“Did you hear that?”

She struggled for air as she breathed the words out. And of course, the very fact that she was speaking meant that her lips were no longer upon mine. She was always so paranoid when it came to this, always as nervous as a deer, head bent down to a body of water, eyes dancing frantically from side to side in search of predators.

“I didn’t hear anything”

And I hadn’t said that just so that she would turn to me once more, letting her body fall again on mine, pushing her swollen lips on me, wrestling my own in that shivering battle for dominance. My voice had a dim timbre of frustration but it spoke the truth. The only thing I could hear was the syncopated duet of our hurried breathing. Yet she remained as if I had said nothing. I lay beneath her, drowning in the jagged hills of her bed, embraced and teased by her scent, which rose from everything and everywhere around me, especially her mattress. To think that every night her body spread where now mine did. Her tender frame, sleeping, forgotten to the world; that image was as incomprehensible to me as the moment of creation, as death. And dying I was as my eyes rose timidly towards her. She was still clad in her school uniform, as was I. She knelt on the bed, on top of me, one half-naked leg anchored on the sheets to each side of my hips. The sun caused the minuscule forest of blonde hairs that plagued her arms, usually invisible, to glisten as if suddenly ablaze. Her thighs peered from beneath the folds of her skirt, a smooth piece of clothing laced in blue and brown colors, earth and sky mingled together to cover the rest of her legs out of sight, the fiery core of the earth, the secret golden garden, rolling hills of skin disappearing into the night. Above, her white shirt, the top two buttons undone, a brief sample of the bare skin of her chest, rising up and down as if inviting me to uncover it completely. And then, her face, wrapped in a tangled net of hair bristling in colors that ranged from the brown of mud to the simmering yellow of the sun. Her face, not looking at me but turned to the window instead; that deer face again, of which I could only glimpse the profile, one fearful eye.

I waited, as I always did, for that worry tinged with a smudge of horror to secede from her expression, as it always did. Always, but not this time. Instead, one of her legs lifted to the air as if part of an acrobatic routine and she dismounted me; her body propelled swiftly to her window. Not without a sigh more pronounced than it could have been, I rose to my feet and approached the crystal from which the warm snakes of light crawled into her bedroom. With lazy eyes I peered outside and saw nothing but the patch of grass that lay across the street, one lonely tree crowning its center. Nothing was moving but the branches of the tree as they danced extravagantly under the currents of air. I turned my head to her, picturing our bodies pressed together again, dancing our own extravagant waltz. I opened my mouth but stopped; no word dared endure the terrified mask that suddenly coated her face.

“It’s my parents”

Part horrified, part amused at the shivering tone of her voice, I gazed one more time out the window, sure of the fact that the only problem we faced was that of her paranoia reaching new heights of exaggeration. What little amusement had permeated my face was gone as I saw the white monster slouching along the street, that mythical creature of which I knew only from tales told to me by Mariana and her brother, and believe me, not warm stories those. With anxious eyes we stood by the window as the pale beast trudged on towards us like a predator. Even the dancing tree seemed to grow nervous, frantically moving its arms as if trying to warn us: run, run fool! It said. Yet we stood, watching the white Jeep draw closer by the second until Mariana suddenly stepped back and uttered a faint cry, her extremities flailing in panic like those of the tree.

“What are we going to do?”

She murmured to herself as she paced like a kid that needs to use the bathroom but doesn’t quite know how. All the while I kept my face against the crystal in an effort to catch a brief glimpse of the driver of the Jeep, approaching as undeniable as a tidal wave. She peeked one last, somber time outside and then grabbed my hand. “Come with me” she ordered, and before I could reply she took my arm and towed me with an irrefutable force. I was dragged from her bedroom as the white Jeep docked in the garage just below her window. In one final effort I stretched my neck and shot a glance at the car’s windshield but caught only an ephemeral vision of two stout hands gripping the steering wheel in a merciless hold. The next second I was tumbling down the stairs, being pulled by Mariana’s iron hand, my feet dancing swiftly as I tried not to trip and roll all the way down; that I managed to land on my feet at the bottom of the staircase seemed to me a miracle. Once down there, I turned my head; the front door stood before me like a monolith, white and stretching far above my head, an unreal sculpture that had lost all logical meaning, and for the first time I felt fear’s cold fingers caressing the back of my neck. But before I could ponder this further, I was again pulled furiously by the arm and away from the faceless monolith.

