Part V

She turned around and looked at the house—the house she loved, the house that had nourished her when her heart had been torn and bleeding. She opened the gate, got in, and closed it without hesitation. Then she looked up at him, his mouth half-open as if he were about to say something else. She held his gaze for a few seconds then started locking the gate. When the lock clicked, she looked up again and there he was, in disbelief. But there was nothing else to say. She slowly turned around and started toward the house. Her first instinct was to look at the living room window to see if anyone had been watching, but there was no one there. This seemed to be the longest walk of her life. Who would have thought? She was walking away from all that she had ever wanted at one point in her life—from the boyish smile, the brown curls, the veiny hands. She opened the door, stepped inside, and looked back. He was still there, with defeated shoulders and glistening eyes. Life seemed to be going in slow-motion, with so many possibilities opening up like endless scrolls in front of her.

It felt like it was just yesterday. They were dancing under the dimmed lights of the elegantly decorated party room in the Marriott. She had on a beautiful shimmering dress and dangling crystal earrings. She felt like a million bucks. His hands were around her waist and he kept bringing her closer and closer to him. Her knees were rattling violently and her breath was quick and shallow. He brought his mouth close to her ear and started whispering the things she never thought she would hear. Her imagination was quick—she could see her future, their future. There would be baking sessions, visits to the Museum of Fine Arts, dense conversations about Kafka and Byron and Edward Said until they would fall asleep sometime after 2 AM.  She had let the wind of his whispers tickle her ear and her heart had thundered in her rib cage.

Suddenly, one word had changed it all. Suddenly, she had woken up from the beautiful, momentary dream. Suddenly, she had realized he would never be for her. So she had walked away, leaving him there on the dancefloor, with a puzzled look and defeated shoulders. She had been blind, but now she could see, even if tears were flooding her eyes. She kept walking, not knowing exactly where to go, but feeling the urge to get out of that stifling place. She had always thought that had been the longest walk of her life…until now.

She closed the door and walked through the small foyer in a few seconds. She was walking past the living room and caught something from the corner of her eye which made her stop. It was her husband. He was sitting with her back to her, watching the Christmas tree. She stared at his broad shoulders, his strong neck, and his perfectly groomed black hair.

That night, she had walked out into the hotel gardens and felt her burning cheeks being cooled by the surprisingly fresh May night. Her head was pounding, her blood boiling, her heart yelling. Her voice had choked inside of her, as the walls of her throat seemed to have closed up. There was agony blazing inside her, but not a sound would come out. She had walked across the garden, feeling her heart was about to burst. Suddenly, there was a cry, a sob, faint and deep. But it wasn’t hers. It wasn’t her voice that had finally escaped its trap of misery. She listened. Yes, a low cry—so, so low and desperate. She had followed the sound and, turning a corner, had found its source: a man, with his waiter uniform, huddled in a corner, trembling in sobs, covering his face with his hands. She stood there in front of him, watching him, feeling her own pain subsiding at the sight of such a man weeping with such anguish. After a few moments, he had felt a presence, which propelled him to quickly look up with reddened eyes.

“Cathy!” he had cried, jumping to his feet and wiping the tears off his face. It was a moonless night and she was still very shaken, so it had taken her a moment to recognize him.

“Cathy, are you okay?” he had asked, gently placing his hand on her shoulder.

“Santi—no… Alex, right?”

“Whatever is left of him, yes,” he had replied, forcing a smile.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to… to intrude—”

“No… it’s fine. I should be working…” he sniffled and again wiped his dry face with the back of his hand. “Cathy, can I help you with anything?”

“I’m fine.” She had said it so resolutely that he had just stared at her and nodded. 

“Okay…” he blurted awkwardly and started walking away. She didn’t like him, but he had seemed so distressed that she had considered trying to help him. Before she knew it, she was speaking again.

“Alex…”

“Yeah?”

“I know we’re not exactly friends—”

“As far as I can see, we only have each other right now.”

Alex must have felt her presence behind him, for he looked back and saw her lingering on the living room threshold. She saw him place her angelic nephew, who was fast asleep, on the sofa and stare at her inquiringly. On the worst day of her life, she had found this man she once thought she hated crying inconsolably in a corner of a hotel garden, wearing a waiter uniform. On the worst day of her life, she had found another aching, bleeding heart howling with grief. On the worst day of her life, she had decided not walk away but to place her arm around the broad shoulders of a man weakened by the sorrow of his dying mother. That night, he had looked at her face with those lovely green eyes and told her that Santiago was an idiot and that she the most beautiful woman he had ever seen, even if eyeliner was running down her cheeks in little droplets. With the music blaring in the distance, he had asked her to dance one song with him and had even managed to crack a couple jokes to make her smile. All while his mother was lying in a hospital bed with a shaven head and a mutilated body.  He, who had been nothing to her and who had no duty toward her, had done this. He who was standing in front of her right now. He was looking at her with a mix of worry and fear. But what had he to fear? Didn't he know? It was true that she hadn't always loved him, and he certainly had done a lot of pleading before she had even considered giving him a chance, but after all they had gone through--then it dawned of her: he had seen her from the window. He had probably seen Santiago leaning in and raising her hand up to his chest. Yet there was no reproach, no accusation. He was waiting on her to speak.

