A cold day.

Mother asked me to go to bank the other day. It was sunday, she could go, but I was feeling complacent and agreed. I asked little Christian to go with me and, surprisingly, he actually did.

The bank is not far away from our apartment; only a couple of blocks, though we have to cross a mayor avenue on the way. We put our coats on and walked there.

It was a cold morning, enough to give a chill, but I didn't mind. The sky was a solid, light gray that was strangely comforting.

Gripping Christian's small hand, we made our way trough Marina Nacional during a stoplight.

Once on the sidewalk, Christian looked at me with his big, olive eyes, and asked me teach him how to run. I'm not exactly sporty; hell, it's been months since I last excercised. Yet, I felt like being childish: it had been so long since I allowed myself to act like a kid, if only for a second.

Smiling, I told him to run, and so he did, with me hot on his trail. Somewhere on the trail he lost a shoe and fell.

I turned and helped him up, found his shoe and tied it. Our laughter rose into the air, where it mingled luxuriously for a second, interwinding in a subtle caress to my sore heart.

Only for a minute.

My peripheral vision caught the ATM guard looking at us strangely. I sighed and held Christian's hand again, getting into the booth to retrieve the money.

But when I left, I was smiling.

In that one minute, it all seemed to go away. The depression, sadness, pain, annoyance, even hatred. My doubts and insecurities, lethargy and insignificance. It all leaked into the air, rushing past me in my haste.

For a moment I was wind against a face, shoes against the pavement, a coat fluttering in the cold. I was nothing and everything, and nothing at all.

I was happy.

And when I walked into the apartment, I was still smiling.