“Do you know that you were my platonic love in high school?”
Here you go. Without hot cloths and with determination. At least that looked a little more like the person I really was. Marcos looked at me without blinking and held the glass of soda from which he was going to drink without finally daring to do so; I assumed he didn't want to choke.
"Your platonic love..." he repeated.
“Yes, I spent five years of my life looking after you, of your flirting, your comings and goings, your every move.”
I smiled again and took another sip of the wine that I served myself.
“Aren't you... going a little too far?”
“Why? For confessing this to you 14 years later? I didn't come looking for anything, Marcos. It only amused me...”
“I was referring to wine. It's a little strong and it's four o'clock in the afternoon.”
“Oh...” I looked down, slightly embarrassed. Was he changing the subject? I felt a little puncture of disappointment in my stomach and kept silent, until he spoke again.
"I had no idea about that," he said.
I looked up again, and I see he had stuck in my lap.
“Of course... I was in the transparent group in class”.
Marcos laughed and that was heavenly music to my ears.
“The transparent ones... And what group was I in?”
“Oh, you know it well: the popular ones, the gods, the Olympus of the San Andrés Institute. When you finished dating each other, we had already finished our studies there," I joked.
Marcos lowered his gaze without stopping smiling.
“I was an imbecile without any head or criteria.” I looked at him, astonished. Was he trying to justify not having noticed me? Of course not. I only remembered his way of being at a time when many of us were characterized by never having our two neurons ever contact each other.
“But I'm flattered to know that Claudia Delgado saw something more than that, or that perhaps she didn't care about the scarce personality of that child who needed to collect flirting to feel like someone.”
“Is that how you look now?”
"Is there another way to do it?" he said.
“I'm sure it is.”
Marcos looked at me and it made me nervous.
“And ehm... Well, what is your life? What have you done these years? Do you work?”
Again, the expression on his face relaxed and now he did he took a drink from his cola.
“After high school, I finished my degree at the university, as my father wanted. And later I opened a couple of businesses but let's say I'm in a... sabbatical time.”
“Great... and did you... married, children...?”
There, with two flats. I wanted to go to the interesting.
"I got married," he replied.
I poured the cup down my throat again and looked at him, incredulous. Was he married? So what? What should I care about that?
“Are you married?” I cared. I didn't know the reason, but it was a fact. I cared. Marcos smiled again.
“No, not anymore. We lasted three years. You see, my experience in high school didn't help me know how to treat a girl.”
“What happened?”
Gee, I couldn't believe I dared ask him something as personal as what broke up his marriage but he talked about "not knowing how to treat a girl" and curiosity relentlessly whipped me. Surprising as it was, Marcos did not refuse to explain it to me. I wish it were something terrible that would help me to see it with other eyes, I thought, horrified at my own desire.
“I was 26 years old when I got married but I suppose that in me there was still living an immature little boy of 16 who wanted to limit himself to going out, living, travelling... She was looking for something else and I didn't know how to listen to her, to understand her. So she put an end to things.”
Another failure. Is that all?
"Do you miss her?" I asked. “You talk to... nostalgia. As if you still love her.” Yes, that's how it was, I continued interfering without any right, not only in his life, but also in his feelings. After all, I was only a complete stranger who for five years of her existence opened books three rows behind his in a common classroom.
“It's not that. But time and circumstances parade at a dizzying pace and... I suppose there comes a time when you take stock of everything you've done right and wrong. Maybe Nerea and I didn't have much in common and we realized it late but she deserved someone mature enough to sit down and talk and face the situation. Not to the kid who just put her in an easy, childish tessitura: "This is what it is; if you don't like it, go away.”
I got a little closer to him and patted his leg on what tried to be an accomplice gesture.
“You're too young to take stock, Marcos. And too noble to blame you. Things don't always come at the time we want. Or the most opportune. Possibly, if that girl had come into your life now, everything would be different.”
He smiled, somehow thanking me for my intention to encourage him.
"And you?" he asked. "What is your life?
“I live in the United States. When I finished college, I went to New York on a scholarship; then I did a Master's degree. I started my internship at a major law firm and there I am, as long as they hold me.”
Marcos snorted.“Almost nothing. So it's easy to go to a promotion dinner and kick everyone's ass, isn't it?”
I laughed at his comment.
“Well, you passed me by in high school, so I focused on studies. I owe it to you, so... let's toast.”
I lifted the glass and he smiled again, bumping his glass into my glass.
“I'm sure in the Americas you could have found someone much better than me.”
I looked at him and the answer came from my lips alone without asking for permission or explanations.
“No.”
And the way he looked at me, having nothing in particular and harboring everything at the same time, led me to the most impulsive, inexplicable and determining act of my life: I kissed him. He remained motionless, as surprised as I was, that instead of asking the earth to swallow me, I lost myself again between his lips, anything that eliminated the visual contact with which Marcos bombarded me with questions. Between our lips, prejudices, doubts and explanations were put aside, giving free rein to a strange form of freedom. I moved even closer to him and held his face in my hands, practically on his lap.
