Retiro Park
-How did you do it?
The girls enjoy a day at the . They are so happy that the ducks on the lake are entertained by their fun. The meadow envelops their smiles.
-A few phone calls, the occasional donation, and the refusals turn into broad smiles. I told you so.
I bow my head. I have thanked Blake so many times that repetition puts my good manners to shame.
Being in love is a card game where each game won is a chickpea that adds points. The first chickpea, she got it with the first naughty look. The second chickpea, when her kisses became my morning breath of air. The third, when the hands went beyond the superficial touch. And when the chickpeas already filled my bag of love, I find myself, as now, making room for a new legume. I dreamed so many times about the handsome one coming into my life, that I forgot what it would be like to find the perfect man.
-All right?
His hand caresses my chin. I die and resurrect at his touch. I don't remember anyone, ever, loving me as much as he claims to love me. I walk on a pool of waves, dreading the day when I fall headlong into the bottomless precipice. A lifetime of waiting for stability to prove that there is no greater insecurity than feeling in love.
-I have no words to tell you how grateful I feel.
-Everything I do is for you.
-Why?
My hesitation pushes him back. He sits on the grass leaning his back against a log. He stops looking at me. His legs cross each other. I just screwed up. I've read several books on body language and they all agree that crossed legs are a very bad thing.
-I don't know why I asked. I'm like that sometimes. I'm sorry.
-So suspicious?
-Besides being a lost idiot. Yes.
He snorts in annoyance.
I position myself in front of his negative legs. He hastens to open them to drag me to his side. I rest my head on his chest. It is my way of apologizing. My eternal doubts between wanting and abandonment make me an unstable of desires. Sometimes I want, sometimes I reject and sometimes I suffer before what I didn't lose.
-I know how you feel.
-No one knows how I feel.
-I do," I release my grip to focus on his tense face. When my parents died I hated them. The pain tore me from the inside. I felt alone and lost. I also felt abandoned.
-You were afraid. It was logical.
-All the fear that can be contained in a child holding his little sister's hand.
The blackbirds sing in love, and the squirrels approach cautiously looking in the crumbs for the answer to their gluttony. The girls do not stop chattering and playing. They enjoy the park like prisoners free from their sentences. In the background, in the large hallway, the tarot readers tell fortunes to the young girls who are enthusiastic about a future that is a little more promising than their mundane lives. Meanwhile, off to the side, the puppeteer gesticulates with wide eyes at the children who nervously eat popcorn.
And in the midst of such perfection, Blake and I, we find ourselves joined together like two chestnuts fresh from the tree. His voice is as clear as his words. In the month we've been together, I can't remember ever feeling so relaxed.
-I hated them deeply," he begins to speak, stretching out the tenses. I wanted to kick the cop who brought the news. I needed to hit fate and its torturous truth. I screamed, I shouted, until Mariam's little fingers gripped my hand in fright. At that moment I was speechless. A woman in the same uniform as her partner held my hand to lead me to a patrol car. The fat red-haired man tried to pull me away from Mariam, I wouldn't let him. I became so furious that her partner promised to take responsibility for both of us. The fat man nodded rather annoyed. I asked where they were taking me, he replied hospital. I remember hearing something about my mother and I felt hope being reborn. She was alive. Do you understand? -He looks at me and his eyes have a tearful gleam in them, reliving the moment. I ran through the corridors with Mariam tangled in my fingers. The agent opened the living room door for me and I was petrified. My mother was so beautiful, seeing her in that state left me unable to move-Blake's hands cling to mine. I try to let my warmth soothe a little of the cold that runs through him. The nurses came out and the doctor gave me a little space. He can hear you, he said to me before distancing himself. She managed to stammer out words. She was crying so hard I could barely understand. She was saying things about: loving each other, taking care of my sister and some wishes that at the time I didn't want to understand. I refused to imagine a future in which she did not exist. I was a child, but I had seen movies, and this was a farewell. I shook my head, shaking my head a thousand times. Marian's trembling little hands reached out to comb the blood matted hair.
