Words A Brief Story Of Those That Leave Read online

  “There is no melancholy without memory

  nor memory without melancholy.”

  (Will Rogers)

  I know that Mrs. MELANCHOLY will tire of me one day too and will leave. But she has taken a liking to going everywhere with me. She thinks she is important when I walk through the street and I see couple in love, kissing, mothers and children playing happily, teenagers discovering their first love, hidden in a corner of the park. Mrs. MELANCHOLY is growing, whereas I become smaller. Because I will not live an innocent teenage love again. Because it will not be you, Diego, who kisses my lips passionately, like two people in love who can’t wait to get home to give in to their feelings. Because it will not be OUR child that I play with on the streets of Barcelona. Because you are no longer in my present, nor my future.

  You used to tell me that you couldn’t imagine a life without me. Now those words sound like an echo from beyond the grave, from a place called the past which MELANCHOLY often reminds me of, because she wants to remain present in me. She has taken me darling... that’s what happens when you sleep with her every night.

  Mrs. MELANCHOLY is malicious. You can’t imagine how much. She tells me you haven’t called. Not even once. Not a single WhatsApp to say hi and let me know if you’re okay. You’ve deleted me from all your social media and that, I can assure you... feels very bad. You have removed me from your life. Mrs. MELANCHOLY has told me that you don’t think about me for a single second of the day. She said that you have more important things to do and a much better woman than I to think about. And I believe her. I believe her, because your absence over these three insufferable months has proven that.

  “Melancholy is the

  pleasure of being sad.”

  (Victor Hugo)

  MELANCHOLY walks with me... step by step. She is slow and patient. She has character. But little by little, I know I will get rid of her. Maybe I will keep her at times. Maybe Mrs MELANCHOLY will want to come back and visit me at times of my life in which I, who have always like to daydream, will need her. MELANCHOLY often inspires me. Other times she provokes a state of indescribable sadness in me. That is how you have left me. Sad. Alone. Nothing makes me smile, nothing entertains me... MELANCHOLY makes me apathetic.

  But today, Diego... I have decided to free myself from this state called MELANCHOLY on which I have written so many words. Just like I said, she tires me, she exhausts me, just as you used to. It is not worth tying her to me and dragging her everywhere. Tomorrow the sun will also come out. Tomorrow, a couple of lovebirds will make me smile. I won’t be envious of them, I will wish them a stable and happy relationship, full of unforgettable moments. It won’t bother me to watch how a mother plays with her child because I will understand that you were not destined to be the father of mine. Even less will I pine for those adolescent times when I see two young people looking for the best corner in which to learn to love, because for a time I also lived and enjoyed that. That is the past. And that MELANCHOLY that has invaded my soul in the form of a grumpy and negative lady is going on a trip. A trip to nowhere, and to only return when I call her.

  I want to say one last thing to you, Diego... I’m going to go to the florist on the corner and buy myself a beautiful bouquet of flowers. With many different colors. So many! I will stop seeing everything in black and white and I will go back to putting color in my life... to the floor that we shared for three years. These colors will scare Mrs. MELANCHOLY, I’m sure of it...

  “All changes,

  even the most longed for,

  have their melancholy”

  (Anatole France)

  Silvia smiled when I finished reading the tale of my first word. It hadn’t turned out too badly and I could see from her face that she was truly satisfied with what she had heard.

  “Diego. Nice name,” she said. “Which flowers did you buy?”

  “Daisies... among others.”

  “Daisies. Well! My favorites. Has Mrs. MELANCHOLY disappeared? Really?”

  “I feel more optimistic.”

  “That’s great! We’re making progress. It’s important to see things with clarity, to not idealize things. Knowing how to see reality helps a lot and is part of ourselves, our lives. Feelings are something that fade little by little... Let’s go for the second word, Emma. ERA.”

  “Okay...” I answered obediently, thinking of the word the psychologist had just given me with her usual self-confidence. I was curious about her, about her personal life. Had Mrs. MELANCHOLY visited her often? Had she ever been abandoned?

