt as though it was the most appropriate thing to do.

Septimus cast his mind around and it landed on the reason why he was fleeing. He could not turn off the memory of his mother asking him: “You didn’t do it, did you? You’re not lying to me, eh?” He could see her face while recollecting that moment, he could feel her angst, her hate. She looked exceedingly angry and disappointed; Septimus had never seen his mother like that before. Inly, though, Septimus could not feel more at fault, he knew he could not help lying to her. What else would he do? He loved her, but fear was a feeling that he could not shun, she was his mother, someone he loved the most in the whole world, someone he innately cared for and worried about, he did not want to make her that disappointed. That severe look, though, was scaring his soul out of him, that look on her face whilst inquiring whether he was in the wrong or not made him feel so ashamed. Septimus was conscious of what he had done, and he did not feel it was wrong whatsoever. He stopped for a brief moment, sipped his water, looked around and decided randomly what direction to head and kept on. 

A sennight had passed, he was still on the run. On the third day, he felt like turning his phone on, he was in the woods, not lost for the record, and his phone happened to have service. It was bombarded with messages from home, suddenly it was ringing, his mother was calling him. He took the call. His mother implored, sobbing, him to come back home. She told him he would suffer no reprisal from his father, he would be alright, and the whole family would be fine again. Septimus felt sorry for her, it must be painful to lose a son like this. Howbeit, he could not go back, he feared everyone back at home, even his siblings. They would never understand it, the Bible had educated them all well, and thus heading back home was a no go. He was unwilling to face the consequences of his returning. What would everyone think of him? Frequently lost in his musings, Septimus indeed considered the idea of changing; of starting off of a new page; of converting himself to whatever they believed would be the right and apt. 

After two weeks sleeping in the woods, feeding on fruits and drinking fresh water from ponds, he really thought of going to the biggest city near him. He did not know what he would do there, he was young after all, in the middle of high school, an underage, what was he able to do? He just knew for sure that he did not want and could not be found by his family, despite the thick bond that made him connect to them; he had to let it go. So he started to think of illegal and somewhat absurd ways of making a living. He forced away these weird thoughts ever and anon, they made the hair of his arms on end, what was he thinking? In limbo, he struggled on, meandering managing to find answers, trying to figure out what to do next.            

Thinking about the reason why he was fleeing was something that he himself dodged, or at least he made his mind dodge. To his eye it was not a crime, it was not wrong, it was not a sin. It was just who he was, in the deepest part of his spirit and flesh. He wondered how something so natural could be seen as something so despicable and worthy of hate and disgust. He just could not conceive it. He also happened to find out how his parents, and consequently, his siblings found out about it, although it did not matter back then. He wanted them to accept it, live with it, or maybe suck it, whatever felt easier for them. 

Three weeks running away and he finally reached the road that could take him to one of the biggest cities in the state. He stopped here and there pondering whether or not it was wise to go towards the main road. Once there he had second thoughts, however. Hitchhiking was his only solution, but what if he ran into a crazy driver who will come up with indecent proposals, the last thing he desired now was to be propositioned by a lunatic. There was this characteristic of his that consistently made him who he was: he was someone determined and a tad stubborn, if he made his mind on something, nobody else could change it, but himself. Going back home was utterly out of his possibilities. The thought of that action brought him a mix of angst, pain, shame, pity. He started to feel what he believed his family felt for him: he despised himself. 

The weather was sunbaking hot; lorries, cars, vans going to and fro as he stared at the road, as far as his sight could reach, until being able to see those waves apparently ablaze with that vapor on the asphalt, that vapor made out of pure warmth. Those waves trembled during the entire day on those exceedingly hot days of summer. And when the night eventually fell, it would make the nighttime’s calmness and darkness balanced with both the heat of the day that hit the tarred path, and the coolness of the night, coming from above. Septimus also thought of the dew on the next morning, and how he loved to see the breaking of dawn. Had he seen the dew and the sunrise, he would have felt that there was still hope, notwithstanding his determination made him set his heart and mind on another idea, a lorry was getting nearer and nearer, it was infeasible for it to break, so Septimus made to cross the road.

Finis

* Rammon Freitas é graduando em Letras com Inglês pela UEFS.