Le garçon d’à côté

Wow, c'était déjà le matin. La lumière du soleil se glissait à travers les rideaux et tombait sur mon visage. J'ai gémi et tiré la couverture sur ma tête, espérant pouvoir voler encore quelques minutes de sommeil, puis les coups à la porte sont arrivés.

« Mateo, c'est l'heure de la prière du matin. » J'ai soupiré sous ma couverture. « Ouais, ouais. J'arrive. »

Je viens d'une famille religieuse. Et pas n'importe quelle famille religieuse : mon père est prêtre.

Parfois, je me demande si les gens se rendent compte à quel point cela peut être épuisant.

Tout le monde s'attend à ce que je sois bien élevé parce que je suis le fils du prêtre. Les parents à l'église m'utilisent souvent comme exemple pour leurs enfants. Certains des plus jeunes viennent même me demander des conseils, comme si j'avais déjà tout compris à la vie. Je ne suis qu'en première.

Je me suis finalement tiré du lit et j'ai trébuché jusqu'à la salle de bain, encore à moitié endormi. Après m'être brossé les dents et lavé le visage, je suis descendu.

Ma famille était déjà rassemblée dans le salon. Ma petite sœur, Lucía, était à genoux à côté de ma mère. Elle était en CP et réussissait inexplicablement à avoir l'air complètement réveillée à cette heure-ci. Je me suis agenouillé à leurs côtés, j'ai joint les mains et j'ai incliné la tête.

Bientôt, nous avons commencé notre prière du matin. Quand nous avons terminé, tout le monde s'est immédiatement mis à s'activer dans la maison. Comme c'était le week-end, nous avions des choses à préparer avant d'aller à l'église. Mon père avait ses devoirs, tandis que le reste d'entre nous aidait à organiser et à nettoyer ce qui devait l'être.

J'apportais une boîte vers la fenêtre quand j'ai entendu le bruit d'une voiture dehors. Je me suis arrêté.

Un camion de déménagement s'était garé à côté de la maison voisine.

« Oh, » ai-je murmuré, de nouveaux voisins. J'ai posé la boîte un instant et j'ai jeté un coup d'œil par la fenêtre. Il semblait que deux personnes seulement emménageaient, un homme et son fils.

Le père était occupé à parler à quelqu'un près du camion, tandis que son fils se tenait près de la voiture, regardant autour de lui dans le quartier. Puis le garçon a levé les yeux.

Je me suis figé. Ses yeux étaient bleus, et pas seulement d'un bleu ordinaire. Ils semblaient presque incroyablement éclatants sous la lumière du matin. Il avait la peau claire et de longs cheveux clairs qui tombaient autour de son visage.

Je l'ai fixé une seconde de trop. Il y avait quelque chose chez lui qui a immédiatement attiré mon attention. Je ne m'étais même pas rendu compte que je le fixais toujours jusqu'à ce que…

« Mateo ? »

J'ai sursauté. Ma mère se tenait derrière moi. « Qu'est-ce que tu fais là ? »

"N-Nothing." I quickly turned away from the window and picked up the box again. "I was just looking outside."

My mother gave me a confused look before returning to what she was doing. I crossed the room carrying the box, pretending to be busy, but my eyes kept drifting towards the window.

The boy was still outside. I didn't know his name, I didn't know where he came from, and I certainly didn't know why I couldn't stop looking at him.

All I knew was that our new neighbor had arrived and, somehow, I already had the feeling that my quiet little routine was about to change.

Soon, we were ready to leave for church. It was the weekend, which meant we had several activities to contribute to before the service the next day. I followed my family outside and headed toward the car.

As soon as I stepped outside, I noticed my father talking to the new neighbor. The two men were laughing together as if they had known each other for years. Standing next to them was his son, Nikolai.

I looked at him again. His style was different from what I was used to seeing around here. His long hair framed his face, and his way of dressing was definitely more fashionable and expressive than most of the boys at our school. He didn't seem bothered by it; he just stood there, looking perfectly at ease.

My mother came up beside me. "I think we should talk to them," she said softly. "Perhaps we could encourage them to come to church and accept Jesus."

I sighed. "Mom, please," I whispered. I didn't want to start an argument, so I went to the car and opened the trunk.

Behind me, I heard my father speak. "My name is Father Rafael," he said warmly. "I'm the priest here, and I take care of the church nearby. We would be very happy to welcome you and your son tomorrow." My hands froze for a moment. Tomorrow?

I glanced over my shoulder. Nikolai was still standing next to his father. A small smile appeared on my face before I could stop it.

I quickly turned away. Unfortunately, Lucía noticed. She gave me a suspicious look out of the corner of her eye. "What?" I asked, but she didn't say anything and continued to stare at me. I rolled my eyes and went back to the trunk.

A few moments later, my father arrived and got into the driver's seat. "Oh, Mateo," he said, starting the car. "I almost forgot. Our new neighbor's name is Gabriel, and his son's name is Nikolai."

"Nikolai," I repeated softly.

My father nodded. "I've already invited them to church tomorrow."

I nodded. "Okay."

For some reason, I smiled again. I looked out the window one last time. Nikolai was outside with his father, the sunlight catching his long hair as he spoke.

I quickly looked away when he turned in our direction. The car started moving with the hope that I would see him again tomorrow.

The car continued down the street, familiar houses passing behind the window as we headed towards the cathedral.

For a moment, no one said anything, then my mother spoke. "Mateo, you'll help choose the choir today." I looked up. "Why me?"

She looked at me in the rearview mirror. "Because you're the priest's son. You're supposed to set an example. You have to show everyone how righteous you are."

And there it was again. The priest's son. I sighed and ran my fingers through my hair.

My mother had always been like that. Everything I did seemed to carry some kind of expectation.

I had to be polite. I had to behave well. I had to make the right choices. I couldn't shame my father. I couldn't disappoint my mother, and above all, I had to be an example to everyone else.

Sometimes I wondered if they even remembered that I was just a seventeen-year-old teenager. I leaned my head against the glass.

Here we go again with the big speech. I didn't say anything out loud. It was pointless.

Soon, the cathedral appeared. It wasn't far from our house, so the journey wasn't long.

My father parked in the parking lot and everyone started getting out. I opened the trunk and began taking out the things we had brought: boxes, cleaning supplies, church supplies.

I carried one of the heaviest boxes towards the entrance. The familiar smell of the cathedral greeted me as soon as I crossed the threshold.

I had spent most of my childhood there. It was supposed to be like home, and most of the time it was... but sometimes I felt like everyone knew exactly who I was supposed to be, except me.