She remembered the first time she had met his mother. Alex, his dad, and his two brothers were throwing her what would be her last birthday party. Only close friends of the family had been invited, so she had been very nervous--after all, Alex was just her friend back then. But Angela had received her as if she had always been part of the family: she had embraced her with her feeble arms and kissed her cheek. She had the same glistening green eyes as her son, though made larger by the thinness of her face and the shades of gray surrounding them. But her most vivid memory of Angela was her voice. It was soothing and powerful and kind all at once, like oak leaves rustling with a gentle wind in a warm April morning. Cathy had taken a liking to her immediately. 

"I'm glad to meet the famous Cathy at last!"

"Me? Famous?"

"Yes--at least around here. I hear my son was quite the stereotype of a spoiled teenage football player around you in high school," she nudged and winked at her." But God made sure to straighten him up and force him to become a man." She had said this with a mix of pride and nostalgia. "He's got a good heart, I promise."

"I know he does."

"Do you?" she asked with a playful smile. Cathy had just blushed profusely.

"I wish I'd be here to see it," she sighed. "I don't have much time left, I'm afraid. So I'll be watching from up there," she looked up. "But if there's anything I can say to help my son a bit is this: he's got a really good heart. You see those big beautiful eyes? They're nowhere as big or as beautiful as his heart. You keep that in  mind, okay?" She had.


She continued looking at him until she could no longer contain a dimpled smile. On the worst day of her life, she had found him. He was hers—her sleek black hair, her plump lips, her broad shoulders, her massive hands, her freckled back, her pretty eyes. Her husband—hers. She jumped into his arms.

“‘I love thee with the breath, smiles, tears of all my life!’”, she recited, marking each pause with a kiss.

“‘And, if God choose, I shall but love thee better after death’”, he responded, smiling.

“That night I thought I was helping you, but in reality you rescued me—no, it’s true, stop shaking your head!” she stroked his face. “I felt invisible and then you came along and even though you were going through hell you looked at me like you’re doing right now and you saw me—you saw me when I thought no one did.”

“Well, that was not hard to do!”

“The thing is… I don’t need anyone else to see me as long as you do.” He held her tighter and looked at her with misty and smiley eyes. She kissed him.

“Anyway, I was going to wait until midnight to give you your gift—but I don’t think I can wait any longer!” She rushed to get the tiny box with the gold wrapping paper and oversized red bow that was under the Christmas three. She placed it in his hands and waited restlessly as he carefully opened it and unfolded the rest of their lives in front of her. There would be movie nights every Friday, sleepless nights, arguments about which was the best football league in Europe, runs to the pediatrician,canoeing trips, sand castles, vanilla ice cream, Disneyland, summer barbecues, late night talks about angels, demons, and the Virgin Mary. There would be laughter and whispers and two pairs of eyes glowing in the dark. She watched him as he stared down at the tiny pair of mint-colored, knitted socks.

“Merry Christmas and happy birthday, Daddy.”

                                                   ********************************

Should have a title for this thing by now.... but here's PART IV

He parked the car a couple blocks away, thinking he could use a walk in the sobering December chill. Each step brought with it a different flashback, which was as thrilling as it was confusing. Many things in his memory seemed to have fused together, making it hard for him to distinguish the whos, wheres, and whens. But when one pleasant memory fluttered in the back of his head, he made sure to bring it forth, contemplate it, and savor it slowly. Suddenly he was transported to that glorious night: the lights dimmed across the dance floor, the bass slow and smooth, his hands around her waist and his head hanging low to meet hers. They moved to the rhythm of the ballad and basked in each other’s presence in delicious silence. What was the occasion? That was irrelevant. The important thing was that they had been there together and everything seemed possible when her hands were around his neck. He had danced with his eyes closed and had listened solemnly to her when she broke the silence to tell him all the things he had longed to hear from her. His heart was pounding and his lip quivering, so it took him a while to compose himself enough to be able to tell her how much he had missed her and how he still loved her. Then something had happened—he wasn’t sure what. All he knew was that she had walked away from him and had vanished behind the other couples dancing before he could do anything about it. That was the last time he ever saw her.

What was he doing, then? He was walking to Cathy’s house for God knows what while thinking about her. Why was he going to see Cathy? What was he going to say to her? He hadn’t seen her in a good three years—he couldn’t even remember the last time he’d seen her. What if she had moved away? No, surely she wouldn’t have left without saying good-bye. But how could she have said good-bye? He had made sure to burn his bridges and no one who had meant anything to him once knew how to contact him.