  “I’ll see you next week, Emma. And above all, don’t let Mrs. MELANCHOLY back. I don’t like her either,” she commented, winking humorously.

  ERA

  A set period of time in history or in the life of a person.

  When I speak of ERAS, not only good memories spring to mind. There is a potpourri of everything, Diego... But today I feel like remembering the best moments. The good of our story... even though it hurts more than remembering the bad. Now that I am not invaded by MELANCHOLY, I can see everything with more clarity. Colors exist. Not everything is black or white and the tears are fading little by little... The memory of past times remains and sometimes I should recall them. I don’t want to remember you with sadness or distress at not having you in my present, Diego. I haven’t spoken to you yet about Silvia, my psychologist... but it is something she said and that I think I certainly got right after listening to my writings on Mrs. MELANCHOLY. I am not afraid of memories. Memories are a part of life. They are natural, beautiful... It is necessary to remember them, even though they were better ERAS than those I am living. For that reason my psychologist has decided that the following word would be ERA. Life. Your story. At least from my point of view... even though I will also try to talk about our ERA together, from the perspective I think you had of us.

  “Start again.

  Even if you feel tired.

  Even if success has abandoned you.

  Even if a mistake has hurt you.

  Even if a betrayal has wounded you.

  Even if an illusion has faded.

  Even if the pain burns your eyes.

  Even if your efforts are ignored.

  Even if the ingratitude if your reward.

  Even if misunderstanding cuts your laughter.

  Even if everything seems nothing...

  START AGAIN!”

  The first time we met springs to mind. It was nothing original and was not even that nice. In fact, everything started with an argument between two strangers that were overwhelmed and tired at El Prat Airport in Barcelona, and the only thing they wanted was to quickly take a taxi home.

  “I called it first,” I told you haughtily.

  “Excuse me? I’m sorry, I’m not being a gentleman today. I’ve had a long and awful flight and I want to get home as soon as possible. Driver, here’s my luggage,” you said moodily.

  I laughed. I gave you a nasty look. Deadly. I took my suitcase and outraged, I insulted you. I can’t remember which curse I used, but it was surely something my mother would have told me off for, as she hated her daughter using such foul language.

  “Hey! What did you say to me?” you shouted angrily.

  “Idiot.” I answered. “You heard me. Yes... that’s what I said. Idiot. You heard me.”

  You approached me. Tall, imposing and strong. You looked at me with those green eyes that some time later, I could deny nothing. You laughed and rolled your eyes, offering to share the taxi. The driver, tired of our silly argument, put your luggage in the street and left with another client that was faster than us. Troubled, we got back in line to wait for the next taxi. At first we did not speak to each other, but then we kept laughing at our bad luck. And you introduced yourself.

  “I’m Diego.”

  “Emma. Although I can’t say that in these circumstances it’s a pleasure to meet you.” It started to rain. Neither of us had an umbrella to shield us from the rain.

  “Shall we still share a t
axi? Where do you live?”

  My mother had always taught me not to talk to strangers, and even less tell them where I lived. But you did not seem to be dangerous or to have bad intentions. That’s what your face said...

  “In Gracia,” I responded.

  “Me too. Great then,” you said cheerfully.

  We shared a taxi. I arrived first and you offered to pay on one condition... that I give you my number to call me and invite me out for a coffee. You didn’t wait long. That same night, you sent me a message and suggested we meet the next day at six in the afternoon at Mama’s Café on Calle Torrijos. Can I ask how you knew it was one of my favorite cafés?It was like a sign and I could not stop thinking about you. About how handsome you seemed to me. It was not love at first sight, like the romantic films of Hollywood show us with a perfect Cameron Díaz and an irresistible Jude Law... I know. Those things seldom happen and frankly, I am one of those that believe that physique is the first impulse felt that makes you want to know a person as ‘something more’. Never have I considered myself as a beauty... I’m more normal... but if I look in the mirror, I see an attractive woman that with time has learnt to accept herself. However you, Diego... you made me feel like the most beautiful woman on the face of the earth from the first moment. I wore a blue dress for the occasion. It made my honey-colored eyes and pale complexion stand out. I pulled up my blonde hair above my shoulders into a bun and even put a little make-up on. When I got there, you were waiting with a cup of coffee.