“Claudia...” They whispered their lips against mine.
I stopped, unable to separate myself by more than two centimeters. When would I ever be at this distance from him again? When would circumstances precipitate again to drag me back to him, at the same time giving me enough courage to do what I had just done? Liked by the wine, yes, but that was the least of it now.
"I'm sorry," I apologized with a thread of voice.
“I don't want you to apologize, but... I may not have enough experience to get through a marriage," he added, putting a lock of hair behind my ear, "but I do have the experience to know that when you've had too much to drink, you usually regret what comes next."
I smiled, relieved not to receive a cut or humiliation, but a gentle warning that at that moment I had more than enough, as I had more than enough except for him. “Let me tell you about my experience: mine has taught me to repent of the things I don't do and not of those I do. I wish I had dared to tell you a thousand things 14 years ago.”
He smiled again and I kissed him again.
"It wouldn't be very laudable of me to let you go on in the state you're in," he muttered afterwards.
“Marcos, I'm not a maid who's been drunk and can be taken advantage of. I am a woman who somehow needs to go back to that time to give herself the courage to tell you what she once felt.”
“Even so... You can't...”
“This does not commit us to anything. Tomorrow night, I take a flight back to America. And I don't know if we'll ever see each other again.”
Those words made him look at me in a strange, diffe
rent way, as if he had said something that activated a kind of mechanism inside him, a mechanism that disabled his resistance and gave it up to an afternoon in my arms.
***
When I woke up, the headache was so sharp that I couldn't even move. However, I turned around slowly, hands on my forehead, and the vision I had next to me was an explosive mix of emotions: joy, guilt, relief, fear. Marcos lay face down next to me with his hands under his pillow, looking at me with a serene expression, as a lock of my hair became entangled in his playful fingers.
"How are you?" he whispered.
"Well," I muttered, more out of automatism than sincerity, "although my head is going to explode. What time is it?”
“It's 11:20 at night.”
"God, I can't believe it! I was supposed to come by to say hello and...”
Marcos put his head on his hand and, at the same time, it was on his elbow, without ceasing to look at me. I suppose I needed to know why I was in such a hurry or to whom I owed explanations of my wanderings.
“I've come to town with Victoria and Marga, I suppose you remember them...”
“I thought you had come alone; I was catching you on the way.” He said it with a smile that betrayed perfectly how conscious he had been of my lie.
“That's not true... and you know it, don't you?”
"Martin called me this morning and said that you had asked for me; he warned me not to be surprised if you dropped by.
"I can't believe it. The bastard told me he didn't have your number.”
“I usually ask him not to give it. Moving here usually causes enough laziness for many not to do so. But I suppose you're not many.” He ran his finger over my nose and gave me a nice little touch, which melted me with tenderness. I still could not believe what we had done that evening, to have been able to abandon myself in that way to the desire, to the attraction that continued to exist towards Marcos; to have thus forgotten James. And even to have denied it. That made me wonder that I had many things to think about before giving him the 'yes I do'.
"When are you leaving?" Marcos asked me.
"Tomorrow night," I replied a little stunned. “I will return to the town and from there to the capital. I take a plane at quarter past ten.”
Marcos nodded and turned his back on me. That simple gesture left a tattoo on his back, four letters that were drawn on the base of his neck: "Cara." If I had been standing, I would have fallen on my back, because I had not noticed him before, despite having manhandled his whole back and what wasn't back.
“Is that a woman's name?” I asked.
The wine had already done everything I had to do and now it only left me its particular bill in the form of a hangover but this time it was not the culprit of my daring intrusion, the umpteenth.
Marcos turned and looked at me, confused at my question. "Cara," I clarified.
He smiled, relaxed and sat there, looking at me.
“What do you think?”
“Yes, it's the exotic name of a woman.”
“Really? And what's her story?”
I smiled.
“You see; you have a drink in a dark bar in the harbor while an exuberant blonde waitress eats you with her eyes. The passion starts in the lonely alley and dies in her bed. You obsess over her in such a way that you tattoo her name on your back.”
Sincere laughter turned his face into a form of paradise and the sound of it into celestial music. He stood up and put on his trousers.
“Cara was my dog.”
“Did yours end so badly?” I joked.
He smiled again.
"I'm sorry," I apologized. “I can think of few things worthier of a tattoo than an animal.”
“We agree on that. Unconditional love, eternal love, fidelity, companionship. Nothing the mysterious blonde in the alley could give me.”
“Of course...”
“She died last year after 18 springs with me and I miss her more than my own ex-wife, even if it's ugly to say so.”
"Sincerity first of all. Did things end badly with Nerea?”
“No. Not so much. Hey, would you like us to have breakfast together in the morning? To say goodbye. There's a beautiful cafeteria in the port. You'll love it. For old times' sake.
