Uniform
Alfredo always loved his job. But, even more, he loved his uniform. For 38 years he carefully washed it, applied a softener and ironed it with utmost care. Every morning, his shiny blue jacket was smelling good for the passengers, his trousers were falling perfectly over his clean shoes, and his impeccably put hat was making a great impression on everyone who entered his old tram.
He drove through the streets from the morning silence until the busy afternoons, carefully slowing down so that the elderly would have no difficulties coming on and off at the stops. He patiently gave directions to sunscreen-smelling tourists. Alfredo loved the way the uniform fiber fitted the tram seat, and smiled all around when children would ask for a picture with him in his important-looking outfit. His tram would never stop offering so needed service, riding through rain, and through the festival sardine smoke. Yet, the suit would always be good as new the next day.
On that sunny August day, Alfredo reached the depot to park his tram, taking his hat off only at his locker as always. He was about to hang his coat, only to find a package with a municipal stamp and his name written on it waiting at the desk.
"What is this?" - Alfredo asked Luís.
"The new uniform."
Alfredo's face froze in disbelief.
"We will be using them from tomorrow. You can keep the old one."
Luís quickly left the depot. Alfredo remained in silence, alone. It took him some minutes to gain courage and slowly open the package, as if afraid of what he will find inside. What he found was a dark blue, emotionless outfit, without any sparkle of wonder to it. Struggling for air, totally sober Alfredo walked towards home in a drunken step, holding his freshly retired shiny blue uniform close to his chest.
After taking twice as the time than usual, Alfredo finally reached his home. When he sat on his kitchen chair, it struck him - for the last week before his retirement he will not wear the only uniform he felt as his own. His very best suit. The symbol of the everyday he loved.
The week passed as a flash. Alfredo barely remembered any of it, even the little goodbye party his colleagues organized for him was but a blur in his mind, just as the handshake with the municipal transport company director who handed him the service release envelope. He knew the retirement will be challenging, that his pension will not be enough to get by, he already prepared some old items for sale at the local flea market, but he wasn't prepared for this kind of an ending. After a month of suffering, Alfredo couldn't look at his beautiful uniform in his home anymore. The uniform that carried so many stories which he felt were denied to him on that last week as a proud tram driver. His sales were not going well, he was barely making ends meet, so that morning he decided to take the still perfectly ironed uniform to the flee market with him.
People were passing by his stand. He cleaned the items over and again, arranging them differently, examining peoples' reactions. His old cups, magazines and an old wooden chessboard didn't attract many looks. Towards lunchtime, a group of young people stopped at his stand, laughing loud. Alfredo raised his tired gaze as one of the youngsters asked:
"How much?", pointing at the uniform. Alfredo said the price in half-voice. The money was given and the next moment his glorious uniform was gone. The group was moving away from his little improvised stand, and as the uniform was swaying in young man's hands, Alfredo was remembering everything: all the way back to how Maria looked at him when he wore the uniform for the very first time. A shy smile appeared on his face. He became aware of the smell of carnation flowers from a stand next to his. He put the just acquired money in his pocket after buying a few carnation flowers and left the market. Tomorrow he will have enough for the pharmacy bill. And he has his stories back. They became exactly that, stories. Now, he was ready to create new ones.
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This story can be seen in many people out there, a real story I can say.