  “I’m sorry I’m late,” I told you, smiling. You didn’t seem to mind.

  “It was worth the wait,” you answered, winking.

  “How can I forget something I tried so hard to remember?”

  You told me you were an architect. When we first met, you were on your way back from Peru. You travelled on business for the construction of a hotel. Everything you explained to me seemed very interesting and we both felt comfortable with each other. We had so many things to talk about! An hour, two hours... time flew by. It was a good MOMENT. A great ERA. More coffees came. Lunches. Dinners. Neither of us took the plunge and we were dangerously approaching the ‘friend zone’. We were not moving on as ‘something more’. But we were still interested in getting to know each other, talking, letting off steam... you even spoke to me about an ex-girlfriend of yours, a Carolina that I was very jealous of. She knew what it was to kiss your lips. To feel your skin. I didn’t yet.

  Months passed. You still had the ability to make me jump off the sofa, the bed or wherever I was, each time you sent a message. You no longer only attracted me physically. Behind the facade, there was something more. A person I felt was extraordinary. A good person. Attentive, generous, happy... a good talker. Someone fascinating. And the best of all was that I had always wanted more. To know more about you. The day we started our ERA together, it seemed to be normal. A coffee date that would perhaps prolong a little and become an enjoyable dinner in the neighborhood of Gracia. Perhaps some Mexican food. Yes... we always liked to eat Mexican. But in the café, you were different. Worried. Undecided. As if the words could not come out of your mouth, as if the fear of suggesting a relationship with me was taking over your desire to express it clearly.

  “Emma,” you started to say, without putting down the latte in your hand. “For a while now... well, we’ve known each other for a while. I think you’re great and I really enjoy being with you and also... I like you. No, I don’t like you, I adore you. I adore everything about you,” you said smiling.

  I copied you. I couldn’t help it, the smile came by itself. Then, I stood up from my chair, approached you and bent over so you were in front of me. I looked at you fixedly and kissed you. You stroked my face and pulled me closer. You gave me the best kiss of my life. I will never forget it, Diego. The waitress was jealous to death watching our scene. We seemed like two souls that had been united for a while... as if we had been looking for each other forever. Our lips, desperate to find each other, could not curb our soft, passionate and tempting kisses... so tempting. Almost like an addiction. Excuse my romantic streak... my admiration for soppy films you hated so much... I can’t help it.

  That night, we did not go to dinner. You came to my small apartment and we made love for the first time. It was wonderful to feel you so close... to finally know what to was like to have you inside of me. To know your caresses and embraces. And to fall asleep on your shoulder... I wish time had stopped forever.

  Now I imagine you with another. I can’t imagine her with a face, but I try to imagine that she’s ugly... at least uglier than me, because that makes me feel better. How silly, right? It makes me angry to think that you are now living another ERA with another woman. Another woman who you also had a beginning with... while you were with me. Another woman that, perhaps, makes you happier.

  “We were a short story that I will read a thousand times.”

  Our first year. The best ERA of my life. And I know that it was yours too. At least let me believe that. Even if we did not take the step of living together until three years later, we slept in the same bed every night. Even so, we still wanted our own space, ‘just in case’. There was always a ‘just in case’...

  Our time together was perfect. It was without a doubt our ERA. They say the first year is the best, right? It was, Diego... I could see it in your eyes. We complemented each other in every way. We looked at each other in a special way. I had never looked at anyone like I looked at you... now, I’m beginning to doubt that I was the best thing that had ever happened to you, as you used to tell me.

