by Ana Simons
I wander into the historical Boquería food market to grab a bite to eat and sit for a while. I need to think of a line or two to write on the flowers card.
As soon as I pass through the old iron gate, I’m again struck by its charm and vibe, and can’t help glancing around amazed, as if it were my first time here. So picturesque – the grand highlight of the street for many – this market is certainly a world apart.
The colourful fruit stands, the intense smells of fresh bread, spices and smoked ham, the loud voices of the animated stall holders, all mingled with the indistinct chatter and laughter of bustling tourists, almost overload my senses.
I’m so dazed I nearly bump into a guy who’s carrying a pig carcass right underneath my nose. Surreal, really. Like a Dalí painting.
Surreal is also what I’m about to do: try to win over a woman I believed I’d long buried in the deepest layers of my memory. But I guess life is like that, fully unpredictable.
After finding a place to sit down, I lay the colourful bundle of flowers on the table and grab a pen.
For a while I just keep staring at the blank card, oblivious to the chaos and cacophony around me. I’m clueless. I’ve absolutely no idea of what to write.
Lovingly yours?
You take my breath away?
I’m head over heels for you?
When I see you, I think ‘Good job, God’?
Idiot.
The thrill of anticipation mixed with the fear of frustration is coursing through me in such a wild frenzy, I can barely hold myself together.
I take a long, deep breath and look around again, trying to gain some control over the situation before it takes me over completely and I give up.
My eyes rest on a young couple seated not far from me. They’re holding hands across the table, smiling and staring at each other, as if they were the only two people in the world, totally unaffected by the bustle around them. In a soft and tender gesture, he tucks a stray strand behind her ear and runs a finger along her cheek before he whispers something that makes her blush. Their moment is only interrupted by some funny remark of an employee who’s sweeping the walkway behind them. The girl giggles nervously.
And I find myself smiling inwardly too, though I have no idea of what’s going on there. The only thing I know is, whether we choose to admit it or not, every man wants to be that guy, to be with someone who makes them feel like they’re the one.
‘I love you without knowing how, or when, or from where. I love you straightforwardly. I love you because I know no other way’, pops into my mind as I shift my eyes back to the card.
I could actually borrow Pablo Neruda’s line and write it down. In fact, it was Olivia who once wrote it to me, maybe I could return the thought today.
Or maybe not. That’d be probably too much, it would freak her out before I even had the chance to open my mouth and say something.
I keep staring at the empty piece of paper, my pen tapping erratically against the table. I’m equal parts thrilled to see where this goes and scared stiff of her reaction.
I take a large gulp from the bottle of sparkling water and run an impatient hand through my hair.
Okay. Let’s be objective: I’m a guy, and in the end, guys always think in a straight line, they always go from point A to point B, no circling around. It’s a pretty basic paradigm.
That said, and for everyone’s sake, especially mine, I might as well assume I can’t stop thinking about her, I don’t want to either, and that this whole thing is messing me up like no one would believe.
So I’d better paradigm-shift my arse into this as well and immediately take some action. Even if I know beforehand that the oh-crap-what-are-you-doing-here look I fear to see on her face – or even worse, her telling me she’s back with Whatever-His-Fucking-Name-Is – will all hit me like an iron fist straight to my face.
Almost midday, I check on my mobile. I might as well write the truth:
‘I miss you.
More than any words could say.
More than I thought I would, ever again.
Love, Brian’
19 REASON
IF THERE’S A PLACE where you can see and feel the long history of Barcelona, it’s the Gothic Quarter. Dotted with Roman architecture and medieval buildings, it’s a labyrinth of winding narrow streets that converge into the Cathedral Square, a sort of neuralgic point where you always end up when you can’t find your way in this mess of intricate alleys and dead ends.
And that’s where I am right now.
Again.
Damn it, what should have been no more than a fifteen-minute walk is turning into a nightmare. I keep getting turned around and finding myself back at this place, unable to leave the crowds of tourists and pilgrims behind and finally find the way to her place.
Maybe it’s a sign. Maybe I should head back to the airport and forget this insane idea – I keep telling myself that as I, this time, acknowledge my apparently broken sense of direction and look for a map app to rescue me from this absurd situation.
A few narrow streets intersected by a dozen even narrower streets later, I find it at last. Looking up at the third floor of the old stone building, I pray the adrenaline kicks in quickly.
I dial her number.
No answer.
My throat tightens up as I try again.
No answer.
My fingers begin to sweat and a painful tingling sensation trickles down my spine. Persist or retreat are the only two words racing around and colliding in my head; a horrible headache is about to creep in, I know it already.
“This is ridiculous,” I think aloud. I should accept the inevitable – she doesn’t want to see me – and give up.
But before what’s left of my pride sets in and my courage abandons me for good, I give it another try.
“Hello?”
“Liv?”
There’s a long stretch of silence, then, “Brian?” My name comes out in a single breath.
“Do you have a minute? Can we talk?”
A maddening silence falls over the line again.
“Olivia?”
“Can I call you later?” Her tone is low and controlled.
