We are not alone
We walk a few steps down the wide hallways. It reminds me of when, with the girls and Anthony, we wander angrily through life carrying our misfortunes in ring binders. Ahead of us a door opens and closes like a canteen. Behind the thick hinged timbers small voices become disorganized shrieks. With Blake, we set off triumphantly towards our destination. We have been wandering stealthily for ten minutes so as not to be caught. The fear of liars runs through our bristling skin.
-Hello. Who are you?
-Hello," I replied with a dazed smile.
A blond surfer with a Mohican ponytail greets me with a pristine white smile.
-I was looking for a student. Her name is Alba and she is a fourth grader.
-And who says he's looking for her?
The sinewy boy holds a ball under his arm. At my school the gym teacher was a bald and gray-haired sixty-year-old. Bald and gray-haired! I'd better not dwell on unpleasant details.
-It's for my radio program.
Blake positions himself next to me. Very, very, very next to me.
-A radio, how interesting.
The teacher bends down to put the ball in the materials drawer while I bite my tongue holding my naughty grin. If the girls were admiring the same buttocks as me right now, I'd have to tie them up so they wouldn't kidnap him.
Blake clears his throat, staring at me with his deadly pupils. I raise my eyelids innocently.
-And why are you looking for Alba?
The surfer, now a climber, begins to climb a thick rope to pick up a metal hook that hung a few inches from the ceiling. Mother of God, that's not normal back width.
-It's for a report the girl is preparing for her final project. Blake speaks with a seriousness that cuts through the air.
-Yes, her name is Alba. I repeat like an automaton.
Did you just jumped down with one knee on the ground? For heaven's sake, let them prick me and I won't bleed.
-We have three Albas in the fourth grade. Ask the tutors for permission. I don't think they will have any problems.
-Thank you very much. We won't bother you any more.
-It's no bother. The blue-eyed blond smiled, lighting up the sports hall.
I think I'm about to pass out. Blake opens the door pushing me from behind.
-It has been a pleasure.
-My name is Rigel. Nice to meet you.
-Your name is like...
-The star is.
-What an appropriate name... You didn't let me say goodbye," I say against the closed door, recomposing my appearance.
Without answering me he walks ahead. If it wasn't silly I'd say he was angry. That speed is not normal.
-What's wrong with you?
-Me or you?
I run at a brisk pace to catch up with him and stand next to him. And not because I'm short, but because the floor is slippery.
-Nothing is wrong with me.
-You should ask your pants.
-Pants?
-The ones you just lost in front of that guy.
-Not at all. He was a nice guy and she was being polite.
Blake stops dead in his tracks and I'm left walking three steps alone until I realize. That's a warning!
-Can I be just as polite to a stunning blonde?
-It's not the same," I say, looking down at the toe of my precious Converse.
-You're not alone anymore," Blake's arms are crossed. You should remember that.
I prefer not to answer. I don't like discussions. Much less if I find myself on the losing team.
I like Blake and I'm melting for his bones. It would be very difficult for me to explain that, although he is my weakness, our relationship is not jeopardized by a little admiration for a professor with a slender body, crystalline topaz eyes and rocky musculature.
-Sofia...
-Where exactly are we going? -My masterful change-of-subject move. A classic of extreme circumstances. Without it I would have lost my witty little head several times.
-Room A," he says, resuming his march.
-?A?
-Said room A, C and F. You would have heard it if you hadn't been transfixed on their gathered hair.
-I heard it... I heard it. I was just checking the information.
-Well. I'm not clear if the fourth grade is in this building or the next one," Blake scratches his chin, studying both directions.
-I go back and ask him.
-Sofia..." -that grimace is a hidden smile. I got it.
-Don't look at me like that," I say, raising my arms. If we get lost it will be your fault.
-Sofia...
-It's a joke. The smile escapes me mischievously. Seeing him jealous is an interesting pleasure to enjoy.
I cling to his elbow.
-The professor is gorgeous and looks like a Greek God.
-Sofia...
-But you are a thousand times more handsome and interesting.
-You're lying.
-Does it show that much?
I laugh and pass the silliness on to him.
-You're going to drive me crazy.
