a short story of how we fell in love written by me
Madrid can wait
I. Every beginning eventually comes to an end... but eventually came too soon
"I feel like you're not coming back," Laura said.
"No, I'll only be in Santa Marta for a few days," Ben said.
"Okay."
Ben gently stroked her black hair, tucked it behind her ear, and gave her a kiss.
"I'll come back, I promise."
Eleven months later, obliviousness weighted far more than memories. Messages and video calls could never replace a good back massage, one of those that feel like a mix of tickling and massage, like a mini-orgasm. And what had happened? Laura's country had gone to shit. So much so that they stopped issuing visas to leave, pensions were gone, and a group of proud landowners armed with guns and cocaine had come into power. Foreigners fled as soon as the beheaded protesters appeared on the front page of newspapers (back when they still had press freedom). Laura was one of the last ones to escape.
"Welcome aboard Air France flight 423, direct service from El Dorado International Airport in Bogotá to Charles de Gaulle International Airport in Paris."
Laura sighed deeply. She made it; no one could take away her future now. During airport security, one of those neo-nazi-looking policemen had put her through an X-ray machine and searched her more thoroughly than they searched anyone on those planes from Buenaventura to Central America. Now that everything was going well, she decided it was time to open the message Ben had sent her hours before.
"I'm going to visit you in Bordeaux in three days."
II. Electric Love
"We're not going to be anything more than friends," Laura replied to Ben's message.
"OK."
It's strange to see an ex. Even stranger when you've convinced yourself that you no longer want anything to do with them, even if they didn't do anything wrong and it was just life that pulled you apart. Now, trapped for at least five days in a nine-square-meter room, they couldn't afford awkward silences. How do you silence a silence? With a game, of course. It had to be cool like "truth or dare" or "never have I ever," but those were too basic for Laura. For some reason, she still wanted to impress Ben.
"Let's play something with my tarot cards. Let's tell a story with each card that comes up," Laura said.
"But isn't tarot like black magic?"
"No... well, the person who made this deck was Aleister Crowley, who was an occultist and sort of a wizard, but he wasn't evil. That's a stereotype."
"Okay, how do we play?"
"We'll each draw a card randomly and tell a story from our lives, the first one that comes to mind when we see the card. You go first."
Laura refilled their glasses with red wine while Ben drew a card. Five of swords. "Defeat," said the card.
"Okay... I'm not really sure why I'm here... I know I wanted to see you. Let's see, the story... in the past few months, I've felt 'defeated,' like the card. I was working at a supermarket, and that's when the panic attacks started."
"I'm sorry. That's terrible."
"Yeah, but I don't think I have the right to feel this way. When I see my parents' life, your life, and compare it to mine, a happy life without having to struggle for anything... that's why I feel so lost.
Ben lets out an ironic laugh. "I hate red wine, you know? But drinking it with you feels strangely good. Wow, I must be drunk already, here I am complaining about my white-european problems while your country is falling apart."
"We all have the right to feel things, Ben." Laura takes her glass.
"Cheers. To finding ourselves," Laura says.
"Cheers." Ben kisses her. Laura feels as if a taser touched her from her upper to lower lips. Ben feels that same taser gave him a little bit of a desire to fight for something. In France, there was a curfew at six in the evening every night. Very early. It wasn't that Ben and Laura always followed it, but generally, that was the time they returned to their residence in Pessac to have the 1 euro cafeteria meal. On the days they couldn't make it (which was most of the time), Laura cooked pasta. Tomato pasta, chicken pasta, with blue cheese, camembert, brie, everything. Ben and Laura loved pasta. Plus, eating pasta is not like eating that plastic food from the cafeteria. Pasta is an experience. First, Laura cooks it with her special touch of olive oil, pepper, salt, and love. Second, pasta always goes with wine. Third, pasta is the appetizer for dessert, a spoonful of Nutella for Laura and Baguette and Nutella for Ben. Fourth, Nutella is the appetizer for the real dessert: making love.
Those two months, Laura and Ben made love so much that one day a neighbor on their floor left them a note on the door, "Hi! I know asking you not to have SEX all the time is not hard. I am a student and I would like to be able to concentrate and rest. 😊 THANKS." Ben and Laura laughed too much that night. And then, of course, they made love.