by A. Constanza
This is why you don’t have sex, let alone lose your virginity, to a stranger.
I closed my eyes and took a long, deep breath. I allowed the wind to clear my mind from everything Ignacio. I opened my eyes again and concentrated on my surroundings. People walked around the market, fishermen parked their small boats on the side of the harbor, and children splashed in the nearby ocean.
The harbor was filled with booths and tents of delicious foods, beautiful arts and crafts, hand-made clothes, and antiques. I scanned through the colorful array of fruits and vegetables, and my hand reached for three, bright yellow lemons.
I pulled out my wallet for the third time within ten minutes and handed the vendor the cash I had on hand. He handed me the change, and I turned to place my wallet back into my purse, noticing a two-year-old boy staring up at me.
“Ciao!” I greeted, kneeling down and flashing a smile.
He was small and tan with honey-colored eyes and hair. The boy reached for my hair and smiled, revealing a little dimple in his cheek. I cupped his little hand and looked around to see if his parents were anywhere near, but no one had their eyes on the kid.
“Mamma è papà?” I asked.
The little boy looked over his shoulders and then shrugged.
“Ti sei perso?” Are you lost?
“No mamma, no papà.”
“Perso?” Lost?
The little boy reached over to grab a red apple from the cart.
“Affamato,” he responded, frowning.
He was hungry.
“Mangia,” I said, motioning him to eat it.
The vendor looked down at us and cleared his throat. I riffled through my purse and retrieved thirty cents to hand to the man.
I watched the little boy chomp through the apple. He wore an outfit with a matching shirt and shorts, white tennis shoes, and his hair combed to the side. Someone clearly took the time to get him ready. He had to have come with someone to the harbor.
I wanted to ask him where his parents were or who he came with, but I didn’t know enough Italian to communicate with him on that level. Leonardo never prepared lesson plans on what to say or do if I found a lost child near the harbor.
“Camminiamo un po’?” I asked the boy. Let’s walk a little.
He happily grabbed my hand and continued to carry the apple with his other free hand, occasionally taking messy bites. As we walked, I would point to someone and asked if he knew them, but he shook his head no. I circled the whole harbor, and he rejected every person.
All the faces started to blur together, and I couldn’t even remember who I had or hadn’t asked. There were no police officers, no distraught parents running around, nothing. I walked us to an empty bench by the waterside and pulled out my phone. I needed help; I had to figure out what to do with the boy.
I called Salem but no answer.
I called Norah but received her voicemail.
I called Emile and his phone didn’t ring.
My finger hovered over Leonardo’s name, but I debated on whether or not to call him. He was a friend but nothing more. If it didn’t revolve around tutoring, then we wouldn’t see each other. I turned my head and watched the little boy staring off as he swung his legs. He didn’t seem the least bit worried. I was worried, though, and I needed help.
I looked up to the clear, blue sky. “Send help, please. Anybody.”
From the corner of my eye, I noticed the little boy look up at the sky. “Anybody,” he yelped.
A faint smile crept on my face and I watched more people walking by without a care in the world.
“Estella?” I heard someone call from behind.
I turned my head back, and my heart stopped beating for a second. It took me a second to recognize the man, but with a closer inspection, I knew him.
“Are you okay?” Ignacio asked, pulling out an earbud from his ear and cocking his head to the side.
Ignacio wore a tight, grey shirt that showcased his toned body, gym shorts, running shoes, and I guessed he had contacts on. He almost looked like a completely different person without his silver-rimmed glasses. It was more intimidating to look at him; there was no barrier between our gazes. His light eyes emanated fire. Ignacio was fire. Hot, strong, intense.
“No,” I said, shaking my head. “This little boy is lost. He found me, and I’ve been walking around the whole harbor in search of his parents, or somebody. I’ve been looking for almost an hour. Can you help me?” I never expected to ask Ignacio for help, but once I did, a subtle amount of relief washed over me.
“Of course,” he said. “What’s his name?”
I waved his question away. “I don’t even know,” I mouthed. I had been so anxious that it hadn’t occurred to me to ask the boy for his name.
Ignacio knelt in front of him and started to communicate with him in Italian. All the words flowed out, and he was able to extract more information from the boy in one minute than I did in an hour. I couldn’t understand everything they were saying, but I could tell the little boy liked him. Ignacio even made the boy laugh.
“His name is Luca; he said he came here with his father and aunt. He was at the beach but walked away because he was hungry. You gave him an apple, he liked walking around with you, and now he is thirsty,” Ignacio said with a small smile.
I exhaled in relief that we had some information to go off of, and it was sweet to know that Luca enjoyed spending time with me.
“Ho sete,” Luca whined.
“Let’s get him some water and head to the beach,” I said.
Ignacio stopped to get himself and Luca a water bottle from a vendor. He had asked me if I wanted anything, but I politely declined.
We walked away from the harbor and down the waterside to the beach. It was nearing October, but there were plenty of people occupying the small beach. I didn’t blame them; it was seventy degrees outside, but the bright, sunny day and the luring blue color of the water would make anyone want to go swimming.
Luca stopped in front of us and knelt down to grab sand, then handed it to Ignacio. “Mangia!”