-I thought you already were..." he looks at me disoriented, "because of my bones.
I manage to get a laugh out of him.
-Because of your bones, your skin, that mole between your hip and back, and that dimple that forms right here. The finger points to the exact spot on my cheek.
I am petrified. I don't know what to say or what to do. The verification of knowing that I'm so caught, I love it. I say delighted, fascinated! I'm jumping on cotton clouds next to the colorful unicorns. I look at him and hold back the guy. If it weren't for the fact that we are in a school I would jump on him and eat him with kisses. My heart declares him predilection above all others.
-Don't abandon me," the words come out before I bite my tongue.
She has never told anyone before. Her shining black pupils light up like a night full of lovers. I bow my head in shame. I didn't want to say it.
-Never. I promise.
-Who are you?
I absentmindedly reach up to wipe away a stray tear as Blake clears his throat before answering the man, who, with both feet inside the classroom, pokes his nose out into the hallway.
-We are looking for a student. Her name is Alba.
-Who is looking for her?
-My name is Blake and it's for a radio show.
-Alba! They're looking for you. She shouts from the door to the classroom.
A girl with two deep purple locks on her sides stands up chewing gum.
-Five minutes! And don't get lost in the corridors, we already know each other.
-Never teacher.
She looks at the rest of the class who smile at her mischievously. The young girl with the pants seven sizes too big comes out and leans one foot on the wall before speaking.
-Who are you? -The young woman looks at us sideways.
-I'm Sofia and this is Blake. We are from the radio.
He continues to chew gum as if it were nothing.
-What radio?
I look for the notebook in my backpack and show it to him.
-We spoke on Saturday on the radio. This is your notebook. We know everything.
-That notebook is not mine. Why don't you leave me alone. It wasn't me. Toni lit the fag and I picked it up. They have no proof.
-Toni?
-He said it was tobacco and I took a few puffs. I'm not a stoner. I like Toni and you know, I was drunk. The usual.
I sigh to the ground.
-You didn't call the radio.
-What for?
-Thank you very much. You've been a big help. Blake opens the door for her and closes it as soon as she enters the classroom. Room C?
-Room C -I repeat.
I walk with my head down.
Blake's words just flew out. I'm terrified. What if it doesn't work? What if he hurts me? What if he feels sorry? What if he leaves me?
We get to class. I knock more than I should. This time a bespectacled lady calls out Alba's name. A young girl walks towards us.
-She is not.
I look back in disappointment. Blake stretches his head curiously.
-How do I know... I understand.
A leggy young woman in a wide-belt style miniskirt walks out the door, fluttering her hair from left to right and right to left.
-Hi, I'm Sofia.
The girl does not answer. The chipped enamel on her little finger has her engrossed.
-I'm going to hang it in the stories," he says, showing us his index finger. I'll have to spend the whole day with my fingernail half-painted. It's not like I'm from Entrevías.
-It is a neighborhood like many others. I answer getting some of his attention.
-Why are they looking for me? -I'm not sure if the look of disgust was at me, at the neighborhood or at her manicure.
-We are from the radio. We are recording a program.
-Radio? Does that still exist?
-It exists and we're recording," Blake dances the cell phone in his hand.
-Recording? Nooo! -The jumps almost made her lose her skirt.
Blake and I looked at each other not knowing if we should restrain her and send her to the asylum or wait for her to calm down. The second option seemed the wiser.
-You're from Madrid Talent! They liked my song, I knew it!
-I think you're wrong, you see?
-Guys! You can show your cameras now. I know it's you. Madrid Talent I love you!
The young girl fixes her clothes while shouting at the supposed hidden cameras.
-I expected it. I'm not going to say I was the best, but I'm not going to deny it either. I've been in singing lessons for six months. I studied with the best, I even hooked up with one.
Blondie speaks into Blake's hand focusing on the totally turned off IPhone.
-Seeing as you've spotted us," I say, trying to stop his version of Shake it off, "Why don't you go inside and wait for us to call you back?
-Oh yeah," he says, pausing on the last shake, "I have to hide this finger. Did I tell you I'm going to give them a zero in the Amazon reviews?
-About thirty times. Now go into the classroom.
