Since my early childhood my dream has always been astronomy. I have only few memories from those far years, but I still remember a child, 3 or 4, awake in one of the many sleepless nights, exploring the starry sky from his bedroom, sat on an old wooden chair, with his trustfully maybe-too-big telescope. That child wanted absolutely to explore the universe and its secrets and answers to impossible questions, but the thought of such a big journey always brought him great pain and loneliness, then again, he already felt alone, if it wasn't for another child, bigger than him, that was almost always by his side. Despite that, I no longer his face or his identity and neither his name is recollected in my memory. Something happened, making me delete all the events and the people that was involved with my life until age 4.
I had never the chance to use that telescope and see the night from that window again. But the dream never faded.
My early recollection stabilizes in a different town, probably not my hometown, since I've always felt uncomfortable. Ma and Pa were always there for me. Despite their dedication and their will to make me happy, granting my wish, school didn't help: teachers'd given us too many homework and I was so naïve to help my classmates by preventing sleep for doing all the tasks and going to school earlier to help them with their many questions and doubts. I kept going well for some years, locking in my bedroom after arriving home, looking for concentration and quiet. My parents were really worried, since my routine didn't included going out with friends. What are friends and what for, anyway? At the time that word was unknown and the concept unacknowledged. If I was helping my classmates (and even senior classmates), it was because of... I don't know exactly how to explain it, but giving advices following my knowledge pleased me a lot.
But the efforts were too much to bear: I almost failed an year. Ma and Pa were really worried, even if Lucille was really having an heart attack. When they talked to the teachers, they were speechless to those "despicable bullshits", so Pa called them. He went in my room, while mom was sleeping, at 2 am. I was just staring to the ceiling, sit on a chair, the desklamp on and books and sheets of paper scribbled by the tiredness. He took a nearby chair. I was knackered, but not asleep: with all my efforts I straightened my back, the eyesight rightly orrizontal, watching my father approaching.
"Oh sorry, I've woken you up. I'm slow and noisy." he chuckled, seeing my exaution by my eyelids.
"Worry not. I wasn't sleeping." and a yawn escaped my lips, not closed in time.
Always snickering quietly, he took from his pocket his glasses, after cleaning the lents with the sleeve, and analysed those notes. His eyebrows formed a frown. "Still doing homework?"
My eyes fell on the ground, feeling bitter taste of the shame. Strangely, it wasn't that unfamiliar.
He sighted, his gaze on me. "Son, I guess you already know what teachers have told us."
Silence was doing my dirty job. I'm a coward, other than stupid.