Tears stream down his face. Sincerity makes beautiful people precious, and Blake at this moment, is the most beautiful boy on the planet. The jet-black locks mingle with the sparkle in his tear-laden eyes. So many times I've heard girls say that toxic bad boys are the most attractive, I don't think any of them have ever known the love that sincerity holds. I allow silence to fill our moment.
-You asked why I want to see you happy," he raises his head to face me. The heat of his burning fire reaches me and burns me-when I'm with you that orphan child feels he has something that can't be taken away from him. When you smile you make me smile too. We were born to be each other's happy part.
-Since I was a child, I thought that people loved me out of pity. A useless being who didn't care if I had to leave. A girl incapable of falling in love because of what she was. You are that boy who knew how to look at me.
-I love you. I don't want to spend a minute away from you. What you were or what you will be doesn't matter. I like you so much that I'm drowning in my own feelings.
I'm on the spot. His piled-up words get stuck in my brain. I'm on the verge of fainting in love. I reach out my hands to stroke the roughness of his incipient beard. I bite my lip to keep the tears from escaping. I sit in a world that can't be real. His fingers lift and wrap over mine against his cheek.
-I love you," I say in a stifled whisper.
I throw myself on his torso feeling that the distance of a few centimeters are an insurmountable torment. Strong arms open and envelop me with the warmth of love and the scent of grass and wood from the green meadow. His fingers reach for my chin to pull me close to his lips. I need no further invitation. I open my lips ready to savor the sincerest of kisses.
-What the hell is this! -We both blurted out as if we had just been found naked in the middle of a kindergarten.
Don Ponce de León throws so much lightning from his pupils that the sky is dressed in a storm.
-Absolutely nothing," I say, standing up. Blake positions himself next to me. His protectiveness is so fervent that I add two more chickpeas to my bag of crushes.
-Who are you? I don't know you. Name, surname and ID. Now!
-Dad!
Alba approached as soon as she heard her father's shrieks.
-You shut up! Look at the way you look.
The poor thing crosses her hands above her waist trying to cover up the indecency of a T-shirt and shorts that even my grandmother would have given the thumbs up to. Blake remains silent despite his swollen jugular vein.
-My name is Sofia Reyes, I am pleased to meet you. If you allow me...
I stretch out my hand. Anselmo, the teacher of yoga and other astral therapies, says that everything that begins with politeness ends in dialogue. After my hand met with the discourtesy of his disgusting gaze, I put it back in my pocket.
-We are leaving.
-Sir, if I may explain, I think we are in a deep misunderstanding.
The man, who had so far been watching his daughter pick up the foil scraps from the sandwiches, muttered undisguisedly.
-Eating sandwiches in the park like a tramp. What's waiting for us next, my child! Porros at a neighborhood concert?
-Mr. Ponce de León!
-Who the hell are you?
Here I go again.
-I am Sofia Reyes. And as I was trying to explain a moment ago, I collaborate in an integral project of the school where the girls develop their skills as...
-Do you belong to the school staff? -The sharp voice interrupts me.
-No. I'm a radio announcer. Rigel, the sports teacher, thought...
-Speaker? You? -Which station?
-It is my own project. My program is called...
-Let's go," he turns and orders his daughter.
-We are working on a project of artistic expression. When you arrived..." -I hurry the words as much as I can, but nothing, this man doesn't let me finish a sentence.
-I can imagine what kind of expression women like you like.
-What are you implying? -Blake steps forward. I hold his arm. Alba, meanwhile, grabs her father by the hand to pull him away from Blake.
-Thank you very much," the young girl speaks so fast that the words are slurred. I had a great time. I'll prepare the report for next week. Dad, shall we go?
The man is more of a warrior than a father.
-See you Alba!
I raise my voice towards the young woman, who moves away while I hold Blake with all my strength, so that he doesn't chase and kill him right here. Blake jerks to get loose. He is very angry.
-You shouldn't have stopped me.
-We wouldn't help her if you murdered her father.
-He won't get away with it. He doesn't know who he's messed with.
My boy looks like the protagonist of a Saturday afternoon movie. Pure contained adrenaline.
-Is something wrong?
-Nothing. Absolutely nothing.
I hide my smile. I'm as much in love with his tenderness as I am with his bravado. Although I'd better confess it to him at a time when he's less irritated.