Ignacio pretended to take a bite. “Delizioso, grazie,” he said, smiling with his eyes and mouth.
There was a gentleness to him that I enjoyed witnessing. Whenever we were together, the air was thick and intense, but it was different today. There shouldn’t have been this type of peace while looking for the parents of a two-year-old, but there I was witnessing a sweet moment.
A woman laughed in the distance, and it captured Luca’s attention. “Zia,” he shrieked. Aunt.
Luca’s aunt danced along the shore, blowing kisses to the man taking a picture of her. The man encouraged her to do more poses as he gave her compliments.
“E papà!” Luca clapped.
Ignacio and I glanced at each other with the same puzzled expression. We didn’t know anything about Luca other than what we’d been told and witnessed, but it was difficult to not jump to conclusions. Luca’s father was being flirtatious with Luca’s aunt and they had been so lost in their own world that they didn’t realize that Luca wandered off.
Luca waddled away with a beaming smile and ran into his father’s leg. The father glanced down for a second to pat Luca’s head and walked away from him to kiss the woman. They pulled away only to look through the pictures in the camera, and Luca stood on the shore, neglected.
“Ignacio!” I called, watching him storm toward the couple.
Ignacio yanked the camera out of the man’s hand and catapulted it far into the ocean. Luca’s father balled his hand into a fist and directed it to Ignacio’s face, but Ignacio caught it and pushed the man away. Ignacio’s face was as hard as steel as he lectured the man. I couldn’t understand everything he said, but it was full of detestation.
Ignacio’s fingers briefly brushed Luca’s hair as he walked away from the beach. I slowly waved goodbye to Luca and ran behind Ignacio. He had stormed off, several feet ahead of me. I tho
ught that I’d lost him, but he stopped in his tracks, and I wrapped my hand around his arm.
Ignacio turned to me, gazing down at me with tender eyes. “I’m sorry you had to see that, but men like him disgust me—fathers who neglect their children only to chase after their own wishes. The selfishness of it is unbelievable. They’ll never understand what that does to a child.”
We were hidden in between a shady alley of yellow-bricked cottages. “It seems like you’re speaking from experience,” I shared in a soft voice, recalling the conversation I had with Emile.
Ignacio leaned against the bricked wall and looked down to the ground.
“I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have said anything,” I murmured, realizing that I shouldn’t have exposed him.
“It’s fine,” he responded.
“Thank you for helping me with Luca,” I said. “I’m not sure what I wouldn’t have done without you.” I did ask the universe to send me anybody, but why Ignacio? I didn’t question it much longer and decided to let it be and move forward.
I walked away from Ignacio but slowly turned to face him when he called after me.
“Estella, when can we speak?” His voice was low and genuine. “You don’t know the guilt I’m plagued with for leaving you that night in Paris. I meant every word; I did want to see you again.”
My heart felt like it had been turned slowly, a rattling doorknob for a door that had to stay closed. I never properly moved on from that incident in Paris, and as much as I wanted to gain closure for that night, it was terrifying. I didn’t know if I wanted to feel all those ugly emotions again. All I had for the men I had been romantically involved in were ugly feelings.
“Ignacio.” I sighed.
“Fine.” He nodded. “I don’t want to put you in an uncomfortable position. I deeply apologize for the pain that I inflicted.”
I nodded slowly and walked out of the alley. I’d always thought about the possibilities of receiving an apology from Mr. Pianist, but I never thought about how much it would impact me. It was an apology—just words that placed a bandage over a gaping wound, but they were his words. His words did something to me that I wish they didn’t. They made me stop in my tracks and think about the possibilities.
“The universe had us cross paths again, Estella. We should do something with that,” he shared.
I wasn’t sure what the universe wanted from us, let alone what it wanted from me, but it was giving me a massive headache. I continued walked back to my cottage with Ignacio’s words on repeat.
FOURTEEN
Estella
My room was in shambles, and it was due to my indecisiveness about what to wear. I reminded myself that I put myself in this situation.
Ignacio’s words echoed in my mind throughout the night and the following morning. I rehearsed what I would say to Emile and Ignacio, and I called them as a brief wave of confidence surged through my body.
I instantly regretted it.
I told them that I wanted to meet for a piano lesson, and Emile praised me for continuing my journey in learning music. Ignacio didn’t say much; he was probably as stunned as me.
“Screw it,” I said, zipping off the dress and tossing it onto a large pile that rested on an armchair in the corner of my room.
I decided on wearing a white midi dress that had a slit on the side. It was a casual dress, but it had a little bit of personality to it. I analyzed myself in the mirror, and before I could change my mind again for the seventh time, I headed out the front door.
The drive to Emile’s cottage was more than dreamy, and the New Age music that blasted in my ear could’ve emphasized the wondrous feeling. I should’ve been more nervous for the upcoming interaction, but with Emile being there, I wasn’t as worried. Nothing could happen if we were being supervised, and even then, I wouldn’t let anything happen. I couldn’t let myself be that vulnerable again.
Ignacio had beat me to the cottage despite being ten minutes early. I knocked on the dark green door three times, and Emile answered with a cheery smile. Seeing him smile made me smile. Emile reminded me of my grandpa that passed away three years ago, so interacting with him was easy.
