Reality, Indistinct

  Shawty had them apple bottom jeans, jeans, boots with the fur, with the f-

  Becca jerked her head up, irritated. The overplayed ringtone on her cell phone seemed to be blaring much louder than usual as it pierced the late-night quiet. She slipped her finger between the pages of her paperback to mark where she’d left off and glanced at her phone to see who’d called at this ungodly hour and interrupted her reading.
  It was Neil. Her irritation blazed anew.
  She hit the ‘ignore’ button and fell back against her pillows, frowning. Neil had the bad habit to call after midnight and bombard her with indecent proposals. At first Becca found his attraction to her flattering, albeit unrequited, but time had worn her patience thin. She wanted someone who wanted more than a one-night stand.
  She took a deep breath and opened her novel again. In a few seconds she was fully engrossed, as if the phone call had never disturbed her. The dark, lyrical prose seemed to put her into a trance, and her eyes raced across the page hungrily.
  Many chapters and hours later, she tore herself away from the book- not because it was almost dawn and her eyes stung with exhaustion, but because she was afraid of finishing too quickly.

-

  She slipped into her cubicle a few hours later, wearing almost no make-up, her hair disheveled. While her computer started up, she managed to pull the tangles into a half-decent French braid and she was putting on some lipstick when Neil poked his head over the wall.
  “Good morning, Becky,” he grinned. “You look like hell.”
  She glared at him, but didn’t respond.
  “Rough night? I tried calling you.”
  “I was sleeping.”
  “You don’t look like you got much sleep, though. Is there something you’re not telling me?” His smirk was sardonic and cruel.
  Becca replied with an un-ladylike hand gesture.
  “Wo-ho! Did somebody switch to decaf this morning?” he laughed.
  “Leave me alone, you idiot.” She swiveled her chair to face the computer screen.
  “Suit yourself. By the way, I e-mailed you a little list of companies and their contact info- you’re making cold calls today.”
  Becca groaned, but Neil ignored her and withdrew his head. Becca didn’t hate her job as a junior account executive, but the worst part was definitely making cold calls- she would make the calls to potential customers, but her soliciting, more often than not, was (for the most part) politely declined.
  She had started dialing the first number when she heard Neil inviting his other cubicle neighbor to the break room for a cup of coffee. She peeked into the hall and saw their retreating backs. She quickly wheeled her chair back to her desk, reached into her purse, and pulled out her book.
  Within minutes, she had once again lost all sense of time and space.

-

  “Is it any good?”
  Becca wrenched her head up from the book. When her eyes met Neil’s, they widened in horror, then whipped to the clock on the wall.
  An hour and a half had gone by, and she had absolutely nothing to show for it.
  “Uh, yeah,” Becca tried to sound off-handed as she put the book away. “I got tired of making phone call after phone call, so I was taking a little break.”
  “Huh,” Neil lifted his eyebrows, and Becca hoped against hope that he’d buy it. “What’s it about?”
  “The book?” Becca stared at him, puzzled.
  He nodded patiently. Becca felt her cheeks growing warm as she looked away. Why couldn’t she have been reading something impressive, like… something by someone with a complicated Russian name?
  “It’s about… vampires.” She almost muttered that last word.
  “Vampires?” Neil repeated, and she waved her hands, motioning for him to lower his voice.
  “Yes, I know how it sounds,” Becca ventured. “But it’s really good. It’s a love story, actually. Between a vampire and a human. I like the conflict of their different mortalities. It’s very passionate… almost erotic.” She blushed anew.
  She couldn’t read Neil’s expression, but before she could start to worry, he shook his head slightly and said, “Get back to work, Beck.”

-

  “Let me take you out to dinner,” he said. One look at her face and he hastily added, “As a friend.”
  Becca deliberated. She didn’t think she could handle one more night of instant ramen- it was all she could manage to prepare in her haste to return to her book.
  “You promise you won’t even ask me to go back to your place afterwards?”
  He sighed. “I promise.”
  “Then I accept your invitation.”

-

  “Bad news, Becky.”
  Becca had just slung her purse across her shoulder and scooped up her book when Neil appeared at her cubicle, grim-faced.
  “What’s wrong?”
  “We won’t be able to go to that dinner I promised- one of the companies hated the pitch, and now I have to re-do the whole campaign.”
  Becca was crest-fallen, but relieved it hadn’t been something for her to really worry about.
  “Don’t think you’re getting off easy- you’re the junior exec on this account, so you’re staying, too.”
  “What? But-“ Becca’s mind raced, trying to find an excuse that would exempt her from spending the night at the office, but she really didn’t have anything better to do… except finish her book.
  “Maybe this will sweeten the deal?” Neil smiled mischievously, holding up a bottle of red wine.
  Becca put down her things again. “Well, what are we waiting for?”

