Chapter 19
Barcelona
Brady
I have no idea what has gotten into Hayes tonight but I’m not resisting anymore. The wine makes my whole body warm from the inside. It takes the sting out of the slight sunburn on my nose and makes me feel like the evening is full of possibility.
As soon as we step out of the bar, I have no idea which direction to walk but I’m not lost. I’m holding Hayes’ hand as he guides me through the dark alleys.
Above us worn wooden shutters with chipping paint stand behind ornate cast iron grilles.
The streets twist and turn as we pass centuries of crumbling statues.
Terrifying gargoyles with fangs and pointed ears.
Saints in stone gowns. Angels with wings protecting secrets and sins.
Hayes squeezes my hand as we take a sharp turn in the maze of streets toward an ancient wall from a Roman ruin.
I think that maybe tonight I want to take down the walls myself.
The alley narrows and I touch the rough stone with my hand, feeling the centuries of wear.
The alley becomes so skinny, Hayes puts both hands on my shoulders and stands behind me, guiding me down the path, making sure we are connected the whole time.
I follow the scent of frying garlic, roasting coffee and roses until we reach a small square with a single tree in the center and benches around the edges.
I hear guitars strumming loudly and I see the sign for ‘Duende Libre’, the location of our dance class.
We enter an archway covered in flowering blossoms to a courtyard with an intimate dance floor and small tables with lanterns that decorate the surfaces with flickering shadows.
“Buenas noches,” Isabella says with her camera on her hip.
She’s ready to capture all of the intimate moments of our fake relationship that is beginning to feel more real by the second.
“I’ve got everything I need ready. I’ll be moving around getting shots.
Everyone has already signed releases. Enjoy the class.
” She’s not nearly as tense as she was when met her.
I’m not sure if it has more to do with the glass of wine I see by her equipment or the glasses of wine that I’ve already had.
An older man in tight black pants and a billowing black blouse open to his waist approaches us.
He tightens the crimson scarf around his neck and kisses Hayes on both cheeks and then does the same with me.
“I am Manu,” he says, and rolls his wrist in front of his face as his fingers flutter with a flamboyant greeting. “You must be Brady and Hayes.”
“I’m sorry we are a little late,” Hayes says.
“Tarde?” Manu frowns. “No, no,” he wags his finger stiffly from side to side. “We do not apologize for being late in Barcelona. Everything happens in its own time.” I look at Hayes. He then raises a single eyebrow and looks at me.
“Let’s begin!” Manu claps his hands together and the other members of the class stand up.
A middle-aged man in a sequined black tank top, a petite woman in an FC Barcelona team soccer jersey with a larger woman in a Real Madrid shirt, and a few other people nervously shuffle in the open courtyard waiting for class to begin.
A mix of bodies and ages for sure. Some are sturdy and muscular like Hayes but others are lean and more fragile like me.
Solo travelers and queer couples all here to try something new in this magical place.
“I was born in Andalusia but came to Barcelona as a teenager to teach flamenco. As you can see, that was a long, long time ago.” He uses his hand to smooth his cascading grey hair and laughs. There is a musicality in his accent as his intonation rises and falls.
He claps his hands and is joined by another person about his age who twirls across the floor, a blur of pink, sky blue and white ruffles. He introduces them as his partner, Esmereldo. There are two guitarists sitting off to the side and they begin to strum with a powerful intensity.
Manu explains how flamenco began in the south but quickly spread out across the Iberian Peninsula.
He instructs us to watch but reminds us that it is more important to listen and to feel.
He stomps his feet with more force than I would have expected from looking at him and then his hand sweeps up above him in a gesture of power and passion.
Esmereldo does the same thing but their movements have more liquid to them.
Manu instructs us to follow but not to mimic the movements.
“You must be in your body.” A sly smile crosses his face.
Hayes has his eyes closed, moving his head to the rhythm.
I use the opportunity to study him closely.
I’m mesmerized by the small bump in his nose that I first became acquainted with back at Clarkson.