“Just in time for the challenge,” he said, a wicked smile creeping up.
“What?” I chuckled.
He closed the door and walked two steps ahead of me. “The blindfold challenge. As a child, I would blindfold Ignacio and have him perform a piece he was comfortable with, and if he won, I gifted him with whatever he pleased. He hated it, still does, but it’s entertaining and beneficial to his motor skills.”
“Oh interesting,” I said. “What piece will he play now?”
“He isn’t too sure; he keeps saying he is rusty, but I know that’s a lie,” Emile said, walking into the study. “We have an audience today.” Emile beamed, clapping his hand.
Ignacio was seated on the bench, his body straight and broad. The sun shone through the windows and onto him and the piano, showing off the beauty of the remarkable duo. The brown hue of the piano glistened yet accentuated its structure and form. Ignacio looked like a 1700s painting with his sleeves rolled up, his white dress shirt loose, and careless waves barely grazing his face. He looked relaxed.
“Estella.” He sighed, causing the butterflies in my stomach to be resurrected. The way he said my name made me flustered and frenzied. “It’s nice seeing you again.”
“It’s nice seeing you again too,” I responded, softly.
“Have you picked a song yet, boy?” Emile said.
“Yes,” he declared. “‘Moonlight Sonata’, third movement.”
“Outstanding choice, but are you sure? For someone who is unpracticed, it may be difficult.” Emile enjoyed taunting him, and I enjoyed seeing Ignacio’s reaction.
“I’m positive.”
“Estella, do you mind placing the blindfold on him.”
“I could do it, Nonno,” Ignacio said.
“No, the blindfold must always be placed on you to ensure that it’s secure, and I’ve already made myself comfortable,” he said, grabbing his mug and placing it in his hands as he comfortably sat in his armchair.
“Where is it?” I asked.
“In the drawer under that bookshelf,” he said, pointing.
I retrieved it and walked behind Ignacio. Ignacio removed his silver frames and placed them on top of the piano. I covered his eyes with the black, slim blindfold. I secured it tightly around his head and waved my hand in front of his eyes and got no reaction.
“I think he’s good to go,” I said.
“We’re ready when you are,” Emile hollered.
“I’m blindfolded, not deaf, Nonno,” Ignacio responded.
Emile clapped his hand and expelled a loud laugh. “I’m sorry.”
I decided to stand behind him to get a good shot of all the action. His back was tense, and his fingers hovered the keys, determining where to start. I could never imagine myself playing a song blindfolded, let alone the third movement of “Moonlight Sonata.” My hands could never work at that speed even with years of practice.
Ignacio’s fingers bounced around the keys momentarily; he was getting himself accustomed to the keys again. The initial start of the song startled me, causing me to step back. Ignacio’s fingers jumped from key to key; it almost looked like he wasn’t touching the keys. The chord progression of the piece was deemed incredible by me, a beginner. Ignacio had no problem projecting force, and I could feel the intense energy radiating off the piano. He hadn’t missed a beat, a tone, or his composure.
Emile laid back on his armchair and twirled his finger up in the air as he was regaled by watching his protégé play a spectacular piece with ease. Ignacio was on his final minute and showed no signs of failure, and it gave me hope that I could learn from him despite our past. After all, that was how he captivated me in the first place.
Ignacio ended the piece with forceful grace and whipped off the blindfold. “Jesus,” he si
ghed. “I honestly didn’t think I would make it.”
“That was incredible,” I said in awe, placing my hand on his arm and scooting him toward one end of the bench.
“You’ll learn to get there in time,” Emile said, smiling.
“How long?”
“Eight years or so.”
My eyes widened in disbelief. “Oh, okay,” I said, somewhat deflated.
“You’re receptive, so I think it won’t take that long.” Ignacio leaned over, making it seem more like a statement to me and more of a whisper to Emile.
His wondrous scent made me lose my breath for a second. How could I simultaneously harbor negative feelings for someone yet feel so attracted to them?
“Where should we begin? I didn’t know where to begin. I haven’t played in five years.”
“Five years?” I muttered. “Why?
His eyes watched me wistfully, making my cheeks heat up. You know why.
“It was his father,” Emile chimed in.
“What does she know?” Ignacio asked, ignoring Emile’s comment and staying on topic.
“She knows the key names, whole steps, half steps, chords, scales, et cetera,” Emile said. “We’re learning to read basic songs and will work upward.”
“Okay, great. I remembered that you knew how to play a few advanced songs by ear, but I guess we want to create a foundation,” Ignacio said.
“You remembered?” I asked, puzzled that he would retain random information about me.
“Of course, ‘Canon in D’ and forty seconds of ‘Clair du Lune’.” He chuckled. “Along with the piece that you created.”
My cheeks felt like they were on fire. These were all facts that he remembered, and it caught me completely off guard. I didn’t expect him to remember anything about me. Yesterday, he had admitted to telling me the truth about wanting to see me again after that night, and now, he showed me that I had been on his mind. It was a lot for me to process.
“Do you need some water?” Ignacio asked.