The young woman left, shaking her hair as when she left, but backwards. From right to left and from left to right.
-For the F?
-Let's go.
-For the fifth time I tell you that I am not your Alba.
-You have nothing to fear.
The girl twists her neck to show her doubts. That's what happens when you look for a listener all over Madrid. You try to explain that you're not a psychotic serial killer and she doesn't believe you. I don't understand.
-If you show him what you have in your bag?
The girl backed away in fright. I may not be an expert in trust techniques, but Blake.
-I don't have a gun, don't worry.
She continues to lean back. There is no way to relax this girl. I slowly reach into my backpack and pull out the pastel-colored planner. I move as slowly as El Prendas showing my pockets to my neighborhood greengrocer.
El Prendas is a homeless man who always wanders along Hortaleza Street and whom we all help because, I don't steal out of vice but out of necessity because you see, madam, the poor class has only come to this world to suffer misfortunes and if they had given me the chance I would be a man from Madriz, one of those fine men who wear shoes by the feet, but fate made him a camel father who was blown up with two bulbs when I was a child and a whore mother who was so ugly that she couldn't even get two bitches out of him.
-I think it's yours.
I hand Alba the diary with super slow movements. I also learned these from El prendas.
-How did they find her? - Alba can't hide her joy.
-The important thing is that here it is.
The young girl stretches out her hands and clutches the newspaper.
-Are you going to call him?
-To whom?
-To my father.
-Why would we do that?
-We won't. Blake affirms in a deep voice.
-Why are they here?
-We want to help you. You are not alone. Remember?
-He will never understand me.
The girl turns to leave and I try to stop her by the elbow, but with such bad luck that the teacher sees me.
-Alba, everything all right?
The young woman nods as she walks along clutching her notebook. The teacher closed the door in front of us. The signal is clear. We must leave. Now I understand how poor Garments feels when he is left on the other side of the supermarket.
-You've tried.
I walk around thinking over and over what to do. I think so... Oh, what a shock!
-I'm sorry," says the sculpted body of the handsome professor, holding me by the shoulders so I don't fall. You're the one I was looking for.
-Me? -I look up and see Blake intrigued.
-Have you recorded the program?
-We couldn't." I try to be clearer, but I can't. I can't. This boy was born to be admired in silence.
-We are in the last month of class and I think it could be very interesting for the girls to do a radio program that combines artistic expression and corporal expression.
I'm not sure if I'm not talking because I didn't understand him or because I can't believe those eyes are real.
-How?
-I mean, if they are interested, we could do a radio show with the girls during my P.E. time. I'm sure it would be fun for them. We could combine sports topics with voice-over. It would be a good experience for the senior girls. What do you think?
-Charm. I mean charm you. Aying... charmed. Delighted with the idea.
-Great! I'll talk to the director. Do you have a cell phone? I'll give you a missed call so you can reach me.
And in one moment I was nobody and in another I am the owner of the most wanted phone in Madrid. When I show it to the girls they won't believe it.
-Can you tell me how you're going to do a program from here? -Blake waited to see him leave before cutting me off with his icy, deadly question.
-Sure you can. I do it for Alba. This way I can help her.
Blake walks away without answering me. I hurry to his side. My legs are a little shorter. Not because I'm short, but because short steps wear elegance.
-Blake, wait," I hold his hand so that he stops just as he is about to cross the exit.
I get her to stop walking. Our hands are still joined. He looks at them and I close my fingers tighter. Her skin has a unique warmth. I look up and the side of the big school looms behind me. I'm here chasing a madness. And he is with me. I am no longer alone. I have someone to tell about my shitty days and my crazy ideas. I have someone to listen and wait for me with freshly brewed coffee. I have someone who loves me for who I am without asking what I did or what I was. Love is the medicine of the sick who don't flinch.
-I love you. I love you.
The noise of the cars surrounds us and envelops us. The city keeps moving without understanding that our separate lives have just clamped together to start walking together. His hand caresses my face. The other one's fingers are still intertwined in mine. The spring warmth glows against the radiant dawn. Time stands still and our gazes kiss. Because sex needs kisses to make love, but the warmth of a single glance is enough for feelings.