The illusion that that proposal made me, erased with a stroke my pathetic hint of jealousy for the tattoo and the guilt that had seized me only a few seconds ago. "Together." It sounded so good on his lips...
"I'd love to," I replied as I sat on the bed and put on my bra. “Now I have to go back to the girls or they'll think you've cut me up and buried me in the garden.”
“Nice image they have of me...” he joked. Marcos remained with his arms crossed and resting on a siphonier.
“No, seriously. They didn't even think I'd be here so long. Come on, I couldn't even imagine what...well...”
“Do you regret it?”
“No.”
My own forcefulness surprised me. I felt that I was being sincere but at the same time, a strange sensation reminded me that I shouldn't feel that way.
“So you don't want to stay?”
I looked at him, surprised and shook my head. Of course I'd want to stay there, but I thought I'd screwed up enough, because... I screwed up, didn't I? Whatever. I got up and put on my shirt and the jean while he looked at me. But it wasn't even that that made me feel dizzy, it was the rush I was making despite the but it wasn't even that that made me feel dizzy, it was the rush I was making despite the tremendous discomfort that oppressed my head. Marcos approached me and helped me sit down, as he crouched in front of me. discomfort that was oppressing my head. Marcos approached me and helped me sit down, while he crouched in front of me.
“Take it easy. Call them if you want and tell them you're all right, and you'll be right there.”
“No, I'm... a little dizzy. That's all”.
He gave me a long look and held my hands in a gesture that made me feel chills. Every touch of his hands was achieved with unusual ease.
“Claudia... whether it's the wine or anything else, this afternoon you've been extremely honest with me, so there are two things... that I'd like you to know. I think that's fair.”
I swallowed saliva.
“You're scaring me”.
Marco smiled again. It was so hard to see him devoid of that fascinating expression...
"Position yourself," he said. “Second year of high school. End of year trip. Rome.”
"I remember," I replied.
“I spent eight minutes of clockwork in front of the door of your hotel room. I didn't dare enter.”
That confession that should be nice to me and nothing else left me frozen.
“What for?”
“To ask you to go out with me, something that at the time seemed crazier to me than you have done, presenting yourself here and confessing to me how you felt at that time. I thought you'd see me as a cretin, as someone who collected flirting and was far from what you wanted. Remember Silvia Guzmán? Do you remember the scandal that made me in science class?
I smiled.
"God, yes!" She called you everything. I remember that was the topic of conversation for a long time in the halls of the Institute.”
Marcos nodded, smiling.
“She told me I was an insecure jerk who needed to be surrounded by little lapdogs that reminded me that I was the best because even I knew I was not. That I would never go out with a girl who was worth it. I don't remember exactly what I said but I know that I humiliated her in front of everyone and she left the classroom crying. A few hours later I looked for her to ask her forgiveness.”
“I didn't know that.”
“I know. I know. I know. My stupid pride couldn't let them know. She accepted my apologies and also my vomitive request not to tell anyone about it. I thought you would see me like her... You used to go together many times.”
“I can't believe it. That's not how I saw you.
“Now...”
“What else did yo
u want to tell me?”
The smile wiped from his face and he squeezed my hands with a little more strength. For a fleeting moment he lowered his gaze and then raised it again.
“I'm dying.”
Three devastating words. Three words that would mark my life even if I didn't know it at the time. Or maybe I did. The fact is that I was unable to respond and it was he who kept on talking:
“A little over three years ago I was diagnosed with leukemia. I underwent a bone marrow transplant, treatment and what it took. Everything was going well. In fact, I was almost cured when I relapsed. I gave up on the treatment and... Well, I have a few months left, maybe a year; something more if my stubbornness takes an extra month out of life. I know you're leaving, that we'll probably never see each other again, but I think it's only fair that you should know.”
"Why don't you want to be treated?" I managed to ask.
“Because I'm exhausted, Claudia. I don't want to go through the hell of the first time. I want to be calm whatever I have left, whatever the time.”
“But...”
“Listen, I assure you it's not the outburst of a day; I didn't go to sleep and I woke up thinking I was giving up. That's not it. This decision is the consequence of many twists and turns in my head, of many thoughts coming and going. Thoughts that led me to a clear conclusion.”
"Which one?"
Tears accompanied my question and Marcos wiped me them off while he kept talking.
“That life is not measured in breaths, but in beats. I don't want to invest my life in machines, medicines, hospitals and treatments in order to continue breathing. I want to collect heartbeats: experiences, smiles. I want to wake up one day and have a crazy high school ex-partner come to my house to confess that she was in love with me almost 20 years ago.”
"You can't do that. If things went well the first time, they will go well the second time, Marcos. Just because you relapsed doesn't mean it's always going to happen. The boy I fell in love with in high school would have stood up, would have waged a titanic struggle. He would have won. I know.”
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