One Midnight (ONC 2024) ✔️

Chapter Eighteen- A Sorrowful Explanation

His head hangs low as he sits next to me on the bench. So far, Nicolas has not said a single thing to me since we first sat. But it's all right. I suppose he will tell me whatever is bothering him when the time is right.

"Do you ever feel that you're responsible for someone's death?" he asks out of the blue.

"No," I say. "Not really. I've never really lost anyone to where I can blame myself for their death. I mean, I've felt guilty for not being a more present friend to them while they were still alive."

"Today is March 11th, Corrie."

"Well, yeah. I know that."

He buries his hands in his face and his body racks with quiet sobs. He takes my hand in his and grasps it firmly.

"Nicolas, what is wrong with March 11th?"

He does not turn to look up.

"What is your September 11th, March 11th is that to Spain."

"Oh," I say. "I did not know about this."

"Not many in the United States do. It shook the whole of Spain. We still are afraid to use our trains because of it. It has happened more in other countries, too, but nothing was as bad as March 11th."

"Wait, trains?" I ask. "Nicolas, please tell me what happened."

"When I was around 21, I knew this girl. Her name was Sofia. She loved to read." He chuckles. "Reading was her favorite thing to do. Always had her nose stuck in a book. She wanted more than anything to be an opera singer. I met her when I was in the orchestra pit at a performance for our music program. She was the star soprano of one the operas, a French one. You know the composer, Ignace Leblanc. He actually lived in New Orleans, briefly."

"I know who he was," I say. "And what happened?"

"We became friends and then eventually, I fell in love with her. At first, she did not know what to do with me following her around like a lost puppy, but we were happy together."

"As long as the both of you were happy."

"She was always a little strange. She loved to sing. Always singing everywhere. Sometimes, where it was not appropriate, and she would get looks from strangers." He laughed. "But they were mostly appreciated because Sofia was the most talented soprano in our school. She would have been singing La Scala, Garnier. Garnier was where she wanted to sing the most. I proposed to her, Corrie, at the Garnier. It was her birthday present from me."

"And what happened after that?"

"She said yes. And I wish to God she didn't."

"What? Why not? What happened?" I asked, stroking the top of his shoulder, then resting my head on it. He does not shrink away. "You can tell me."

His eyes close. "The week of our wedding. We got into some stupid fight over plans, como se dice (how do you say), the very structure of the plans of the wedding?"

"The logistics?"

"Yes. That. Logistics. We fought over the flowers. The cake. The groomsmen. The bridesmaids. Their regalos. Sorry, gifts. She did not speak to me for days because of our argument. She almost broke it off with me, but she called me on March 11th, and told me that she was to pick up the dress from the woman who custom made it for her. Some famous designer in Madrid who loved opera as much as she did."

"And what happened then, Nicolas?"

He sucks in a deep breath, and his face contorts as he looks away for a moment. "She took the train. To get to the dressmaker, she had to make the early morning train. She wanted to get there early so she could make it back to Valladolid in time. Valladolid is where the wedding was to be."