My heart drops. “Sure, but I just wanted to–”
“I can’t talk with you right now,” she interrupts in the same hushed tone.
With my heart slamming even harder than it was before, I look up to the third floor, to the open window where a flimsy white curtain flows out against a colourful pot.
“It’s really important. And it won’t take–”
“I’m sorry, but I have to go now.” And she hangs up. Just like that.
Damn it, I curse myself for having listened to my sister and embarked on such a crazy idea.
Realising that the opportunity to leave with some dignity has just presented itself, I ponder what to do. Her dismissal is probably my cue to forget about all this.
It is. Leaving is the only reasonable thing to do.
Except I’m a man who doesn’t give up on anything that easily, much less when I want it so badly. I don’t care anymore if I cock it up completely. Fuck being reasonable!
With some luck, I might not even have to come up with a very elaborate plan to make her listen to me. There’s an old lady leaving the building, struggling to get through the front door. I hurry to hold the door open.
“Venga, le ayudo, Señora. Olivia me ha invitado e iba a subir ahora mismo,” that I would help her, because I was already on my way up to meet Olivia who had invited me, I tell her with my rusty Spanish.
She looks up, squinting against the light, assessing me first, then fixing on the flower bundle. Eventually, her face breaks into a warm smile and she reaches over to pat my arm gently. “Gracias, chico.”
After helping her bring the wheeled shopping trolley out to the pavement, I rush to the lift and punch the call button. It seems it will take an eternity and another three days to come down, so I give up and take the stairs.
I�
��m already heading up the third flight when, in the distance, I hear a resonant ‘no’ and a door slam. My senses leap in suspicion something isn’t right.
The tension propels me forward and I rush to the third-floor hall, where I pace with quick steps towards the door number I recheck on the post-it note my sister gave me.
3B.
Voices come right from the other side of the door and I creep closer to eavesdrop on them.
“Escúchame, déjame hablar a mí–”
“Es que estás sordo o qué? Vete, no te quiero ver más. Esto se acabó y hablo en serio. Desaparece y déjame en paz.”
Unease slides down my spine, stiffening my back. Damn it, she’s with her ex.
This is a bloody nightmare, the only positive thing about this mess is they’re having an argument. He wants to tell her something. Probably that he’d been an idiot but after some epiphany-like moment he realised he can’t go on without her.
Again, the same old song. Fuckwit.
I guess my only consolation, for now, is that she’s demanding he leaves, ironically asking if he’s deaf or what because it’s over and all she wants is to be left in peace.
Running a nervous hand along my jaw, I take a sharp intake of air. Shit, I didn’t come prepared with a plan B, let alone with a plan C for this awkward situation.
As much as I hate to admit it, I should go now and wait for her call. I can’t get between her and the blithering moron here.
The doorknob turns again, but someone keeps the door from opening.
“Mírame! Olivia, escúchame bien.”
That she should look at him and listen, he growls in a low menacing tone.
“Suéltame.”
That he... should let go of her? Her voice is trembling, and I do not like the direction this is taking.
She says something else then, something indistinct and muffled I can’t comprehend.
“¿Pero creías que podrías escapar de mí así? ¡Eres una zorra malagradecida, eso es lo que tú eres!”
The degenerate bastard is threatening her! Telling her she could never escape from him... that she’s a... an ungrateful slut?
My hands ball into fists, I can hardly control the growing fury boiling inside. I feel like storming inside and breaking his fucking neck.
“¡Filipe, suelta mi brazo que me estás haciendo daño! Si no te alejas, voy a gritar.”
What?
She’s begging him to let her go because... he’s hurting her? And if he doesn’t, she’ll cry out for help?
She doesn’t have to. The same second my brain decodes the sentence, I pound on the door.
No one answers, though. There’s only a long dead silence, one that is almost unbearable, that is only to be broken by another heavy knock and a ring on the bell.
But then, finally, I hear the door open and Olivia peeps out, her face pale, her brimming eyes threatening to spill over.
“You?” She looks up in surprise and swallows hard, apparently unable to make the words leave her mouth.
No further words are exchanged. I just keep looking down at her, our eyes locked on each other. With my gaze I let her know I’ve heard it, that I’m here for her.
Reaching out for her hand, I mouth, “You okay?”
“Yes,” she responds with a faint, almost inaudible whisper.
From the inside comes an impatient “Who’s there?”.
She lowers her eyes and shakes my fingers off, an expression of sadness on her face that makes my jaw muscles clench.
“Please, go now. I’ll call you later.”
“Okay…”
On the spur of the moment, I push the door open and enter the apartment with confident steps, as if I’d done that a lot of times before. I’m not leaving her alone with this arsehole.
“Sweetheart, how come you’re not ready yet? We have to go!” I give her the flowers. “Here, for you. Maybe you want to put them in water?”
Clearly dumbfounded at the scene, Olivia receives the bundle in almost mechanical motion, gives me her best creeped-out smile and heads inside.
I then extend my hand to give the git a handshake.