He kept walking, trying not to despair at the thought of potentially not finding Cathy. He was sure that he needed to see her—that’s all he knew for now. There was something about Cathy that he loved: she had clarity of thought. He could lay before her the most complicated existential crisis and she could untangle it in front of him and give him a solution—if only he’d listen. Sometimes he thought her overly practical, but it seemed that ultimately everything that she said was prophetic and everything she suggested would have been the best course of action, if only he would have followed the advice. All these things were flying through his mind until he suddenly looked up and saw a figure crossing the street hurriedly. When he recognized her, he stopped abruptly for a brief moment as if to gather courage. He saw the woman cross the street again and struggle with the gate. He approached her and ended up lurking behind her.

He had startled her, so he took a step back and greeted her softly. He could see the shadow of confusion on her face and then the lightbulb going off when she finally realized who he was. He looked at her and smiled as her knitted brow relaxed.

“Santi! Oh my God!”

Next thing he knew she was throwing her arms around him. It was a bit of a shock, being hugged like this, hearing his own name again. He couldn’t remember the last time someone had hugged him like this. She was so warm and soft and smelled like lavender, just as he remembered her. He closed his eyes for a second and let that scent transport him back to the many times he had spent right here, just outside her house, telling her about his woes, drinking the delicious hot chocolate that only she knew how to make, feeling the sleeve of her cozy red sweater around his shoulders as she consoled him and encouraged him to move on. She had always been there for him. She could have helped him forget—he knew that now.

“Look at you… you look…”

“Like death?”

“I was going to say skinny and cold, but I guess that will do,” she chuckled as she rubbed his arm lovingly.

“You look so beautiful,” he blurted out without thinking. His remark made her blush profusely and look away with embarrassment. He was quite in awe of her glowing face, with its freckles and dimples and sparkly eyes and perfect smile. He started wondering if he had ever noticed how radiant she was or if she had just changed too much. But he knew it had been him—he hadn’t noticed, he hadn’t even tried.

 “What are you doing here?”

“I—I was in the neighborhood and I just wanted to wish you a merry Christmas.”

“Yeah? That’s… weird. I mean, I haven’t seen you in God knows how long. How are you?”

“Well… I don’t know… fine,” he tried to force a smile. She noticed and looked at him with her bright hazel eyes filled with worry.

“Are you… hungry? Would you like to join—”

“That’s not why I’m here,” he snapped, annoyed at the suggestion that he had come to beg for food. No matter how much he had been through or all the things he had done, he was too proud to beg anyone for anything. “I just wanted to see you. I miss you.”

“Oh, Santi…”

“I don’t really have anyone to talk to anymore.”

“What happened with your girlfriend?”

“Who?”

“Oh… Mikaela?”

“She… she’s not my girlfriend… well, I can’t talk to her. She’s not doing too well…”

“Neither are you, by the looks of it.”

“I’m fine, really.”

“Why are you here?”

He fixed his eyes, which were glistening with tears, on hers. There were no words, no explanations, no excuses to be made. He didn’t dare to ask. He could only plead with his eyes. She knew him so well, and he knew that would be enough for her to understand that he needed help. She was looking back at him and he could see her eyes welling up. She still loved him—he could see it. If only she would give him a chance! He came closer to her and leaned in, slowing bringing his forehead to almost touch hers. She was utterly still.

“You’re a mess.”

“But if only I could be around you… I know I would get better. I would try harder. I would get my act together—you would help me.” She remained still and he whispered to her, “you’re good for me. I know I don’t deserve it, but I know I can do better if you’re with me. I could finally forget…”

“Forget? You are still planning on doing that?” her voice rose with indignation and she drew back. She calmed herself by taking a deep breath.

“I’m sorry—yes, I’m still trying to let go. It’s not easy.”

“Well, we’ve all done it, moving on. She is married. She has a kid. What are you waiting on?”

“It’s not so easy!” he cried with frustration, “after all we went through, after all the things that were said and promised. Even a couple years ago—at that party, when I thought it was all lost—I  saw her at that party. She told me she cared for me… that she loved me. Then she just went and married that guy, when in reality she still loved me? How am I supposed to get over that so easily? I’ve tried. Mickey—Mikaela—tried to help me, but it didn’t work. But Mickey—she’s too weak, she ended up worse than me. I need someone strong, who can help me, who can push me to be the best version of myself… Cathy…”

“I can’t fix you, Santiago. Only you can do that—”

“But I’m not asking you to fix me… Just—when I’m with you, I’m better. I know I didn’t treat you right, I took you for granted, I was awful… but if you give me a chance—”

“I will not.” She said it decisively, but with tranquility and gentleness. She was frank and serious, looking at him without embarrassment, yet she was not cruel, bitter, or resentful. He was rendered speechless.

“For years, I waited for you to realize… but you have a habit of refusing to see the truth that’s right before you—whether it’s the fact that Danielle moved on or that I was crazy about you.” His heart jumped inside him and he felt hopeful for a brief moment. She stopped and looked down momentarily as if to gain courage.