-

  “So… have you finished the book yet?”
  “Not yet- I can’t put it down, but a part of me is dreading reaching the end.”
  Neil shook his head, took a swig of wine. “I have never read a single word I wasn’t forced to, whether in school or at work. I have no idea how you do it.”
  “It’s hard to explain… this love is so pure, so consuming- it’s like they can’t live without the other… every second they’re apart is painful for them, yet every second together is an exquisite torture. I can’t help but wish I could feel that way about someone, someday.”
  “That sounds a bit… unrealistic.”
  “Why does it have to be unrealistic?” Becca frowned.
  “You want to dream about a vampire lover… dark, mysterious, passionate and deadly? Good luck with that.”
  “Don’t be a jerk. I’m not delusional, I just think it’d be nice to be wanted that much, to be wanted so much it hurts.”
  “I want you that much,” Neil said darkly.
  “Please, Neil. What you want from me, you can get from any other girl. It’s insulting.”
  “I guess I’m a sucker for the girls who play hard to get. I’m curious.”
  “I’m not playing hard to get on purpose,” Becca chuckled. “And you’re hardly a dark, handsome, mysterious lover.”
  “Right. So you turn me down because I don’t lust after you, because I don’t lose sleep over you, and because I can live without you?”
  “Something like that, yeah,” Becca laughed.
  “Snap out of it!” he yelled, his eyes narrowed furiously. Becca stopped laughing. “You of all people should know better! You work at an ad agency, for crying out loud! Do you have any idea why this garbage sells so well?”
  He stopped yelling for a moment, but she knew she shouldn’t interrupt. He was on a roll. And sure enough…
  “When something’s too good to be true, it usually is, Becky! All the drama, the climaxes, those falling actions and resolutions- that’s the kind of shit you find in novels, not in real life!” He spat those last words with such venom, such vehemence, that Becca could do little more than to gape back at him, wide-eyed and mute.
  “When you finally stop trying to make your life fit into a structured plot, let me know.” He turned to leave, then spotted the novel on the corner of her desk. With a sharp intake of breath, he grabbed it angrily and threw it at her.
  The book whizzed by her head and crashed into the wall behind her. She knew it hadn’t been his intention to hit her, but she knew that even if it had hit her square in the face, it wouldn’t have hurt half as much as the truth in his words.

The Send-Off

We walked around for several minutes, the steep streets reeking of urine, and I wince at the uncomfortable leather sandals that cut into my feet, but I still wear anyway because they’re so pretty.

The only place we find open on a Monday night in Old San Juan is a small, dark pub called El Batey. I love it right away. The walls are covered with layers upon layers of writings- scrawled names, mostly. Some caricatures. A sign reads “Prohibido Joder”, which makes me smile. There’s a handsome bartender with both arms covered in tattoos, two men playing cards at one end of the bar, a pool table. I can feel several sets of eyes follow me, but I ignore them. Not tonight, boys, I think as my friend and I take a seat at the bar.

“What’ll you have?” he asks me.
“Same as you,” I sling my bag across the backrest of my chair.
He orders two beers, and I accept mine with a smile, vaguely remembering how, a week earlier, I’d sworn I wouldn’t drink another drop of alcohol ever again. I shrugged, since I’ll bet that’s what everyone swears when they’re throwing up their breakfast.

We talk. I keep trying to pour my beer into his cup without him noticing, but he always does. I can sense that he’s about to bare his soul to me, so I think he’s going to need all the alcohol he can get.

He’s moving to the states by the end of the week. I reach into my bag, pull out a photo, and hand it to him with the back facing him. He reads my note: “So you’ll always remember those who’ll never forget you.” He turns the picture over and I hear him exhale. It’s a picture of our little group of friends. We’re all at the beach. He murmurs a word of thanks, and I smile sleepily back. I have very little alcohol tolerance, and one beer is enough to start making my lids heavy.

“Let’s take a walk,” he suggests, and we both down the rest of our beers.

The streets are empty. I hold onto his arm to keep steady as we make our way down a sloped street. Without a warning, he pulls me into the nook of a store entrance and pushes me against the gate. I murmur lazily, “Stop. Someone might see us.” He laughs and promises that nobody will come, and presses his mouth against my neck, his pelvis against mine. I vaguely notice his erection. In one breath he whispers everything he’d planned on telling me tonight, his last chance. It has to be you, I don’t want anybody else, I can’t explain it… I smile furtively, thinking it’s all very romantic and sweet… were we in some chick flick. But we’re not, and I’m hardly impressed.

His caresses are almost a plea, his insistence a supplication. I consider it. I suspect his desperation is born of curiosity and not love… I was the unattainable one, the one nobody could ever dream of deserving. The few men I graced with the morsels of my love were in awe of their good fortune. My chaste reputation bordered on saintliness.