Like soldiers plowing through a frantic battlefield we ran, heads down as if to avert enemy gunfire, moving down the dining room, into the kitchen, and finally past the sleeping machines that dwelled in the laundry room, faded white and stinking of detergent. We ran, but my eyes remained towards the front door. All the while I was almost expecting to see the wooden frame kicked open in an explosion of splinter and shrapnel, a coat of dust rising from the ground, and behind it, the silhouette of something half-human, half-demon staring down with bloody eyes and clamoring in a bellowing voice: “You think you can lay your filthy fingers on my daughter and get away with it?! Now I will defile you!” And then the overwhelming beast would charge right at me, my fate decided. Yet no such creature appeared; the door remained still and lifeless, that faded white paler than ever.

We stopped for a brief moment in the laundry room as Mariana opened the door to the back yard. An echoing metallic sound coming from the rusted door’s lock exploded within the small room as I wondered idly (and not without a devious grin) if Mariana’s colorful collection of underwear would be nesting inside the washing machine or one of the baskets that littered the room. Then I heard a high-pitched and long squeal as the iron door gave way to the backyard; sunlight poured greedily in, falling on everything like a hungry animal, warm to the skin of my arms and face. Before I could utter a sound, I was thrown furiously outside, like a drunk from a bar, and into the green carpet of grass that napped lazily under a beautiful day of blue sky and calm air.

“Wait here.”

This time I didn’t even bothered with a reply; it was a good thing because the door was screaming once again before the words were completely out of Mariana’s mouth. The door closed with a strenuous thunder, and then there was nothing; nothing but the frail sunlight washing over me, as if trying to calm me down. I looked around, not daring to move lest I make a sound that would attract the unwanted attention of the legendary monster known as “mi suegro”. My body was trembling slightly; hell, I was scared, I won’t lie to you. I don’t know exactly how long did I stand there but it seemed to me at that time that it had to have been at least half a day. And all the while, a universe of thoughts paraded through my mind like performers on a pageant, the most prominent of them being: “Can’t I just escape from here and avoid this whole situation?” No, I couldn’t. The backyard was pretty much one big square of grass; a tall, sturdy wall coated pink rose along its perimeter. Even if I could climb it somehow, I would fall into another such square, and then if I was seen, I would have to give some explanations. So I decided to wait.

I turned to face the hoary iron door, and I wondered. What if? What if when that door moans open again, I see not the golden head Mariana, but rather the ravenous face of her father? Would he say something to me as he opens the door? Would he even expect me to be there? But above all, I wondered, what would I say if such an event occurred? I could see it in my head: “Who are you?” the man would ask, astonished to find me standing there, a complete stranger, as still as a statue decorating his backyard. “Why, wait a second!” I would reply, “This is not my house! What am I doing here?!” After that, laughter almost forced its way out of my struggling lips, yet I didn’t have to fight it long, for the metallic thud of the lock resonated once more, heavier than the world, louder than thunder. The door then opened with a dramatic slowness that I thought only happened in movies. I was so scared that my eyes fell to the ground like anchors falling freely to the depths of the sea. What would it be, beauty or beast? The door cried open. I could not see who stood there. My eyes crawled slowly through the floor in the direction of the door, my head still low. What I found there both amazed and calmed me. It was Mariana’s feet. They were encased in a pair of socks composed of stripes of all colors, pink, white, red, blue, yellow, green. But what really caught my eye were the toes. Her socks were the kind that have individual sleeves for each finger, you know, like gloves that go on your feet instead of your hands. Each toe was a different color too; how silly, I thought. And yet I remained there, unable to move. At that moment, the universe seemed to collapse upon itself, life suddenly too incomprehensible, too mysterious in its unlimited possibilities for definition. And then, as if her socks were not ridiculous enough, she started wriggling her toes; they squirmed like multicolored worms. To this I had to smile. I finally looked up and there she was, her face drenched in sunlight and also smiling. She was as radiant as fire; if this was due to the day’s light bouncing off her skin, or because of her iridescent smile, I couldn’t tell you. I just remember thinking: “My God, she is beautiful”.