“Yeah, I was—and you knew it. Danielle told you she did not love you. It couldn’t have been clearer. But you decided to spend your time getting stoned out of your mind and ruining your life and using unrequited love as an excuse for all that.”

Being accused in such a manner was, truthfully, a small pleasure. If she was bothering to give him a lecture, then she probably still cared. It was good to be held accountable—he knew he needed someone to do that for him. He was glad he had come here, even if her words did hurt and if he was desperate to make things up to her.

“That party you’re talking about? For God’s sake—that was my graduation party, when I finished my degree.  You showed up there, drunk or high or something, thinking she would be there because her brother was graduating in my class. But she wasn’t there, she had already moved to Paris.”

His heart stopped. His eyes widened. His mind suddenly seemed to explode, unfolding before him a vivid recollection: it was Cathy he had slow-danced with; it was Cathy who had put her hands around his neck and had whispered to him that this was like a dream come true and that she had waited for this moment for such a long time; it was Cathy who had heard him pour his heart out; and it was Cathy who had walked away and vanished in the crowd.

“I did think you seemed a bit tipsy, but didn’t realize how bad it was until you called me Danielle,” he could scarcely bear to look at her. “You called me Danielle.”

“I…”

 “I left you in the middle of the dance floor by yourself. That was the last time we saw each other. And here you are, asking me to give you a chance? I did. It was one chance. You missed it.”

“I am so sorry, Cathy.”

“I know you are.”

“Please, forgive me… please…” he took her hand and raised it to his chest. He inhaled that lavender scent and closed his eyes, pleading with her. She withdrew her hand.

“I have forgiven you, but that’s all I can do for you.” He could see pity in her eyes. “I used to think that you were the worst thing that had happened to me. But I made up my mind to not let you break me like Danielle had broken you. I resolved to be happy no matter what.  But in order for me to do that, I had to forgive you--for my own sake. Ironically, it is because of you that I can say that I’m as happy as I never thought I could be”, she smiled at him. After some moments of silence, she added, “what you are looking for is not here, Santi.”

“What do you think I’m looking for?”

“Love. In the truest sense of the word.”

“Well, I thought I would find that here.”

“It’s Christmas. Go home, Santi.”

“Home?"

“Yes, home.”  

                                                       ********************************

Third installment

Looking at her was the greatest pleasure of his life. There wasn't anything on earth that he would indulge so guiltlessly in. He had the satisfaction of staring at her and knowing that it was okay, that he had the right, that despite her apparent uncomfortableness and embarrassment, even though she protested and blushed and laughed nervously, he could look at this woman, his wife, without restriction or apology. Every part of her was his.  He liked to think about the time when she hated him passionately. He could vividly recall the fire of revulsion in her eyes, her lip curling with disdain. He knew he had been a fool, but he thought it rather funny how life had played out and how things had unfolded. He always felt drawn to her, but he hadn't known how to approach her back then, so it was not short of miraculous that she had given him another chance. But that was just like Cathy, he thought. Her heart was too big, too generous. She was stubborn and proud, but she was incredibly just and kind, so she had eventually come to accept that even a jerk like himself could change.

And had he been a jerk? Absolutely. He had deserved every bit of her judgment and scorn. He was arrogant and selfish; he had been a bully, trying to compensate for his own insecurities by putting others down. He had known himself to be liked, admired, and desired, and it was on that vain foundation that he had built who he thought he ought to be. But she had seen right through him from day one. He had looked in her eyes and had seen all those things that made him feel insecure and weak and small. She was like the burning bush—enticing and terrifying all at once. In his refusal to admit that he was fake and shallow, he had declared her an enemy and a challenge to be conquered. First he had planned to break her, then he had come to want her—yes, for all the wrong reasons. But neither scheme had worked: she knew who she was and who he wasn't, and her determination to dislike him would not waiver. That’s when he had started to care about what she had to say, but by then it was too late to make her change her mind about him. So he had to just look at her once in a while, when he made her angry, and then see her bright hazel eyes light up and her face turn scarlet with fury.  That was the most genuine and most beautiful thing he could have aspired to see in a life full of facades.  

“What are you staring at?” she asked cheekily. He kept his gaze on her and advanced confidently, tipping her chin up and kissing her. It still felt like the first time.

After high school, he thought he’d never see her again. She would attend the local prestigious university and make something of herself, while he went out of state to a mediocre university on a football scholarship. The novelty of it all made him forget about her—there were plenty of girls willing to feed his ego in college. Looking back, he could see with horror the direction his life had taken and was grateful his life had crumbled the way it had. After a disastrous first year (both in the field and the classroom), the school had withdrawn his scholarship, and he found himself with a big suitcase and a one-way ticket back home. He was angry and humiliated, but spent his time blaming fate for his own shortcomings. He quietly entered the local community college and bitterly continued his studies, growing angrier and angrier about his situation. Little did he know that life would ask him to man up soon.