It’s still there, but where is the buttoned-up medical student who arrived at JFK airport ten hours before his flight?
The music picks up and Manu begins to dance with even more force.
His body pulses and gyrates below the waist but his torso remains still and poised.
“Flamenco is not straight. No,” he says, still deep in the music.
“It is like us. It bends. It breaks.” Esmereldo’s body arches.
“Flamenco is a solo dance. But from the individuality grows community.”
Manu demonstrates a sharp turn on the balls of his feet and we all try it, wobbling, tripping, laughing but coming together as a group.
The women in the soccer jerseys almost fall on each other but one of the other students catches them.
It takes a few songs for everyone to find their way to the experience but eventually, we are all dancing.
The rhythm finds our feet, our chests, our arms, wherever the music chooses to enter.
The tempo accelerates and I can sense we are all beginning to feel more connected.
Hayes is entirely entranced, keeping his eyes closed as his feet stamp, his fingers snap and his arms extend above his head.
I close my eyes as well and let the music take over.
My palms hurt from the intense clapping.
The guitarists strum wildly, faster and faster, until every single person in the courtyard can feel it vibrate in their bones.
“Arsa! Arsa!” Esmereldo shouts over the music and then it all comes to a fiery conclusion and everyone shouts, “Ole!”
We are silent for a moment. Sweat covers my bare arms and the middle of Hayes’ chest is damp from perspiration.
“Asi e?,” Manu says to the students. “Don’t tell anyone but the queer classes are always so much more fun than any other. Let’s take a short break. We have some wonderful Manchego and a rich Rioja to share with our new amigos.”
A violinist wheels over and positions her chair to the side of the guitarists so they are now a trio.
The sounds shift from the high-energy pulsing beat to something smoother and quieter.
Hayes and I sit in a corner off to the side where small cream triangles of cheese with dark purple rind on the edges fan across a platter next to an open bottle of wine.
Hayes collapses on the chairs and pushes his legs out and his head back. “That was so much fun. I didn’t know guitars could even make that kind of sound. Woo-doggie!” he says, and I laugh.
When I first met Hayes, he was so much more country than when he graduated.
The occasional “y’all” was heard from time to time but it’s been ages since I heard something as deep-fried as “woo-doggie.” I like this cocktail of Southern roots and awakened libertine.
He pours us each a glass of wine even though we’ve both already had our fill.
“I forgot what a good dancer you are,” he says with a grin, and the tone and glint in his eyes catch me off guard. Is he flirting with me, or is it the wine? “Remember when we went to that party at Phi Sig and you were dancing to some old song. What was it?”
“It was ‘Can’t Get You Out of My Head’. Kylie Minogue.
And it is not an old song. It’s a classic.
” I’ve loved Kylie Minogue since I was a small child and I had a teenage Australian au pair who I think was a club kid on the weekends.
She introduced me to Kylie when I was barely able to walk.
I’m not saying that made me gay, but I’m sure it was a contributing factor.
“I remember that party. You told me you weren’t coming because you had to study. We got into it.”
“I remember,” he says. “I let it slip that the midterm was in two weeks and you couldn’t figure out why I would skip a party for something so far away.”
“That’s right. So, I left. Pissed off. But you finished studying and came anyway.” I take a slice of the cheese and enjoy the salty creaminess against my tongue.
“Brady, that’s not exactly what happened.
” He takes a breath. The music is now soft and gentle in the background with the violin at the center.
“I wanted to go to that party so bad. I wanted to be out with you, but it was all so new to me. I was scared. You left and I didn’t even crack a book.
I sat there and tried to get the courage to open the door to my room and walk down College Ave to join you. ”
I knew that I was the first guy Hayes had seriously dated and that his upbringing didn’t really prepare him for life as an out bi man.
I mean he wasn’t singing post-disco hits with a nanny in his bedroom the way I was.
But I didn’t know all this was going on inside his head.
He kept his struggle invisible, or maybe I wasn’t looking hard enough.
“I thought you just loved to study,” I explain.