But this Brief Glimpse of Joy was indeed short, for before I could notice, she had clasped my arm once more and we had dived right back into the war zone. Only this time, there was an unexpected development. As we ran back into the dining room, I saw Mariana’s mother standing by the stairs. She looked amused. Mariana seemed not to be surprised. As we ran past her, she said: “Mom, this is my boyfriend, the one I told you about.” The woman did not reply in sound, but instead glanced at me, smiled, and waved her hand merrily. I responded with a blush and my own embarrassed smile, shrugging shyly and apologetically. Then she was gone. And for the second time that day, I was thrown by my girlfriend from her house, rather rudely I might add.

“I’ll call you.”

Then the door spoke one final exclamation as it shut closed. Mariana’s voice still lingered in my ears, fading away by the second.

“Bye.” I whispered to the pale monolith and then walked away without looking up to make sure there was no one looking through the windows.

As I reached the lonely tree that I had glimpsed before from a different vantage point, I embraced it like an old friend. I turned back, one arm still wrapped around the wooden trunk, and I took in the sight that was Mariana’s house, drenched in that awful color that we jokingly called “smurf-blue.” From where I was, I could see her window. I could see the doorway that stands where it has always stood, the one that spread above us as we kissed for the first time; the one, where later, we would hold each other for the last time. All in all, I thought, that hadn’t been a bad day after all, not a bad day at all.

I sighed with the happy carelessness of youth and started to make my way to the bus stop. I hadn’t taken five steps when I stopped suddenly. My hands delved into every pocket of my torn pants in frantic movements, but my fingers found nothing, as I knew they would, for I didn’t had any money for the bus fare. I had planned on asking Mariana to give me five pesos for the ride back home, but after all the mayhem had started, the issue of bus money fell from my list of priorities, as it now climbed to the top of it. I idled nervously for a moment, unsure of what to do. But I knew I couldn’t go back, not after everything that we had gone through to avoid a meeting between father and boyfriend. So once again I sighed, not so happily this time, and I kept on walking. The problem, you see, was that Mariana lived in the outskirts of the city. It was two hours away on bus from my house, and that translated into a lot of walking. It would probably take me about four and a half hours to get home like that.

When I got to the chewing gum-plastered electric pole that served as a bus stop, I halted and leaned against it anyway. Who knows, I thought, maybe the bus driver would have pity on me and let me ride for free. It was then that I noticed the minutest star of light signaling at me from the littered street. I bent down and clasped a gray, metallic circle between my fingers. I knew just by the color and size of it what it was, yet I brought it to my eyes anyway, wanting to make sure. Yes, it was a coin. Five pesos, the exact price of a bus ride home. My neck twisted, my head turned skyward, laughter roared from me, fighting against the descending light of the evening. I kept on laughing, still leaning to the chewing gum-plastered pole as light faded lazily into night. A few scandalized stars had made their subtle appearance in the firmament; they stared at me openly, as if wondering why I was laughing, as if wondering what it would feel like to laugh.

By the time I got to my house, it was night time. By the time I got to my house, the memory of that day was already a relished treasure. Even now I still remember it fondly. I remember lying in Mariana’s bed, swimming in her scent, feeling the delicate weight of her body against mine, her skin, tender, shimmering, sinuous. I remember what her lips tasted like: strawberry gum. I remember my tortuous time waiting in the backyard, and the amused expression of Mariana’s mother as we hurried past her; I still laugh when I think of that odd introduction. I remember the bus stop and the impossible luck of finding my fare waiting for me there. I remember how I laughed, filled as I was with tired happiness. I remember the ride home, staring through the window of the bus at the running city lights, trying intensely to hold on to Mariana’s kisses. But most of all, I remember her feet, tucked safely away inside her socks, each toe in its own private sleeve, and all dancing together with clumsy carelessness. I remember everything.

My God, we were beautiful.