That night, mass brought a mix of feelings to his heart. It was the first Christmas he spent as a husband, and his face beamed with pride as he escorted his wife to have a seat among the congregation. He always thought her beautiful, but tonight he thought she looked stunningly so, and his heart tingled with elation. It was a year ago he had proposed to her, on his parents’ porch.  It had been simple and perhaps even anti-climatic, but he wouldn't have done it any other way. He knew she wouldn't have liked it if he would have made a big deal of it and dropped on one knee in front of a bunch of people. She appreciated her autonomy above most displays of romanticism, and giving her an audience to pressure her into accepting his hand would have triggered her stubbornness. So he waited for the right moment that night, and as they sat on the porch after dinner, he had looked at her, with a mustache of foamy hot cocoa on her upper lip, and, kissing her, had told her he wanted her to be his wife. He had smiled, put the little black box on the little coffee table and, taking up the now empty mugs, had gone back into the house to put them in the sink. That walk to the kitchen was the longest he had ever taken. Anticipation was eating at his heart. He knew how much it had taken for her to give him at chance originally, so he couldn't be entirely sure if she would accept. But just as he was putting the mugs in the sink, he heard the front door was flung open.

“Who leaves an engagement ring on a table and walks away? Who does that?”

“Well, me… apparently.”

He had turned around just in time to catch her in his arms.

“Who could say no to that pair of eyes?”

“If anyone could, it would be you.”

She had laughed as she continued hanging from his neck. “Let’s get married, pretty eyes.”

He looked at her from the corner of his eye as he remembered all this and saw tears in her eyes. He squeezed her hand gently and smiled. He looked at the Christ hanging from the huge crucifix at the front of the church and thanked God from the bottom of his heart for it all. When life had seemed to be crumbling, God had put her back in his life, with her feisty eyes and that starry night of freckles on her face.

When they had returned to the house, she had asked him for the car keys because she had left her phone in the car. He had started playing with little CJ, so he didn't think twice about handing the keys and having her go out on her own. After a few minutes, he realized he hadn't heard the front door open again, so he took the toddler in his arms and went to the window. His heart sank: Cathy was just outside the gate, her hand on the arm of a tall, hunched over man. It only took him a moment to recognize him, even in the dark. He was propelled to run outside, but a strange cooling force seemed to have locked his limbs in place. He swallowed slowly; he tightened his jaws; he, with CJ still in his arms, glued his eyes to the window. 

His view of her face was limited, but he could see the man’s face and his reactions to what she would say. He saw them smiling at each other and his blood ran cold. But no, he would not go outside, he would not move one step. He would trust her—even if his heart was paralyzed with fear and his mind was running wild. He would trust her. He saw the smiles disappearing and watched this man take a step forward and lean in while she remained still. The walls of his throat were closing up. He would trust her. He knew her better than anyone—they had shared things with each other that they hadn’t with anyone else. His wife—his. His curls, his freckles, his silky lips, his hazel eyes, his long, strong legs, his shoulder birthmark. He would trust her.

He remembered the first time she had kissed him. It had been their fifth date (yes, it had taken her that long!). They had gone to a basketball playoff game and he had teased her about being shown on the Kiss Cam. She had agreed to kiss him if they were shown on the screen, so he had secretly prayed that they would, but he had no luck. At the end of the game, after a disappointing score, they had been walking back to the car and she was making fun of him about his bad luck with the game and the Kiss Cam. He was hotheaded, and her teasing had gotten to him, so he had started walking faster.

“Hey! Wait for me!”

He had kept walking, but he turned around when he heard her running toward him and shouting “charge!!” He had barely caught her in his arms when the touch of her lips on his set his heart on fire.

“You’re such a grumpy old man sometimes.” Her eyes had been half closed, her hands travelling through his hair.

“So… does this mean you’re my girl now?”

“Your girl? How old are you again?”

“Old enough to catch you every time you decide to jump on me like a crazy person.”

“I think I’d like that”, she smiled and kissed him again.

He would trust her.

**************************

Something new, part II

She could hear her heart thundering with anticipation. Her eyes kept wandering off to the microwave clock. Every hour seemed to stretch longer and longer. She felt she could lose her mind and start shouting it at the top of her lungs.

“Are you sure you are okay? Something’s definitely up.”

“I’m fine, mom,” she said, hiding her smile, and continued chopping the vegetables.

Christmas was the most important day for the family and she had helped with the cooking ever since she was old enough to mince. The festivities were so dear to her—the smell of cinnamon filling the air, the warmth of the oven and the fireplace, the glow of the Christmas tree. The fondest memories were those of joyous, peaceful Christmases when she had been nourished, healed, and loved. It was this tiny old house that her parents worked so hard for that had been her refuge and her fortress, and there was not a more special place in the world for the rest of her life to unfold.

“Your father says they’re on their way, so there weren’t any delays. I think we’ll have enough time to get to mass.”

She beamed a smile at her mother and her mother stared at her in awe, with tears in her eyes.