He’s caught off guard and to my own surprise and his, he greets me back. There’s shock written all over his face.
“¿Quién coño eres tú?” He blurts out, his eyes looking me up and down.
Who the fuck am I? I’ll tell you who the fuck I am.
“I’m her boyfriend,” I say with a bright smile, acid dripping into every syllable.
A furrow of confusion forms on his forehead.
Narrowing my eyes at him, I then give the final thrust with my chin raised in defiance. “What about you? Who the fuck are you and what are you doing here?”
A hard thump, followed by the sound of broken glass echoes across the room. I turn and find Olivia looking at me, frozen, surrounded by gleaming shards and scattered flowers.
20 SHARDS
BAREFOOT ON THE glass-strewn floor, Olivia’s body was stiff, on her face the expression of utter surprise at my spontaneous and, sure, completely irresponsible answer.
She looked at me for a few beats, her forehead creasing deeper and deeper, her eyes narrowing to note the explanation she would definitely hope to receive later.
“¿Otro amigo con derecho a roce?” Whether I was another friend with benefits, the stupid prick was inquiring, stressing another with his lips curved into a mocking smirk, jerking his chin towards me in a provocative manner.
“Filipe, vete ahora, por favor.” She didn’t reply to his provocation, though. Instead, she just asked him to leave in a politer way than the bastard deserved.
“¿Oye, tío, estás de rollo con ella o no?” Addressing me directly, he demanded to know if I was bonking her or not, on his face the same sarcastic smile. Anger was rising in his eyes, though.
“Hey, haven’t you heard her?” I growled, with my fists clenching, exasperation simmering in my stomach too. “I think you’ve said more than enough. You should go now,” I finished, permitting myself a sardonic half-grin.
“¿Qué? Es que no te entiendo,” That he hadn’t understood me, he said with a cynical smile and a note of sarcasm in his voice.
Sure, he had. Imbecile.
Boiling inside, I pinned him with a straightforward stare and pointed a threatening finger at him. “If you talk to her like that ever again, I’ll break your fucking nose, you hear me? Now bugger off!”
“That’s enough, you two!” Olivia yelled.
An icy silence fell over the room and her eyes stayed locked on mine, her mind probably trying to make some sense out of a situation that was about to reach cataclysmic levels of bad. As if dealing with an idiot wasn’t bad enough, she was now between a rock and a hard place having to deal with two idiots, both of whom were claiming a woman who didn’t belong to either of them.
In the end, I swallowed my own pride. “I’m sorry, you’re right. I should leave now. It seems you still have a lot of things to sort out. I’ll come back later.”
“No! You’re not the one who should go.”
I wasn’t? She wanted me to stay?
Then she faced him and told him in a voice that did not tremble, “Filipe, no hay nada más que decir. Vete ahora y no vuelvas más.” That there was nothing left for them to say, that he should leave and never return.
With a mix of surprise and perplexity stamped on his face, he looked into her eyes as he weighed her words. “¿Es verdad? ¿Estás saliendo con este tío?” Was it true, that we were dating, he asked her again – right before a nervous hand began to rub across the back of his neck.
She didn’t bother to reply. Her eyes darted from her feet to the other side of the room, to the entrance hall, then to the moron’s face, and then back to mine. Tiptoeing around the broken glass, she headed to the door, pulling it open. With a head jerk, she invited him to step out.
He didn’t follow immediately, he kept looking at her with narrowed eyes, waiting for her to answer.
She n
odded. “Sí, es verdad.”
It rocked me to the core when, with her deep green eyes peering into mine, so intently that my heart almost skipped a beat, she let that shy yes escape from her lips.
He snatched his jacket in a fury and paced towards the door, fuming like he was going to have someone killed – probably me – growling and snarling something I couldn’t decipher, likely a dozen swear words.
With that, Olivia closed the door behind him and leant against it for support, looking pallid and worn. As if her body had gone limp, she slid down.
Sitting on the wooden floor with her legs bent up, she let out a deep exhale before resting her head on her knees.
“Olivia…” I rushed to her, to soothe her.
However, she quickly composed herself and when I was already on my knees facing her, she raised her hand to stop me. “What was all that? What are you doing here?”
“What do you think?” I pulled myself close between her legs, our faces so near they almost touched.
Pinning her under my gaze, I traced a finger down her cheek and finally leant in to leave a kiss on the top of her head, hoping that the nearness would help calm her down.
“What the bloody hell just happened?” she asked again, shoving her hand into my chest to push me back. “What made you think you could burst into my life after all this time and solve my problems for me? I’m a grown-up woman, perfectly capable of looking after myself. I don’t need any man to come and rescue me.”
I raised her chin, making her look at me. “Hey, the guy was threatening you! What would you want me to do? Walk away? Act as if it’s none of my business? Pretend I don’t care? Let you handle it by yourself for the sake of some feminist emancipation, gender liberation or whatever stupid theory you could possibly throw at my face?”
She didn’t answer to any of my interrogations, she just remained still, looking at me, our faces mere inches apart, our breaths intertwining.