  We loved going to the cinema. Strolling through the streets of Barcelona in summer and cooling down with an ice cream or nut milk. Drinking an iced lemon drink that gave us a headache and made us laugh. Going to get a coffee. Getting lost in a shopping mall and compulsively buying things we did not really need. Reading. Being close, very close. Laughing at predictable and ridiculous horror movies. Crying at any drama. Walking on the beach. Sitting on the sand and watching the sunset... embraces. Kissing. Gazing at each other. Even though in the third year, you confessed that you hated being covered in sand. And when you left me, I understood that you did not like watching the sunset with me. Perhaps that was one of the few sacrifices you made for me in our relationship.

  I should finish already. I understand that my ERA with you is over. It has faded away. You left and I stayed with my own ERA. An ERA full of solitude and sadness over the past three months. But something is changing in me. Perhaps letting off steam by writing our story based on words is really working. Wait... I need two minutes. I’m going to the bathroom to cry a little. As you know, memories sometimes make me feel like a martyr and that I’m going to drown. I get a knot in my throat that I cannot stand and that clouds my view.

  I’m back. ERAS... Past. Present. Future. I’m beginning to realize that the most important ERA is the present and that it does not matter what it is like. It does not matter that you are not here.

  You would surely tell me:

  “This too will pass.”

  I would smile and tell you that yes. Yes, Diego... this too will pass. Life goes on. Thank you for all the ERAS we lived. For making me happy. I have to recognize them and their memory to live my own ERAS with what destiny has in store for me.

  “And I almost forgot you. Tomorrow I’ll try again.”

  SOLITUDE

  A state of periodic total isolation or reclusion.

  SOLITUDE, is also a lady, just like MELANCHOLY. She is cold like a flow of ice and she does not like to go to the hairdressers. She is unkept and her hair is always unbrushed. Sometimes we look for her and we furl in her, no matter the motive. On other occasions like in my case, we find her frequently without having called. SOLITUDE despairs and is dangerous in the way that we can go looking for ‘any’ company, just to not feel ALONE. Because the simple face of being with someone, even if that person is not right for us, can make us feel good. We do not realize what is happening when we are blinded by the sadn
ess of SOLITUDE. Only time can teach us to be more patient... as I am being now. If not, I assure you I may have gone off with the heart-throb that walked past today and winked at me. Or with the bus driver that has been ferrying me around for a year. Or perhaps it would have been Santi, an old school friend that had always been keen on me. Mrs. SOLITUDE makes us do many foolish things that it is sometimes better to know how to avoid. To not become desperate and learn to live with her... but without getting used to her too much.

  In my opinion, there are two kinds of SOLITUDE. The one you seek and desire and then the imposed one. When I was with you, Diego... I never needed to go looking for SOLITUDE to find myself. You made me the best version of myself that I could be. For example, you made me work out and eat healthily. I stopped smoking every though I’m seriously thinking about starting again. Thanks to you, I became more patient. Especially with my mother, who you know I do not have a good relationship with. She is not a bad person, but she has always driven me crazy. During the six years I was with you, I argued with her much less. She loved you... you know that right? It’s not that you made me a better person or anything like that. But with you I felt better about myself... even though saying it like that seems to be very selfish on my part. You almost never overwhelmed me. You gave me the space every person needs, especially when my work required by total and absolute concentration.... and SOLITUDE... that SOLITUDE that is now killing me little by little...

  These past three months have been very lonely. Mrs. SOLITUDE has been with me twenty-four hours a day, because I decided it would be so. And the people around me have respected that. There are some that need to let off steam and tell their woes to their friends, family members or even strangers, as I do now with the psychologist appointments I was telling you about... I’m sure that whist I’m reading this she’s smiling. She finds it amusing that I mention her in some of these texts she makes me write as therapy.

  I never found the need to tell my personal life to anyone. It was enough for me to fall into bed, let my tears invade my cheeks and watch the sunshine through the window. Locked in the house. I sound so dramatic... I’m sorry, Diego, you would surely find it stupid to listen to my thoughts...