“A mother’s joy is greatest when she sees her children being radiantly happy,” the gentle lady said, wrapping her arms around the waist of her much taller daughter. Her mom was a poet at heart, and she always came up with the most profoundly moving little proverbs. It was to this woman that she owed everything: her autonomy, her self-esteem, and her determination to be happy. Her parents had never had it easy, yet not once did she see her mom let the shadow of uncertainty or the darkness of pessimism poison her mind. Perhaps her sister and she had lacked a few material comforts, but her parents had compensated for that with love and understanding.

“It’s special, ma.”

“I know, sweetie.”

“It’s kind of surreal.”

“Well, of course it is. If you would have told me three Christmases ago, ‘Mom, I’m going marry that boy from high school I used to fight with all the time!’ I would have peed with laughter!”

“Mom!”

“Well, honey, I wouldn’t have believed it. You wouldn’t have believed it!”

He was the jock who every girl in school had a crush on. She was the feminist who was instantly repulsed by anyone with a GPA of less than 3.0 (and she thought that was herself being tolerant). She saw him as a misogynist pig with a superiority complex and he saw her as a sexually frustrated—possibly gay—overachieving nerd. He made it his mission to annoy her every day during Government class, and, having a tinge of the dramatic in her personality, she quickly declared war on him.

“He was impossible, mom, and a bully.”

“Oh, you are such a drama queen, honey.”

“You know it’s true! How many times did I come home crying?”
“Yes, crying with rage because people liked ‘a senseless jerk with poorly-informed opinions’, as I recall.”

“You have a scarily good memory, mother.”

“I’m a mother, my dear. I’m not allowed to forget anything. But I know that—deep, deep down—you always liked him.”

“I did not!!”

“Oh honey, who can resist that pair of dreamy green eyes? That’s a perfect face if I ever saw one.”

She blushed profusely and smiled from ear to ear, “well, even if he was a big jerk, I must admit that I was not entirely blinded by my dislike of him. But he really was awful, ma. He’s admitted as much—”

She stopped short when she heard footsteps on the porch and the door creaking open. Both women quickly wiped their hands on kitchen towels and rushed to the entry way to greet the rest of the family.

“Go give Aunt Cathy a kiss, CJ!”
The toddler wobbled his way to his aunt, who lifted his chubby body up in her arms and embraced him.

“Hi, baby!” her sister said. To everyone at home, she was still the baby, even now as a married woman.

“He’s so big, Lily!”

“You’re so beautiful, C. Marriage suits you,” said her sister with a wink. Their mom came over and threw her arms around the pair (toddler and all). The three men observed them.

“The loves of my life… right there,” said the proud patriarch.

“Come here, papa”, beckoned his wife. His tanned arms locked around her, his daughters, and grandchild.

Her sister and brother-in-law went to the back of the house, to her old bedroom, to freshen up and unpack, while her parents walked back to the kitchen in animated chatter. She was rocking CJ in her arms and playing with him until she felt his eyes were fixed on her.

“What are you staring at?”

He only smiled and continued to gaze at her, making her light-headed and fluttery-hearted. He walked towards her and, gently grabbing her chin, planted a kiss on her mouth. It still felt like the first time, as if it was just yesterday: they had been taking a stroll in the park and eating ice cream cones one Sunday afternoon after church and he had pulled her by the hand towards him and given her a vanilla-flavored kiss.

“Don’t you ever dare doing that again,” she had cried indignantly, but her knees were weak and her breath quick, so she was glad he was holding her steady. His eyes were emeralds shinning with sunlight as he looked down at her.

“I will do it as many times as I need to until you say yes,” he smiled.

“No, Alex, I can’t do this. I’m glad you’ve changed so much, really. But we’re just friends…”
“ I don’t want your friendship. I know I have to prove myself to you and I will, but you have to give me a chance... I’m not him. I’m nothing like him... I see you. I always have.”

He had driven her back to her house and driven away feeling hopeless. She was convinced she couldn't see him as anything more than a friend, but her mother had helped her change her mind: “Remember the day he picked you up to go to the basketball game? While he was waiting for you he introduced himself and we quickly fell into conversation about how he used to argue with you in high school. He said he did it because he loved seeing your face flustered and your eyes shining with rage. He told me he hadn’t known how else to approach you… that he thought you were way out of his league. I took it as unnecessary flattery to gain points with the mother, but he’s really tried his hardest and he definitely looks determined, honey. Might not be the man you always imagined yourself with, but we know how that turned out, so maybe your intuitions are not the most accurate.”

Her mother's words had wounded her pride, but she eventually called him three days later to ask him out on a date. And now here he was, with his big gentle eyes and his radiant smile—every part of him was hers. It was all still such a mind-blowing novelty, and the exhilaration of having this man looking at her like no one else ever had was a delicious pleasure. He took little CJ from her arms and brushed the hair away from her face with the back of his hand.

“I’m staring at this beautiful face.”