The beer is making me sleepy. Maybe I should just let him ravish me. I don’t know if I have the energy to maintain that reputation any longer, anyway.

Stories within those smiles

Sebastian cleared his throat and automatically reached for his water bottle. The quiet murmur of the audience, the clinking of wine glasses, each table with a stack of copies of his novel... This was nothing new.

But something was different. He knew, felt it. Not that he'd ever been one to have premonitions. His own fiancée joked that he had the spiritual sensitivity of a rock.

The thought of Eliza brought him a whisper of warm comfort. He scanned the audience in search of her sweet face - all he needed was one of those encouraging smiles of hers, and then he'd feel better.

But when his eyes found her, he couldn't believe them. Eliza was engrossed in conversation with the woman sitting next to her.

Sebastian choked on the swig of water he'd just taken, and both women turned their faces toward the podium. He hastened to wipe the water from his chin, but his wide eyes were frozen to the woman's face.

It can't be.

The woman gave him the tiniest of smiles and with a little nod of her head she seemed to say, Yes, that's right... it's me.

-

It's me. Keila did hope she didn't look smug.

Eliza looked back at Keila and caught the last traces of her mysterious smile.

"Do you know each other?" she asked hesitantly, looking back and forth between them.

Keila's dark smile vanished in an instant, replaced by the same pleasant smile she'd worn all evening.

"Oh, not very well. We worked together once... it was some writer's workshop we attended in college."

Eliza smiled, relieved. 'College' had been so long ago. She would have been worried if her fiancée had kept a woman as beautiful as Keila a secret.

-

Sebastian sat at the table with a sigh of relief. He didn't know how he made it through his speech- every time he sought Eliza's smile, he found himself looking at Keila instead.

He autographed book covers, one after the other, half-heartedly thanking all the words of praise.

"I didn't like it," he heard her voice, warm like wine.

He looked up in mute disbelief.

"Oh, it's beautifully written, don't worry. I just found it... predictable. I already knew what the characters would say and what they were going to do..."

Sebastian continued to stare, horrified that he could find neither his voice nor the words to reply.

"Then again, I'm probably the only one in this room with that advantage. I wasn't being fair," She slid her copy of his novel across the table towards him. This time, her smile was mischievous. "I did enjoy your descriptions of the characters, however. It was like 'Lorelei' was nothing short of a goddess!"

"i don't think I did her justice," Sebastian managed to say, a shy smile spreading across his dry lips- a furtive smile, like one you share with old friends.

It was a smile that made Eliza wonder.

-

That night Sebastian made love to Eliza so fiercely, so furiously, that as the sheets grew cold, she found herself staring at the ceiling, and she knew, she just knew.

Nothing more.

I feel conceited even as I pick up the university publication and thumb through the pages looking for his name beneath the headline.

There must be something, I keep telling myself.
Something that gives him away.
Something only I could recognize.
Something only I could inspire.

Forgive me for trying to find myself in you.

-

We chat idly, and all the while I am wondering...
How do I tell him that I love him?
It's not exactly something I can slip in between "hello" and "man, that Physics final kicked my ass".

-

I walk away from the one man who could probably make me happy until I am an old lady, but I try not to think about that.

-

I climb aboard the wrong train.
On purpose.
I just don't want to go home yet.

Lujuria

    -Mm, ah.. sigue ahí, sigue... ah, ah... ¡para, para, para!-
   Joel levantó su cabeza abruptamente. -¿Qué pasó?-
   -Duele.-
   Pausa. -¿No quieres que siga?-
   -No, estoy bien.-
   Verónica jaló hacia arriba sus pantis, los cuales colgaban de su tobillo.
   ¿Qué porquería de orgasmo fue ese? se preguntó, dirigiéndose al baño mientras Joel batallaba torpemente con el broche de su correa.

   Tres días después, tan pronto se encontraron solos en el apartamento, apagaron las luces y en menos de cinco minutos, ya se habían quitado la ropa y Joel le estaba devorando a besos su nuca perspirada.
   Beggars can't be choosers, Verónica pensó entre suspiros.

   -Estamos hablando de nuevo.-
   -Qué bueno.-
   Pausa. -¿Estás bien?
   -¿Tengo una razón para no estarlo?-
   -No sé.-
   -Joel, me alegro que estén arreglando las cosas entre ustedes. Sólo estoy un poco triste de que ya no vas a ser más mi juguete.-
   Joel se rió y le acarició la mejilla.
   -Fue divertido,- dijo.
   -Sí, lo fue.-
   -Bueno. Nos vemos,- le dió un beso de despedida y, abriendo su paraguas, se lanzó a las calle.
   Verónica lo siguió con la mirada, tratando de darle nombre a la emoción que sentía. No era tristeza, ni derrota, ni frustración.
   Vagancia. Ahora, a empezar desde cero.