“I rather like you with a baby.”
“It’s as good an accessory as a puppy.”

“But not as great as a kitten, huh?” she grinned, “would you take him to Lily? He needs to take his nap.”

She watched him walk away with the baby and her heart trembled. She had taken a gamble when she gave him a chance, not knowing if she would ever be able to feel what she had felt once. But her heart had, very slowly, grown used to him, and she hadn’t realized it until one day when she was, like now, looking at him striding away confidently as he always did. Back then, just yesterday, they had gone to a shelter for homeless people to volunteer with a Thanksgiving meal, and she had watched him going from table to table pouring lemonade into red plastic cups. She watched him walking around like he owned the place, with that smile and that laugh. She was thinking how beautiful he was and then he seemed to have guessed her thoughts, for he turned around and looked at her. It must have been only a couple seconds that he held her gaze, but it had seemed like the longest, loveliest, most glorious moment of her life. He saw her, he truly did. That’s when she knew. No one could look at her the way he did and she didn’t want them to.

She helped her mother finish dinner before they headed to the church for the vigil mass. She let her hair down and put on her dark blue dress, which was her favorite. Alex liked to match with her so he wore a dark blue vest under his brown scarf and corduroy jacket. The whole family, including little CJ, followed Christmas tradition and headed to St. James’ parish, which was about five miles away from their house. During mass, her heart filled with overwhelming joy and her eyes with happy tears. She felt his gaze and knew he was looking at her from the corner of his eye. When he reached out for her hand, she knew that his eyes must have been filled with the tears, too.  When she had been at her worst, she had heard a voice inside her say that happiness would never find her again. But she fought back, she confronted the shadows of the dark and now here she was, holding this massive, strong, smoooth hand between hers.

“Merry Christmas, pretty eyes.”

“Merry Christmas, my love.”

Because the house was small, there was only enough room for one car in her parent’s driveway, so Alex had parked the car on the curb, a few yards away from the house. After they came inside, she quickly realized she had left her phone in the car, so she asked him for the keys and walked back out to the car. The night was chilly and the cold wind made her face burn. She hurried back and as she closed the driveway gate to get back into the house, she noticed the shadow of a tall man approaching, until it finally stopped and lurked right over her. She turned around and felt her heart sink to the ground.

**********************

Something new...

The numbers on his wristwatch wiggled with each second, and he thought he heard the ticking as a heartbeat. It would wear off soon enough. He would just close his eyes and make the world around him stop its noodly dancing. He leaned against the red brick wall and felt the cutting winter chill stroking his face.

The best part of it all was always this: closing his eyes and being transported to that cool April day at the park, with her hair fluttering in the breeze and her eyes sparkling with sunshine. It had been just yesterday, hadn't it?  All he had ever wanted in life encapsulated in one single moment: her wide, mischievous white smile; the marble skin; the aquiline nose he adored; her strong fingers intertwined with his. The seemingly shy eyes with their feathery lashes. He knew there was fire in them and made it his life's goal to be consumed by it. That certainly happened, as his current state proved, but back then, just yesterday, he hadn't understood what he was wishing for. Back then, just yesterday, the backbone of the future was healthy and steadfast. Back then, just yesterday, she perfectly mimed the language of love and he lit up like a human torch.

"Let's get out of here."

Had it really been that long?

"Tito, let's go... it's getting really cold, man."

"Okay." He opened his eyes slowly and realized dusk had been replaced with a full moon.

"You're gonna have to help me with her, though. She's gone," his friend said, pointing at a figure laying down in the middle of the football field. Gradually, he came to his feet and started walking towards her, steadying himself by using his friend almost like a cane.

"What did you give her, Ralph?

Ralph's reply was cut short by her cackle. They walked on until they got to the middle of the field. He looked down at her and saw his guilt reflected on her haggard face--he had done this to her, just like it had been done unto him.

"Dammit, Tito, why are you so damn tall? You look like a goddamned giant from here! Come on, let's watch the colors in the sky... isn't it called Aurora something?"

"Come on, Roma, get up." It sounded ridiculous, no matter how many times he said her "name". "No Aurora Borealis in this part of the world."

"What's that?" grunted Ralph as he tried to lift her up. He didn't feel like explaining the concept. Putting an arm around each of their necks, she was dragged across the astro-turf field and the school parking lot. Her oily hair complimented the stale smell of cigarettes and sweat emanating from her. It made his stomach turn. He started wondering if he smelled like that to normal people. As they reached the car, she pulled him down by the neck and kissed him, making him shudder. But he had done this to her, so what could he do? Just timidly close his mouth shut and wait for her to pull away.

With her on the back seat, he asked Ralph to drive because he was still a bit too dizzy. Ralph turned up the radio and started rapping along. He hated it.

"Turn it down, man."
"Where do I take you two?"
"Not to the same place..." he looked back at her. She was sleeping. "Let's drop her off at her mom's. Then I'll take you home."
"Nah, take me to my parents'... it's Christmas Eve, I gotta pay them a visit," Ralph chuckled.
He looked at Ralph in disbelief, "okay".

It was hard for him to take that drive to her mom's house, but he knew she had nowhere else to go now and that he definitely didn't want to be around her right now. But the dread of driving by his own parents' house invaded him, even though he swore he didn't care what they thought. They knew his car, what if they were outside on the driveway, just coming home from church or something? They would see a stranger driving the car and himself on the passenger side, unshaven and gaunt.

"What time is it, anyway?"
"8:35"

His parents would still be at church. It was safe.

The streets hadn't changed much: neatly manicured lawns, American flags, inviting porches, jolly Christmas lights mocking him. Before he knew it his house had come and vanished before his eyes and he had only caught a blurry glance of his mother's rosebushes and the silhouette of the robust Christmas tree visible from the living room window. A tingling sensation ran through his body along with the sinking of his heart. For a second he was sorry Ralph had been driving so fast through the neighborhood.

"Hey, slow down... this is a quiet subdivision..."

The pavement was smooth and the mailboxes shiny under the moonlight... nothing like where he lived now--or stayed, rather. He wouldn't call it living. He started remembering all those Christmas Eve feasts: glazed turkey, spicy tamales, golden brown apple pies. Back then, just yesterday.

"When was the last time you saw your parents, T?"
"I--"
"Where we going? Take me home!"
"We're taking you to your mom's, Roma."
"No... take me to my apartment."
"You don't have an apartment anymore, remember? They kicked you out on Monday."
"Don't you fucking take me to my mother's house!"
"You have nowhere else to go", he said, not even looking back at her, but he could feel her eyes drilling the back of his head.
"Fine. Give me a lighter."

He searched his pockets to no avail and then thought he might have put a lighter in the glove box, so he opened it carelessly, causing all its contents to spill on his lap and on the car floor. He hurried to shove things back into the compartment but stopped when he found a CD case that caught his attention.

"Pull over here, Ralph, I will walk. It's only half a block."
"No, lemme take you--"
"I said pull over, dammit! I don't want her to see me with him. She hates him." It always made him feel better to know that Roma's mother hated him. It was like paying his dues for what he had done to her.

Roma fumbled out of the car and shut the door with all her might. She knocked on his window and he rolled it down unwillingly. He knew she was about to make him pay for not wanting to take her with him.

"Oh, I forgot to tell you... She had her baby. They're really happy. It was a girl. They named her Sasha. What kind of name is that?" she scoffed.
"Go home, Mickey."
"That's not my name."
"Mickey, please..."
She showered him with profanity and kicked one of the car wheels. He saw he walking away sloppily. Who was she? It couldn't possibly be the girl with the frizzy brown hair and the braces who had just yesterday promised him she would help him forget. This woman with her unkempt black bob and her stale scent had dived into the abyss to try to rescue him only to find herself even deeper in darkness. At least he could still afford to pay a raggedy room in the bad side of town. She had nothing left. She had left everything behind to follow him, even her own name. He had dragged her down with him in his quest for revenge against himself and now she was broken beyond repair, just like him. And, despite of it all, she still loved him--he was well aware of that. Or was it love? Did love cause you to lose yourself? Did it throw you in a whirlwind of self-destruction? What was that thing his mom used to say about love-- "it endures all things"?  So this must be love. And what his mother felt for his elusive, neglectful, workoholic father was love. And what he felt once must have been so, too.

"Man, ya'll with your high school drama. It's been like five years..."
"Are we almost at your parents'?" he replied impatiently.

Yes, he had loved. So purely and so deeply. He had never been the kind of person to inspire pity: majestically tall and strong, with the air of confidence of an Olympian and a smile worth a million bucks. A star athlete, a star student. He could have chosen any girl. But she was his Delilah. She shaved off his mane, leaving him blinded and weak. He hated her because she had always known what she wanted and how to achieve it, and what she wanted had never been him. He hated her because she was happy and probably had a nice white house with blue shutters or whatever and a lovely marriage that made people sigh and now she had this baby that probably had her hazel eyes and feathery lashes. He always thought he'd go find her once he got really messed up and force her to look at him and tell her it was all her fault, but she had moved away to France because her big-shot husband had gotten a job there. So she had broken him beyond repair and he couldn't even flaunt that on her face.

"All right, man... do you think you'll be okay to drive?"
"Yeah."
"Cool..."
"Hey Ralph," he broke as he walked around the car to get behind the steering wheel, "what's your real name, man?"
"Why do you care?"
"Because... because you're my friend."
"My name is Ralph. That's all you need to know. I don't go around asking you questions, do I?"
"But I've known you for like three years--"
"Get home, Tito. Merry Christmas."

Before he drove off, he looked down to where he had put that CD case that had caught his attention and, taking it up, he read: "Enjoy! -C". Suddenly, he knew exactly where to go.


******************************TO BE CONTINUED***********************************